by Todd Morgan
The car. I went to a different website and had to open the notebook. I inputted the VIN and her tag number. The bank had showed up three and a half years ago—quite a few times actually—to repossess the car. Stella had taken all of our money, I was soon after out of a job, and I still had the Jeep payment and a mortgage to make—not to mention a daughter to rear—and didn’t see why I should keep up the payments on her car. The bank was unsympathetic. My credit took a hit, but there was only so much I could do. Stella might have been on the run from the bank, but she would still have to do something with the car. Register it, sell it, or abandon it. There would be a record.
Only, there wasn’t.
That VIN had never been registered with another owner, had never been in an accident, never reported stolen or found abandoned. There was a red flag from the bank, claiming all rights to it. The car had dropped from the face of the earth with my wife.
I reached for my glass only to find it empty. I didn’t make another. I went back to the first website and flipped pages in my notebook. The familiar bitterness washed over me and I fought it back down. I couldn’t do that if I had another drink. I inserted all the information I had for Adrian Shipley. It wasn’t as extensive as I had for Stella, yet it was still a lot. Full name, last known, and social. The more you had, the easier you could narrow the search. I hit submit and got the hourglass.
Then nothing fresher than four years old. Birth certificate and marriage certificates, first to Ann Quimby, then to Margaret Hatch. Divorce certificate to Ann, nothing else with Maggie. Brief work history, closing with the Indianola County Sherriff’s Department. Adrian had more press clippings, noted for being the arresting officer on various cases. My name was next to his on several of the stories. The newspaper never told what a slimy asshole he was. Absolutely nothing I could use to track him down.
Adrian had left his car behind—along with his wife and two sons—so that wouldn’t help me. Adrian would have some idea on how to establish fresh identities and apparently had bought one for him and Stella. Yet, I couldn’t see why. He would understand the wrath of a spurned husband, but he never felt he wasn’t as good as I was. He was mistaken, though, I couldn’t see him being that afraid of me. Plus, he was always a cheap bastard and had to know the money they left with wouldn’t last long. And it wasn’t much money to start with.
I slid open the bottom drawer to the desk. I expected dust to fly out since it hadn’t been opened in years. I dug through the files and found the last bank statement. Stella had taken out four thousand three hundred and fifty-six dollars. And seventy-four cents. Leaving me with exactly one thousand two hundred and four dollars. That number didn’t make sense. True it had come in handy, but it wasn’t a game changer. It wouldn’t cover our mortgage, wouldn’t leave much after the car payments. Sarah’s insurance was from my job and she couldn’t know I would get fired in the coming weeks. Sorry, she wouldn’t know I would leave my job in the coming weeks.
I went into the kitchen and made myself a drink, using one of the big glasses.
Chapter Nineteen
Sarah clung tightly to my hand as we made our way down the carpeted aisle. She looked like a miniature doll, red dress, white stockings, tiny high heels. Her dark curls bounced on her shoulders. The pews were white with green cushions.
They were halfway back on the right side, where they always sat. Where we had always sat. Sarah and I pushed our way by pulled back knees and joined them. The gorgeous blond gave me a gorgeous smile. The kids, a young teenage boy and a fifth grade girl, grinned at our arrival, doting on Sarah. I sat beside the grumpy looking man next to the blond.
“Must be serious,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Whatever problem you have,” he said, “to get you in a church.”
“Funny, Gus. Real funny.”
Announcements were made, hymns sang. I didn’t sing, not wanting to wear out my welcome, following the words on the big screen. The last time I had been to church, we had used hymnals. They were still there, in the back of the pews, but we didn’t need them. I guess it was an improvement since I always got lost trying to read music. The preacher stepped to the podium and welcomed everyone to Chickasaw Falls Baptist and encouraged us to shake hands and hug necks. I made sure to hug Tonya real tight. My brother pretended to ignore it.
The ushers came to the front and proceeded to pass the plate. One of the ushers gave me a look. Sarah exclaimed, “G-Pop!”
He smiled and gave her a sly wink.
“Honey.” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “This is like the library. We have to be quiet.”
“You turned off your phone?”
“Yes, baby.”
The sermon was more entertaining than when I was a kid. Or maybe I wasn’t so concerned with playing ball or trying to sneak a look up Hannah’s skirt. Tonya’s legs, though, were very nice. The message was about Ruth and how she had stood by her mother-in-law. No doubt, that would take a special woman. Sarah fidgeted until Tonya gave her a pen and she began scribbling on the bulletins.
The invitation came and a handful of people went to the altar to pray. My opinion of my mother-in-law hadn’t changed so I stayed in place. The preacher closed with a final prayer and released us—until evening services.
“You coming for lunch?”
“Tonya cooking?”
“You kidding me? We’re picking up a bucket of chicken.”
