by Sara Rosett
Before the storm, the neighborhood of brick starter homes had neatly trimmed yards dotted with small trees anchored with cords to guide their growth. After the tornado plowed through, it looked as if beaters from a giant mixer had whipped through the streets, flinging wood, flipping cars, and tossing small trees into tumbled disarray. Street signs and light poles angled on the ground, an oversized game of Pick-up Sticks. At least he knew Stephanie had been safe at school during the storm where there had only been heavy rain. The really severe weather had been isolated here.
He was reaching for another chalky tablet when he saw the car parked on the side of the road at the point where the road rose and became a bridge over Deep Creek, the normally small stream of water that the nearby neighborhood had been named after. The car, an older model blue Honda Accord, looked abandoned. He rolled slowly to a stop behind the car, watching for movement, but there was none. He called it in. Nothing unusual came up. The car was registered to Jackson Henry Andrews.
Isles stepped out of the cruiser and approached cautiously. The rain had stopped, but the clouds lingered, tinting the scene gray. The wind was hardly ever calm on the plains of Texas and today was no exception. The stubby strands of grass at the edge of the road were pressed flat from the steady, cool breeze. The fresh scent of ozone lingered in the air.
Deep Creek Commons was the only housing development along this state highway. Officer Isles didn’t doubt if the economy ever picked up there would be more. The area was positioned for growth—there was a new shopping center about a mile to the west and the Interstate beyond it—but, for now, his cruiser and the blue Honda were the only cars on the lonely stretch of road. As he neared the car, he could hear the gurgle of swiftly moving water. No one was in the car. There wasn’t much to see inside—a cell phone, a few paper napkins, sunglasses, and some playing cards were on the front passenger seat. A pair of golf shoes rested on the backseat.
Isles walked around the car and stood near the bridge’s guardrail, looking down into the rushing water. The creek was swollen from the heavy rain and had risen above its normal banks. There were two deep indentions in the wet grass near the road. The curved slashes of dark earth, about the size of the heel of a large shoe, showed through the green. Isles surveyed the horizon, recreating the path of the storm in his mind.
With a grim look, he leaned over, squinting to study the dark recess under the bridge. There were squares of concrete on either side of the creek, supports for the bridge. His visual search widened, taking in the creek. He spotted the jacket first.
It was dark gray and hard to see, almost submerged under the water, but the lining was shiny and stood out from the opaque branches of the small bush it was caught on. The branches clung to the sloping hillside, barely above the water. The creek tugged on the bush, causing the leaves to tremble and pulse.
He stepped over the guardrail and edged down the steep incline, careful to stay away from the footprints he’d spotted. He saw a shoe, a men’s dress shoe, caught in a small eddy farther downstream, spinning on its endless track in a bend of the creek.
Dallas
Tuesday, 9:48 p.m.
ZOE was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Two dozen double chocolate chip cupcakes were cooling on the island while she vigorously stirred a bowl of mint-flavored frosting. Zoe enjoyed baking, especially cupcakes. Helen said it wasn’t a hobby, more like a fetish. Helen didn’t understand why Zoe would want to spend two hours in the kitchen in the evening instead of watching television or reading a magazine. Of course, Helen never had any qualms about eating any of the cupcakes Zoe made.
Zoe dipped her finger in the icing for a taste before she put the bowl on the counter and headed for the front door, wondering why Helen would come to the front door instead of the kitchen door. With the sharp, minty flavor still slightly stinging her taste buds, she swung open the door. “Decided you couldn’t wait until tomor—” Her words died away as she realized that it wasn’t Helen standing in the bright glare of the porch light. Instead, there were two men in uniforms, one tall with a ruddy complexion and the other darker and more thickset. The shorter man asked, “Zoe Hunter?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning.
“Hello, ma’am,” There was an air of tension about them that suddenly made her nervous and worried at the same time as the man said, “I’m Officer Clements with the Texas Highway Patrol. This is Officer Isles. May we come inside? We have some information about Jack Andrews.”
“Umm...I don’t know why you’d want to talk to me. He’s my ex-husband. We’re not together anymore.”
“Does he have any other next of kin?” Officer Clements asked.
“No,” Zoe said slowly. “Only a distant cousin in Vegas.” She gripped the door handle. “Is something wrong? Has something happened?”
“If we could step inside,” Officer Clements asked again.
“Of course.” Zoe nodded jerkily and stepped back. The men removed their hats as they filed into the narrow hallway. Zoe closed the door and they followed her into a small living room. She sat on the corner of the rickety black couch that Jack had owned before they got married. She’d paired it with some chairs upholstered in a black and white patterned fabric and bought two end tables at a garage sale in a burst of newlywed nesting, but no one ever came in the living room, and a thin layer of dust had settled on the tables.
