Local Woman Missing

by Mary Kubica

  I tell Josh that I’m taking him out for dinner. “What’s the occasion?” he asks, grinning at me. It’s been so long since Josh and I have had any alone time. With kids constantly at our heels, we can hardly have an adult conversation anymore.

  What Josh and I really need is a weekend away. What I wouldn’t give for Josh’s parents to drive in from Michigan and stay with the kids for a couple of nights. We could book a room at the Four Seasons downtown. We could do adult things: go to a show, sleep in past seven in the morning. We could catch up on all the conversations we never have time for, or those that get interrupted by the kids. It’s been a long time since Josh has offered more than a sentence or two about work, about his clients, about his coworkers, because every time he tries, his words are punctuated with kids’ needs and arguments. Can I have more milk? He’s touching me. I hate broccoli.

  “No occasion,” I say, leaning in to him. “Can’t a wife just want to spend a night with her husband?”

  I take Josh to an overpriced bar that overlooks the river. The food is good. It’s known for its burgers, though the real draw is the view. The restaurant is two floors, with a second-story deck, which is where we sit. The deck has a retractable roof so that when it’s cool outside, as it is tonight, patrons can stay warm while enjoying the view. Josh says it’s genius.

  The place is thriving because Thursday nights feature live music and dancing. With a hand on my lower back, Josh steers me through the crowded restaurant. He pulls out my chair for me. He lets me sit first. He does all those romantic gestures that fall by the wayside when we’re shepherding kids around.

  We order drinks. I’m het up, but on the outside it doesn’t show. Once the drinks arrive, I tell myself, I’ll tell Josh everything I came to say. I’ll start with Dr. Feingold and the malpractice suit. I’ll work my way toward Marty. I’ll tell Josh that Marty and I didn’t tell him and Cassandra about us because it didn’t matter. Because what happened between Marty and me was nothing. I won’t make the mistake again of using the term young love. There must be skeletons in Josh’s closet, too, something he’s never told me. If what he’s told me is true, he had a half dozen lovers before me. I had Marty and only one other. It’s not that bad. The fact that Josh knows him is only coincidental.

  The drinks come. The first sip comes as a jolt to my system. It’s all vodka and beer. With that first sip, Josh reaches a hand across the table. Our fingers intertwine. It’s electric.

  “This is nice,” Josh says, grinning across the table at me. My heart skips a beat at his touch. Under the table, his leg skims mine. The look in Josh’s eye is unmistakable. I know what he’s thinking. I know what he wants. I want it, too.

  “I can’t remember the last time it was just you and me for dinner.”

  We never thought our family would end with two kids. We imagined more. We envisioned a large family like Josh’s, with four, five, six kids. We haven’t closed the door on that. Maybe tonight we can try for more. I think what another baby could do for our family, how it could bring us closer. I feel warm inside, flushed in a good way. Maybe it’s the rush of alcohol to my system. Maybe it’s the way Josh looks at me, like he can’t tear his eyes off me.

  I won’t tell him now. I don’t want to ruin the mood. When this moment passes, I’ll tell him. I take a long, slow sip of my drink, hoping it calms my frenzied nerves.

  “Have you had a chance to look over your menu?”

  The waiter is there standing beside the table. He’s young. Everyone looks young to me these days.

  We haven’t had a chance to look over the menu, because we’ve been so busy staring at one another. That doesn’t matter. We’ve been here before. We know what we want. I go first, and Josh orders after me.

  The waiter leaves. Josh raises his beer glass. “To us,” he says. Our glasses clink. The sound of it is thin. “Did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have found you?” he asks.

  “I’m the lucky one,” I say.

  We were twenty-five when we met. I was driving down the expressway when some asshole took a glancing blow at me. We were going fast; it could have been cataclysmic. My car spun out of control, smashing into the guardrail on the driver’s side before coming to a stop. The driver kept going. Josh was in the car behind me. He was the one who called 911. He was the one who spoke to me, keeping me calm and awake through the broken window until the paramedics and the fire department got there, and I had to be extricated from the car. He was the one waiting for me when I woke up, though he had to lie to the nurse and say he was my brother, or she wouldn’t have let him in. Family only. Josh is able to sweet-talk himself into almost any situation.