Sarah tore off through the church, Sonny and Grace chasing after. I bent down to pick up her masterpiece. “That, I can do.”
***
“Hello.”
“It didn’t work.”
“Melvin?”
“Yeah. It didn’t work.”
“What didn’t work?”
“I sent her flowers and a love letter and gave her some time. She still won’t talk to me.”
“When did you send the flowers?”
“Friday.”
“It’s only been a couple of days. You—“
“She refuses to take my calls.”
“—have to give her more time.”
“I can’t go on like this.”
“You’ve put her through a lot. You gotta give her a chance to sort it all out.”
“You think it will work?”
“Maybe.”
“I can’t get a divorce, Beason. I can’t live without her.”
***
“Daddy! I didn’t want to leave!”
“You told me, honey. About a million times.”
“I was having fun.”
“We stayed for two hours.”
“Why didn’t we stay for a hundred hours?”
“Because, baby, daddy has a surprise for you.”
“What?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
I checked her in the rearview. Sarah had on her serious face, her negotiating face. So much like her mother.
“We could pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
“Pretend you didn’t tell me and it would still be a surprise.”
I laughed. There had always been something special about Sunday afternoons. I knew it had to be mental, but the day even looked different. High clouds among the blue sky, the temperature gradually dropping. A day set aside for family, a day to kick back and watch football games you didn’t care about as the children played. A day I had ignored for too long.
I pulled off the highway into a solid middle class neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood factory workers moved into thirty years ago and settled in happily for the rest of their lives. Brick ranch after brick ranch. Well kept yards. Dogs and kids playing in the street. A life Stella never would have been contented with.
I turned into a driveway not unlike the others and killed the motor. “We’re here.”
“MeeMaw’s house? Yea!” She fumbled with the belt and I walked around the Jeep to help her from the car seat. Sarah ran across the yard to the front door. For once, I had the foresi
ght to pack play clothes, a miniature sweat suit, so I wouldn’t have to stay on her about keeping clean.
The door opened, joy and shock filling my mother-in-law’s face. She bent down and hugged Sarah tight. Sarah slipped past her into the house, squealing as she went.
“What’s the occasion, Beason?”
“Call it a peace offering.”
Felicia eyed me warily, awaiting further explanation.
“I need to talk to you about Stella.”
Felicia stepped onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “Stella? What about her? Have you heard from her?”
“No. I’m looking for her.”
The suspicion remained, hardened even. “Why now? After all these years?”
“Because Sarah asked me to.”
She nodded, accepting it.
I took a deep breath. “Do you know where she is?”
Felicia crossed her arms. There was little of her that she passed on to her daughter. Deep lines, an unhappy face, the same green eyes and blond hair. Maybe she had given her more than I had given her credit for. Stella could have turned into this woman in thirty years. “I told you I didn’t know where she went.”
“Yes,” I said. “You did.”
She thought about it. “You don’t believe me.”
“No, I didn’t. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why now? What’s changed?”
“Because I’ve started looking for her and I haven’t found a trace. And I’m good at what I do.”
“Why would I lie to you? For so long?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it a lie. I just figured Stella told you to keep me in the dark. That she didn’t want me to find her.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“Of course not.”
“Look, Felicia, if she doesn’t want us to know, I can live with that. I have lived with that—for four years. I only need something I can tell my daughter. Her daughter.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t talked to her since the day she disappeared.”
I cocked an eyebrow. This was news to me. “You talked to her that day?”
“On the phone. She was on her way to work. She said nothing like a long goodbye. Only that she was planning on having lunch with a…friend.”
The bitterness I had kept down overflowed me. “Like mother, like daughter.”
Before she could reply, the door opened, a graying hunched over man holding the knob. “Beason.”
“Orrin.”
“Sarah wants ice cream. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
He started to close the door, sensed the tension between his wife and I. “What’s going on?”
“Beason is looking for Stella.”
“About time,” Orrin muttered.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Felicia was telling me about her daughter’s affair.”
Orrin stiffened. “No need for all that.”
“There is if I want to find her.”
“Beason thinks I may be responsible for her leaving him.”
“How could you possibly be responsible?”
“Because Stella learned at the feet of the master.” The heat filled me, anger I had buried for so long bursting free. Anger at Stella—and her parents. “Because she watched her mother cheat on her father for years and thought that was the way the world was supposed to work.”
“Beason—“
“You’re not blameless here either, dad. You put up with it instead of taking a stand.”
“Is that right?” Orrin’s shoulders arched back, fire in his eyes. In all the years I had known him, I had only seen the meek, weak, side of him. “And how does that make us different?”
“When I found out,” I said through gritted teeth, “I confronted her.”
