Something Missing

by Matthew Dicks

  Sadly, this didn’t happen very often.

  On this particular evening, two older men were occupying the restroom with Martin, discussing the degree to which they hated their boss, so he was forced to use the faucets and soap dispensers lest the men see how “unsanitary” he was. Because of an absence of paper towels (the restroom was equipped with hand dryers), Martin chose to leave the water running when finished rather than placing his clean hands on the faucet knobs once again. Someone else could turn it off after he had left. Using his foot, he pushed the door open without coming into contact with any part of it, and made his way toward the front of the restaurant.

  As Martin approached the table, he noticed that Laura was speaking on her cell phone. As he came closer, she looked at him and smiled, unable to contain her excitement. “Just a minute,” she said to the person on the other end of the line before asking Martin, “What time is your parents’ anniversary party on Saturday?”

  Unsure of what might be the best answer, Martin answered “Noon,” sticking with his strategy of avoiding numbers while fabricating.

  “So you’ll be done by seven?”

  “Yeah, I should be,” he answered, almost immediately wishing he hadn’t. “Why?”

  “You’ve just been invited to Daniel Ashley’s surprise party. A guest of honor of sorts. The man who saved the surprise from ruin.”

  Martin sat down and placed his napkin back in his lap, trying to contemplate what had just happened as Laura finished her call.

  “Okay Justine. Let me run … I can’t. We’re still having dinner. I’ll call you tomorrow … Okay okay. I’ll call you tonight. Bye.”

  Martin waited until she had closed her phone before beginning. “Laura, I can’t…”

  “Yes you can,” she interrupted. “You’ll be my guest. It’s perfect. You’re already going to be in Westbrook, so why not? If it hadn’t been for you, Justine’s planning would’ve been ruined and I would be in the doghouse. Justine wants you to be there, and I want you to be there, too.”

  It was the mixture of her gratitude, combined with the words I want you to be there, too that made refusing her invitation impossible. He couldn’t believe how fast his heart was racing.

  “Okay, I’ll go. It sounds like fun.”

  As they ate and chatted about their lives, Martin tried to assess the damage that might come from attending the Ashley surprise party and meeting a client face-to-face for the first time, but he found himself unable to focus, distracted by the woman across the table whom he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Other than his fictional family and career, he had managed to stick to the truth throughout the rest of dinner, telling Laura about his home, his friends, and answering questions about religion (he was a nonpracticing, skeptical Christian) and favorite films (Field of Dreams and As Good as It Gets). When the check came, Martin made a perfunctory attempt to pay the bill but knew that Laura would insist. He allowed her to pay without complaint, wishing that he had thought ahead and found a way to hand the waiter his credit card before the bill had ever hit the table.

  Had there been time to prepare, he would have found a way.

  As they left the restaurant, Laura suggested ice cream at a shop less than a block down the street and on the way back to the town-hall parking lot. Martin agreed. Laura ordered a double scoop of chocolate in a waffle cone, and though Martin never ordered ice cream in a cone because of the mess that it typically made, he said, “The same for me” when the tattooed teenage girl asked him what he wanted.

  He wasn’t even sure why.

  Laura allowed Martin to pay for the ice cream, and the couple licked double scoops of chocolate while strolling past the window displays that lined Farmington Avenue and the newly developed section of the town center. Familiar with this area, Martin pointed out Vintage Vinyl, a record store owned and operated by two of the most unfriendly brothers ever to walk the face of the earth. Martin had been in their store on several occasions, and though he had managed to avoid their venom so far, he had heard the owners responding rudely and sarcastically to several customers, both in person and over the phone. One look at their front door, plastered with signs warning against cell phones, dogs, unattended children, and ice cream, and you knew that this was not an accommodating merchant.

  “Why do you shop here if the owners are so rude?” Laura asked.

  “It’s entertaining. I never know what they might say next. And I’m kind of hoping that they come after me someday. I’m ready for them.”

  “Ready for them?”

  “I’ve practiced my one-liners and zingers. I’m ready to put them in their place and make a scene. Someday I’m going to walk in there, yapping on my cell phone, with a melting ice cream cone in one hand, two dogs in the other, and trailed by three random kids from the street. I can’t wait to see what they say.”

  “I’d like to be there when you do.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Martin assured her.

  Laura smiled.

  As they crossed Main Street, Laura reached out and took Martin’s hand, a move that startled him so much that he dropped his ice cream in the middle of the street. He paused in the crosswalk, staring at the upside-down cone before Laura tugged on him, offering to share the rest of hers with him.

  It was a moment that Martin would never forget.