  Suffice it to say, Josh saved my life. By the time I arrived at the hospital, I’d lost a significant amount of blood. I was bleeding internally. I was going into shock.

  I mean it when I say that I’m the lucky one.

  I watch as a man takes the stage. He tunes his guitar as his band joins him onstage. They start to play. The rooftop is congested. People everywhere, until there are more people than seats. They come up for the music and the view. There is a bar up here. Bodies crowd around it, ordering drinks. It isn’t a college crowd. The college kids go to the fratty bars with dollar drinks and moshing, where people dance on tabletops when they’ve had too much to drink. This place is just expensive enough to keep the college kids out.

  “Dance with me,” Josh says. His chair skids backward. He stands up. He reaches out a hand to me. I hesitate, looking around. No one else is dancing yet. “Someone has to go first.”

  He won’t take no for an answer.

  I set my hand in his. I let him pull me to my feet. The room is unsteady. The bartender was generous with his pour. On the dance floor, Josh twirls me. People clap. Someone whistles and it’s reverberant.

  When I come back to center, Josh stops me from spinning. He presses his hands around the small of my back, steadying me. He pulls me against him until we’re flush. He gazes down at me, giving me bedroom eyes. Butterflies dance in my stomach.

  A body brushes past mine. “Excuse me.” I feel the mistaken plunge of an elbow to my side. Before I can reply, Josh’s lips press against mine. It’s tender, teasing. My body responds.

  He whispers in my ear, “I love you more than anything,” and then the music begins. I can’t hear anything over the sound of it. I wrap my arms around Josh’s neck. I rest my head against his chest. We sway. Josh strokes his hands up and down my sides. Everything I came to tell him slips away.

  The next song is faster, something pop. We’re no longer alone on the dance floor. It’s become crowded. Bodies bump into one another. The floor thumps with the vibration of the bass. It’s not always a dance bar. But on Thursday nights, that mold is broken. Josh and I draw apart. The music is upbeat, not the kind of music for a slow dance.

  And then I’m dancing with some other man that I don’t know. His hungry brown eyes leer at me. The man spins me as Josh had. His hand is sweaty, grasping. He spins me once, and then I’m back in Josh’s safe embrace.

  Forked lightning flashes across the sky. We see it through the glass roof. People gasp. I expect a barrage of rain to fall next. The rain doesn’t come. The night stays dry, but charged with electricity.

  Back at the table, two fresh drinks wait for us. There’s a sheen of sweat on Josh’s forehead. He still grins at me, gulping his beer. The dancing has made him thirsty. Our desire has morphed into something giddy, impetuous. We giggle at one another over our glasses.

  “Should we ask for the check?” Josh mischievously asks.

  “We haven’t gotten our food.”

  “We could always get fast food, if you’re hungry.”

  If we go home, there will be a babysitter and a dog waiting for us. There will be kids to be quiet for. But Josh and I aren’t above taking the car somewhere remote.

  I grin back. “Let’s go.” I want more
than ever to be alone with Josh.

  Josh’s eyes go roving around the rooftop for our waiter.

  “Hey, neighbor.” The voice is singsong when it comes. We look and see Kate sitting at the table beside us, her smile a mile wide. Kate and Bea are here, getting situated in their seats where the host has just sat them.

  “What are the odds?” Bea asks, reaching for her menu and having a look.

  Just then our food arrives, the waiter skirting around glasses and silverware to deliver it.

  Josh and I exchange a disenchanted glance. We can no longer leave.

  At Josh’s suggestion, we slide Kate and Bea’s table closer to ours, make it a table for four instead of two for two. It dampens the mood. It doesn’t kill it. The pining I feel will still be here an hour from now.

  Drinks arrive for Kate and Bea. Kate offers up a toast. “For Bea.” It’s Bea’s birthday. Today Bea is thirty years old. They came to celebrate. Glasses rise up above the tabletop. Someone clinks too hard, and sticky liquid spills over the edge of a glass and onto our hands. Laughter ensues. Kate scrambles for napkins, apologizing.

