Time is cruel.

It makes no allowance for anyone. It can take away possibilities like a thief, or turn unpleasantness into an eternity. Some have too much, some have too little, and some don't even realize they have it until it's all dribbled away.

Most of the people who come into my office have lost something to time. They're former spouses, former lovers, former business partners. They want something from me...they usually want something from someone else through me. But they never really get back exactly what they lost.

The woman who walked in that day was a bit young to be a former anything. Maybe a former beauty queen, though that could have been last week. She had a sweetness about her, in her poise, in her dress, in the sad but shy look in her eyes. And in the way she said my name.

"Mr. Warren?"

"Miss Collins, right? Have a seat."

She sat in the client chair, her bag in her lap, her hands on her bag. She put on a brave smile and got to business. "I'd like you to find my father, Roy Carver. Can you do that?"

"I can try, sure. How long has he been missing?"

Her eyes dropped to her bag for a moment. Then she looked up at me, her smile turned melancholy, and said...

"Five minutes."

For little Clara Carver, her father was huge. A twinkle in his eyes, white teeth she could see in lots of smiles, a comfortable laugh, strong hands that could lift her up on his shoulders where she could see over everyone. He might have been a little pudgy and his suits were maybe rumpled, but that just made him more human.

Roy Carver was the family she remembered. Her mother had left them when Clara was three, and hadn't left an impression. Her father was all the parent there was, and all the parent that was needed.

At least until that day at the diner. Seven-year-old Clara didn't know what happened, didn't know what had made the change in her father. It had taken years of reflection to understand what she'd seen: that the light had gone out of his eyes, that the happiness factory had shut down, and the only stock left was what was on display.

He gave her that last smile, he patted her hand, then he got up and said, "I'm going to the men's room. I'll be back in five minutes."

And that was the last she saw of him.

She'd done well in the foster care system; she hung onto that sweetness of hers through it, or maybe survived the system because of it. She got adopted by a good family that took care of her, gave her the Collins name, and helped her get into college. She was still working on her degree while holding down a job at the Herald. And now, at 21, she wanted to find her father.

"The police couldn't tell me anything about him. He'd just vanished out of that diner. I don't know if he's alive or...what. I want to know. I...need to know."

"I understand. I'll do the best I can. If I find him, what do you want to happen? Meet him? Contact him? Sue him for retroactive support?"

"I don't know. I'll think about it then. I just...I just want those five minutes to end."

I thought about my usual rate, looked at that sweet face, and quoted half. I said we'd talk about it when I got some results. Not the way I usually work, but hey...I'd want those five minutes back too.