“What did you do, Beason? Did you file for divorce? Threaten to move out? Nothing,” he spat, “you did nothing.”
“I had a daughter to raise.”
“And I didn’t?”
I pointed a finger at his chest. “You put up with it for years.”
He smiled, a nasty, ugly smile. “And you didn’t?”
“What?”
“You spent all that time traveling the world playing soldier, didn’t you wonder where your wife would go for fun? For comfort? For companionship? And then you come back and turn a blind eye. You knew she was still stepping out.” He stopped, looking at his wife. “A husband always knows.”
The righteous indignation drained away. It hurt to admit that he was right, that I had known all along. I never questioned her lame excuses, obviously false alibis, mysterious late nights working. The suspicious phone calls. And I let her get away with it because I didn’t want to lose her—until the day before she left, when it had to practically slap me upside the head to get my attention.
“We’re a lot more alike than you think.”
***
I left Sarah with her grandparents, promising to return in a couple of hours, and drove away—ran away—the truth tearing at my soul. All those years I had spent feeling superior to meek, weak Orrin Maynard, taking whatever his wife decided to dish out. While I pretended to be the perfect husband. I took it, that truth, and did the only thing I knew how to do. What I had always done. I buried it.
I went across town, turning into a neighborhood much like the Maynard’s. Maybe fifteen years newer, brick ranches, but also some split-levels, two story homes scattered in. A few kids and fewer dogs. I pulled into the driveway of a beige brick home, a little smaller than the others. Three bed, two baths, a combo living room/dining room. Wild onions had taken over the yard, sprouting amongst the brown lawn, thick hedges in desperate need of clipping.
I rang the bell and a few moments later it was swung open by a short woman in jeans and a sweater. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Beason.”
“Hey, Maggie.” She had put on weight since I had last seen her. “How you doing?”
Margaret Shipley shrugged. “I’m getting by. Want to come in?”
“The boys home?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe we should talk out here.”
She nodded and stepped out on the porch. Her feet bare, but she didn’t seem to notice the cold concrete. “Have you heard something?” she asked, hesitation in her voice. And something deeper. Dread, fear.
I shook my head. “I was hoping you had.”
“Not in four years. Not a phone call or even a birthday card.”
“I’m sorry.”
Maggie chewed her bottom lip. “I still don’t see how he could do that. How they could do that. Just walk away as if none of us ever existed.”
“I know.”
“Selfish, but I never expected him to be that selfish. He could always be a prick.”
I kept the smile from my face. Barely. “I know.”
“Are you looking for them?”
“Stella, though, they may still be together.”
“I doubt it.”
“So do I.”
“Why are you looking now?”
“My daughter is growing up. She’s asking questions.”
She nodded. “It must be hard.”
“No harder than on you.”
She wrapped her arms across her chest, hugging herself. “I’m not sure. At least they are old enough to remember their father.”
“That might make it worse.”
“It might.”
We stood on the porch, looking out into the street, sharing our unique pain.
“Has anything…come up?”
“No. One day he kissed me as he left for work and never came back. Never gave me a note or took the time to explain anything. But he had time to empty the checking account on his way out of town.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Stella left twelve hundred and four dollars.”
�
��I don’t expect it did you much good.”
“No. How much did he take?”
“Twenty-eight hundred dollars.”
“That’s all?”
“Beason, he was a cop and I was a stay-at-home mom. How much do you think we had?”
“I’m having a hard time seeing the money they took lasting long.”
“I guess he got a job.”
“No record of it.”
She looked up at me. “There’s not?”
“No activity on his social security number.”
“Hmm.” Margaret thought about it. “You know, he never touched his 401k.”
“His 401k?”
“It wasn’t much, like ten grand, but he never tapped it. He would have had to pay a penalty on it, but if he was desperate enough…”
I hadn’t thought of that. I had been getting statements from Stella’s 401k for years. And dropped them straight in the garbage. “You have access to his account?”
“Access, but I can’t get to it. I have his passwords, but it’s all in his name.”
“You tried?”
She smiled sheepishly. “A few times. They need his signature and I could never get it right.”
“You know,” I said, smiling along with her, “I used to sign stuff for him all the time. Reports and warrants, stuff like that. You want me to give it a try?”
“Would you?”
“Least I could do.”
***
“Who you got and how much?”
“Andy? This is Beason.”
“Hey, Beason. Who you got and how much?”
“Providence.”
“Providence doesn’t have a football team. Not professional anyway. Look, it’s the playoffs, this is my busiest time of year. I don’t have time for bullshit.”
“Busier than Bowl Week?”
“It’s a month now. Not that busy, but still busy.”
“Busier than Alabama/Auburn?”
“Nothing touches that. What do you want?”
“That little guy with Big Bird? He talks funny and is from Providence, RI. Up near Boston.”