  Bea asks, “What are you doing out on a Thursday night?”

  Josh makes eyes at me. “Do I really need a reason to spend a night with my beautiful wife?”

  The food is plentiful. The portions are large. I eat it all because the alcohol has made me famished. Food is delivered for Bea and Kate. More drinks, a round on Josh and me for Bea’s birthday. Someone on the rooftop catches wind of Bea’s birthday and then everyone is singing happy birthday to Bea. It’s cacophonous. It’s not pretty. Bea tries hiding her face behind a dessert menu, which Kate snatches away. Bea’s not really embarrassed; it’s all for show. Bea isn’t the type to embarrass easily. When it’s done they kiss.

  Kate and Bea are opposites. Kate is conventional. Bea is not. Kate doesn’t stand out the way that Bea does. Bea is arresting. She’s indelible, in the way she looks and in the way she carries herself. Nothing and nobody can touch Bea. Tonight’s outfit of choice: black tights with short shorts; a faux fur leopard print jacket over a T-shirt; Doc Martens. Few people could get away with it.

  We dance. I’m dancing with Josh. And then I’m dancing with Kate and Bea.

  String lights run across the glass ceiling. It’s ambient. I lose all track of time. Beneath my feet, the floor moves like the sandy bottom of the ocean when waves roll in and then out.

  Josh is here now and we’re slow dancing. And then Josh is gone and it’s Kate who dances with me. There’s a tap on my shoulder, and Josh is back. His face has changed.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. We stand beside the table, the four of us. Kate polishes off her drink. Bea’s hips still sway.

  Josh shouts over the noise. The sitter has called. Delilah had a nightmare and woke up. She’s inconsolable. The news sobers me. I’m having too much fun to leave. But Josh says, “I told the sitter we’d be home in a few.”

  Kate leans in to Bea. “We should go, too.” The night is coming to an end.

  Bea is tugging on Kate’s hand, drawing her back to the dance floor. The look in her eye is pleading. “Just one more song. One more drink. Please, Kate.”

  Kate protests. “It’s getting late. I have to work in the morning.”

  Bea is pouting now. “But it’s my birthday.” She dances alone beside us, hands in the air, eyes closed, the music moving her. She’s a sight for sore eyes.

  Kate is in a bind, torn between wanting to leave, and not wanting to disappoint Bea on her birthday. She confesses to Josh and me that she has surgeries to perform in the morning. Today she spent ten hours on her feet. There was a euthanasia. She’s tired and emotionally spent.

  I’m the only one who doesn’t have to work in the morning. I say to Josh, “Why don’t you give Kate a ride home. Check on Delilah. Get her back to bed. I’ll stay with Bea for one more drink.”

  “You don’t mind?” Kate is grateful.

  “I don’t mind.” She hugs me.

  Josh’s lips press against my ear. His words tingle down to my toes. “Wake me up when you get home. If you know what I mean.” He draws back, eyes on mine.

  I taste the beer on his lips when he kisses me. I watch Kate and Josh leave, weaving their way through the crowds. Bea takes me by the hand. We’re dancing. It’s easy to see why Kate is so enamored with Bea.

  The music, the alcohol, have a narcotic effect on me. The bartender has been generous with his vodka tonight. “You’re a good friend for staying with me.”

  “It’s not every day you turn thirty.”

  There’s a slowness to my words. I feel giddy, euphoric.

  We dance some more. The brown-haired man is there. He wants to dance with me. Bea tells him to get lost. We fold ourselves in half, laughing. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

  Back at the table, the waiter delivers more drinks. The bill comes. Someone pays.

  Bea and I are walking toward the parking garage. Neither of us should be driving after all we’ve had to drink. But I can’t call Josh to come and get us because then he’d have to wake the kids. Bea won’t call Kate because Kate has to work in the morning.

  “Look at that,” Bea says, pointing upward. The streets of town are tricked out with a million tiny white lights, like stars.

  There’s a nip in the night air. Bea clings to me.

