I didn’t want to break down weeping in front of this man and his nephew, so I plunged my arm down inside the tall garbage can in front of me. It was mostly popcorn, though it was plenty wet in there, too, especially down toward the bottom. I gripped and ungripped my fist, mashing the stuff in the bin deeper into goo. Of course there wasn’t anything that felt like keys, even as my hand kept voyaging, grasping for anything solid. Jordan and Eli watched me pitilessly, unsurprised. Did this happen often? I pulled my reeking arm out of the can and tried to speak coherently.

“But where could they have gone?” I said. “I mean, outside of your capacity as the manager and all that, what do you think happened? Just as a person? They didn’t just disappear, right?” My voice was shaking so badly that I had to stop.

“My guess?” the manager said, after he’d paused to make sure I was done. “You’re going to find them where you least expect it.”

“Do you have back pockets?” Eli said, his youthful sympathy blooming like a flower on a corpse.

I patted my back pocket in desperate hope. Thanks, kid! But no. Nothing there.

“My mother’s in the hospital,” I said.

Jordan nodded. “I figured it was something,” he said.

I followed his now slow-moving buttocks to his office and began to write down my information on a photocopied form with “Lost it at the movies?” printed across the top.

“Hey, man,” Jordan said softly. I looked up from my writing. (What was my address?)

“Check this out.”

He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt and pulled the fabric aside to reveal his chest. FUCK CANCER was tattooed in green Gothic script beneath his collarbone. The skin around it was pale and hairless. Did he shave it? He certainly kept it out of the sun.

“That’s great,” I said.

“Fuck. Cancer. Right?” he said. He looked me deep in the eyes, desperate again. “Just. Fuck it.”

My mother didn’t have cancer. I nodded solemnly.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re right.”

He slowly rebuttoned his shirt and turned to his computer in the corner, signaling, apparently, the end of our business. I filled out the rest of the surprisingly detailed form—office fax number?—and put it on the desk.

“So you’ll let me know if you find anything?” I said. “Or get any, um, tips?”

“Any information we receive will be conveyed to you in a timely fashion,” he said without turning to me.

I walked quietly out of the office and back outside.