  As they turned past the town hall and began walking down the hill toward the parking lot, Martin suddenly grew panicky. They were still holding hands, which Martin could barely believe, and now he wasn’t sure what might happen next. Should he walk Laura to her car, or should they separate at the most logical spot, halfway between the two vehicles? Should he open her car door? Could he, considering he didn’t have the key? Should he attempt to kiss her? The last girl that he had kissed had been Katie Neelon, a girl who had been working at Dunkin’ Donuts around the same time that Martin was employed there. She had just graduated from college, was a couple of years younger than Martin, and was working the overnight shift while trying to find a teaching job in the local school district. Katie had asked Martin out after the two had spent an evening together in the drive-thru, pouring coffee for bleary-eyed plow drivers and scores of young people who disregarded the foot and a half of snow that had already fallen on the roads. After an evening of chili dogs at Doogie’s and a movie (Four Weddings and a Funeral, which Martin had adored and Katie had not), he had managed an awkward kiss on Katie’s parents’ doorstep. Martin could remember feeling the same way then as he did now. Unsure. Afraid. Desperately wanting to do the right thing. He wanted to kiss Laura, that was certain, but he was also terrified about where that first kiss might lead.

  More uncertainty, to be certain.

  Fortunately for Martin, Laura didn’t leave the decision making to him. Still holding his hand, she led him past his Subaru and over to her Honda Accord. Stopping beside the door, she turned, took hold of his other hand as well, and smiled. “Thank you for a delightful evening, Martin. And thank you for keeping me out of trouble with my friend. You really saved the day.” And with that, she leaned in and briefly kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks,” was all that Martin could manage at first, but after Laura giggled at his response, he added, “I mean, thank you for a terrific evening, too. I mean it. I’m not just repeating.”

  “You’re welcome,” Laura said with a smile and kissed him one more time on the same cheek. The two exchanged phone numbers and a promise to speak in a day or two. Martin wasn’t quick enough to open the car door for Laura, but once she was inside, he closed it for her before attempting to walk back to his car with as much ease as he could muster.

  It had been one of the finest days of his life.

  Sitting in front of his computer later that night, he began to type.

  The means by which Matthew Stock had managed to become trapped inside the home of Jane and Tom Casper was a long story, and one worth telling, but for the moment, Reader, suffice it to say that Matthew Stock was hunkered down behind a couch w
hile the homeowner, the aforementioned Tom Casper, was crunching on Doritos and watching television. Little did he know that our hero sat less than three feet away, desperately awaiting an opportunity to escape.

  Martin had kept his promise and begun his novel.

  Martin’s excitement over his dinner with Laura had begun to wane during the week. Though his enthusiasm had reached an all-time high during the date, the return to his environment and routines had brought a sobering reality to his circumstances. In thirty-six hours, he was to attend a surprise party for one of his longtime clients, and his date was a woman whose house he had entered without her knowledge. Though he was enjoying the new sense of adventure, he was also becoming concerned about where these changes might lead. Chaos led to unpredictability, and Martin’s life was becoming more chaotic than he could remember it ever having been.

  Yet at the same time he had managed to help his second client, and within a week of the first. His risky, improbable plan had worked, reinforcing the feeling that he was doing the right thing.

  Still, he had violated several rules to do so, and he feared that this would eventually catch up to him.

  Despite this growing sense of dread, he couldn’t stop thinking about Laura. She had called him the evening after their date, and after some small talk, they had decided upon a place to meet about an hour before the Ashley party. They were going to stop for a drink at a local pub about a mile from the Water’s Edge and then head over to the party together. Martin had inquired about what he should wear and was given an inadequate “whatever you want will be fine” answer. He had decided upon a collared shirt, cotton slacks, and sports jacket. He was still debating the tie.

  Martin had even called Jim for advice, turning to his friend as he had many other times in his life when in need. Unlike Martin’s life, Jim’s had followed a more traditional trajectory complete with loving parents (still alive and married), four years of college, a well-paying job, a marriage, and children. Though he hadn’t suffered through the family difficulties and low-paying jobs that Martin had been forced to endure, Jim had sympathized with his friend to a degree that Martin had found amazing, and in many ways had done more to help him survive than his parents ever had. When Martin was twenty-three and unable to acquire a credit card, it was Jim who ordered a second card, adding Martin as an authorized user and allowing his friend to use it in case of an emergency. On his twenty-first birthday, Martin had been struck by a car in the parking lot of a Boston Market, and Jim had been the first one to arrive at the hospital, a full thirty minutes ahead of his parents. But in Martin’s mind, Jim’s most remarkable quality was his willingness and ability to forge friendships with the most diverse group of people imaginable. His Sunday afternoon picnics (one of Jim’s summertime staples) were populated with business executives and convenience store clerks, accountants and janitors, flag football teammates and Dungeons and Dragons aficionados. Though none of these people had become Martin’s friends, he had gotten to know a few of them through Jim and had found them to be warm, kind people for the most part. Jim was willing to befriend people from all walks of life, and Martin felt incredibly fortunate to have such a friend.

  Unfortunately, Martin had been unable to turn their phone conversation in the direction of Laura, sidetracked by Jim’s concern about his daughter’s recent bout with pneumonia. In truth, Martin wasn’t sure how to even begin talking to his friend about a girl. When he was younger, Jim had tried to set Martin up on several dates, but all had ended in awkward handshakes and the purposeful avoidance of eye contact. Probably sensing his friend’s frustration, Jim had eased off on the attempts to find Martin a girlfriend, and conversation on the subject of women had dried up entirely. Springing questions about Laura on Jim at this point therefore seemed impossible. As a result, Martin was on his own in regard to his plans on Saturday. He was flying blind and dreading every minute of it.