  We’re riding the elevator up. It’s slow and creaky. There are soda cans in the corner of it. The floor is sticky. The doors open. We step out and look for Bea’s car. It’s not there. She starts to laugh. “What is it?” I ask.

  We’re on the wrong floor. It seems hysterically funny. We’re both folded over again in laughter. We get back in the elevator and ride down this time. The doors open and there is Bea’s car.

  We get inside. Bea turns on the car. She turns on the radio. We’re singing. I feel happy, drunk. Bea spins the car down the parking garage ramp and out onto the street.

  They say most accidents happen within five miles of a person’s home.

  I never see it coming.

  KATE

  11 YEARS BEFORE

  May

  Three things happen in the coming days. A paternity test, administered by the police with Jason’s permission, reveals that Jason Tebow is not the father of baby Grace. The news stuns both Bea and me. As it turns out, monogamy was neither Jason’s nor Shelby’s cup of tea.

  A day later, a nurse from Dr. Feingold’s office calls with the news: the blood test results came back. “I’m sorry, honey,” she says over the phone, “but it’s not good news. You’re not pregnant.” I pretend to be sad as I mutter my thanks and hang up the phone.

  The search for Meredith and Delilah continues and then stalls. Josh’s grassroots effort waxes and then wanes as people start to lose hope. They give up. Their lives move on while Josh’s, Meredith’s and Delilah’s don’t. For a while, the police augment the search with dogs and divers, searching the woods and the river for Meredith and Delilah. The state police become involved; soon after, Meredith and Delilah become national news. Still, they’re not found. The weather doesn’t help. Almost every day the search is called off because of unsafe river conditions and the threat of more rain.

  And then one morning, I wake up to the ping of my phone, an incoming message on the group chat. When I look, there on my phone is a photo of the back end of a car and, on it, a close-up of a license plate number.

  I’m still out of focus from sleep. It takes me a moment to process what I’m looking at. When I do, I see that the photo is of Meredith’s license plate. It’s Meredith’s car.

  I sit suddenly upright in bed. I shout for Bea but she’s outside in her studio working again. Over the next few seconds, the group chat becomes a flurry of activity. Meredith’s car has been spotted by a member of our group in the parking lot of a motel two towns over. The police have been notified.

>   Bea sees the text, too. She comes running in to find me. Unshowered and undercaffeinated, Bea and I decide to drive Josh to the motel. He’s been in touch with the detective, but refuses to stay home and wait for news, though that’s exactly what she told him to do. He’s understandably worked up and in no state to drive himself. The three of us drop Leo off with the babysitter on the way; while Josh walks him to the front door, I call my office and ask them to reschedule my morning patients. Josh, Meredith and Delilah need me now.

  The drive feels long, though it can’t be more than twenty minutes. All the way, we don’t speak, each lost in our own thoughts, thinking the very worst.

  The motel is located off a two-lane highway in an unincorporated part of town. There isn’t much around it other than a handful of industrial buildings and open land, much of it for sale and underwater. When we arrive at the motel, there is an obvious police presence in the parking lot. We don’t see Meredith’s car at first, but we’re drawn there by the circle of officers that surround it.

  Josh throws his door open while the car is still moving. He leaps from the car and runs toward Meredith’s. The doors, the trunk of it, are open and police are looking inside.

  I can’t find Meredith or Delilah. “Do you see them?” I ask Bea, glancing around the parking lot.

  “I don’t,” says Bea. She looks, too, but all we see are a handful of bystanders and police.

  I pull into an empty spot. The parking lot is not large. I park the car and Bea and I make our way toward Josh. We don’t get far before we’re stopped by police, and forced to wait a good thirty feet back, away from what the officer calls a crime scene. His words make my throat go suddenly dry and I’m certain they’ve found something inside Meredith’s car. A body, more blood. Bea grabs my hand as he says it and together we stand, rooted in place, waiting anxiously for Josh to return with news.

  The motel itself is somewhat skeevy. It’s dilapidated and small, a single-story building with doors that enter from the outside. In the parking lot, a 1970s neon sign flashes Vacancy, advertising rooms for just fifty dollars a night or two hundred a week. I’m guessing much of the clientele is homeless. They live here.