  Since his date, Martin had made every effort to return to his normal routine, to bring some semblance and structure back to his life.

  Even that had been difficult.

  Though his work routines were falling back into place, Martin had not returned to the Quaker Diner since meeting Laura, unsure of how to handle his relationship with Jillian. Though he knew that the bond that he and Laura had was already more significant and meaningful than anything that he had with Jillian, he couldn’t bring himself to reenter the diner knowing that he might have to lie to the girl who had been serving him eggs and referring to him as “honey” for years. Part of him wanted to sit down on his stool and tell Jillian everything he knew about Laura, but he feared that such news would come as a devastating blow to the girl he still cared about a great deal.

  Even more difficult, Martin had been forced to locate a new restaurant for breakfast and had yet to settle on a replacement (albeit temporary, he hoped) for the Quaker Diner. Though places like Mo’s Diner, Effie’s Place, and even Friendly’s had served decent meals, none had possessed the charm of the Quaker.

  Thankfully, work routines had been easier to reestablish.

  Martin had scheduled makeup visits for the clients that he’d missed while preserving the Ashley party, and he fell right back into his regular schedule with refreshing ease. A week of uneventful work leading up to the party was what he’d hoped for, but this hope was dashed this morning when he arrived at the home of Sophie and Sherman Pearl of Newington. It was just over a month ago that Martin had acquired the diamond earring from Sophie Pearl’s jewelry box, but a lot had happened since that day.

  It seemed like ages ago.

  Martin was jogging across the park adjacent to the Pearls’ backyard, closing in on the invisible line that separated the Pearls’ property from the park, when he saw something that caused him to stop in his tracks.

  The rear door to the Pearls’ home was slightly ajar. Not enough for the casual passerby to notice, but Martin’s attention to detail was anything but casual. The door wasn’t open, but it wasn’t fully shut either.

  Something was up.

  Martin bent over, pretending to tie his troublesome shoe while reviewing a checklist in his mind. Before parking in the lot adjacent to the tennis courts, he had driven by the Pearls’ home and confirmed that there were no cars parked in the driveway. Though the Pearls owned a two-car garage, at least one car was usually parked in the driveway overnight. Though it was possible that the Pearls had accidentally left their back door unlatched, this would be the first time in their more than nine years as clients.

  Unsure of what action to take, Martin chose to wait and watch. Entering the house on this day was now out of the question. Even if the door had been accidentally left open, any change in routine was enough reason to abort a visit. Still, Martin wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Instead, he limped about fifty feet south to a set of benches and sat down, feigning a muscle pull. While rubbing his quadriceps, he never took his eyes off the Pearls’ home.

  Martin’s patience was rewarded less than a minute later when he saw movement at the back door. A moment later a man emerged from the home, pulling the door shut behind him. Looking left and right, the man then began walking across the backyard and into the park, the same escape route that Martin would have taken had he entered the house. The man was moving with the speed of someone who wanted to move quickly but remain inconspicuous.

  Martin knew that pace well.

  For years, Martin had wondered if he would ever run into someone else in his line of work. He knew that they were out there, smash-and-grabbers for the most part, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was the only one who specialized in the business the way that he did. Being alone in his career choice, the only person on the planet operating as he did, was both an exhilarating and a lonely feeling. It allowed Martin to think of himself as an innovator, a unique, one-of-a-kind guy, but at the same time, the nature of his business forced him to remain silent on the matter.

  Without colleagues of any kind.

  Alone.

 
Perhaps.

  Considering this man’s quiet and careful exit from the house and seeming empty-handedness (no flat screen television or laptops in his arms), it appeared as if Martin might have found someone in his line of work after all.

  Intrigued, Martin decided to follow the stranger. He rationalized that knowing as much as possible about the intruder would be crucial to his continued success with the Pearls, but underneath the logic, the decision to follow the man was born primarily from a desire to know if this intruder operated his business in a way similar to Martin.

  Curiosity had its sticky grip on him like never before.

  Of course, following the man would only be possible if he had parked his vehicle in the same lot as Martin had. If the man was parked on the other side of the baseball field, or in the shaded lot below the footbridge, there wouldn’t be much of a chance of following him. He’d be in his car and driving off before Martin could even find him.

  But fortune was on Martin’s side. As the man crossed the field, less than a hundred feet from Martin’s position on the bench, he veered left toward the nearest parking lot, the same lot in which Martin had brought the Subaru to a halt less than ten minutes ago. As the man passed, Martin looked up from his crouch and stole a quick glance. He was a tall, bulky man in his late thirties or early forties, built with more muscle than fat, though a generous portion of both seemed evident. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, a long-sleeve, nondescript black T-shirt, and a baseball cap. His face was angular and featureless except for the nose, which appeared off-kilter, as if it had been broken one too many times.

  Most notably, the man looked mean to Martin, the kind of guy you would want to avoid in an alley late at night. He was big and tough and had the type of face that projected anger at all times. He moved with a confidence that made Martin wonder if he himself had ever moved with as much self-assurance.