A single black and white print, a cityscape at night, was propped up on the wall behind the chairs. She had taken it down months ago when she started painting the room a robin’s egg blue in an effort to brighten up the dull room. Jagged swaths of blue covered half of one wall. The rest were still white. Zoe had never noticed how depressing the print was—the city looked bleak and sort of ominous.
As they sat down, the officer with the ruddy complexion, Officer Isles, spoke. “When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?”
“He was here around noon or twelve-thirty. He was upstairs. He stops by here to shower after his run.” She saw the glance they exchanged and she explained their living arrangements.
“Did you see him?” Isles asked.
“No, but that’s not unusual. We don’t check in with each other.”
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Zoe shrugged. “A couple of days ago, I guess,” she hedged, thinking of the snippy words they’d exchanged about the electric bill. So what if she’d paid her half a day or two late? Just because the electric company said they were going to turn everything off, didn’t mean they were going to do it. The first notice was only a warning. She’d paid it. She couldn’t understand why he got so worked up. She’d even sweet-talked the customer service guy into removing the late payment notation from their account, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
“We don’t keep tabs on each other...” At this point in a normal conversation, she would have made some flip remark about their living arrangements. Maybe a joke about how they should have a line down the middle of the house to divide the territory, but this wasn’t that kind of conversation. Zoe nervously pressed her hands together in her lap.
Officer Isles said, “We’re sorry to inform you that his car was found abandoned after the storm. It was on the side of Highway 375, above a bridge. There was no sign of him, but a men’s suit jacket and a dress shoe were found in the creek, which was moving swiftly. Emergency dispatch received a call today, after the storm. A man was spotted struggling in the water downstream.”
Zoe felt as if she were listening to a conversation in another language. She heard the words, but couldn’t seem to process the meaning. She leaned forward, noticing how tired the officer’s eyes looked. “Are you saying it was Jack? He was in the water? I don’t understand.”
“It looks like he was caught in the storm,” Officer Isles explained, his voice gentle. “A tornado touched down near there early this afternoon. He would have been able to see the funnel cloud from the road. We’re theorizing that he pulled over and sought shelter un
der cover of the bridge, then slipped into the water and was carried downstream. We’ve been searching the creek for several hours, and there’s no sign of him. No record of his admission to any local hospital, either.”
Zoe lost track of what he was saying for a few moments, thinking of the time she’d spent in the hall bathroom after the sirens sounded. Jack had been out in the storm? Not Jack. Nothing could have happened to Jack. “Are you sure?” she said, not realizing she was interrupting Isles. “Jack’s not the kind of person who does things like that...he’s careful and so...so safe. He wouldn’t be out driving in the storm. He always does everything right. He’s got an emergency kit in his car. He always drives the speed limit, stuff like that.”
That driving the speed limit trait had annoyed Zoe to no end. Everyone speeds on the Beltway—everyone, but not Jack. He’d putt along as cars doing eighty or ninety whipped around him.
“We can’t confirm it was him, but there haven’t been any other reports of missing persons. The search had to be called off because there’s another storm moving into the area, but it will resume in the morning.” Zoe searched his face then glanced at the other man. Both were solemn and sympathetic.
She took a deep breath, then said, “If that was him in the water, do you think...is there a chance...”
The men exchanged a quick glance. “We can’t say for sure right now. We’ll know more in the morning.” There wasn’t even a glimmer of hope in their expressions. Zoe closed her eyes. They thought Jack was dead. A vise seemed to close around her chest.
Isles continued, “Getting out of the car and under the bridge was probably the safest thing to do. You don’t want to be in a car when a tornado touches down. Do you have someone you can call to come stay with you tonight?”
Zoe didn’t respond right away. He repeated the question.
“What? Oh. Right, um...” She’d almost said, it was okay, Jack would be back later from wherever he was...his dinner or business meeting with Connor. The response was so automatic, so natural, that she opened her mouth to say it, but then realized he wasn’t coming home. That thought was like a physical blow that made it hard to breathe. It felt exactly like that time when she missed her footing on the tree house ladder when she was a kid. She’d slipped and fell hard, landing on her back and knocking all the air out of her.
The next few moments were fuzzy and dark spots clouded her vision. But then the smudges evaporated and she was in the dismal front room with its clash of white and blue paint. The officer who hadn’t been talking brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. Finally, she tuned back into what they were saying. A friend or relative. Someone to stay with her. “Yes. My friend Helen. She’ll come over.”
Dallas
Wednesday, 5:36 a.m.
IT was still dark as Zoe stood on the shoulder of Highway 375, staring down into the gurgling water below the bridge. Helen was going to be a teensy bit irritated with her when she woke up and found Zoe’s note on the kitchen island. Zoe knew it wouldn’t last long. Helen was too good-natured, and she would be more worried than angry, but Zoe had to get out of the house. She needed to be alone. Helen had arrived within fifteen minutes after Zoe called her last night. She’d convinced Zoe to drink some tea then ordered her to go to bed. Helen must have slipped a Tylenol PM or something stronger into Zoe’s tea because she’d slept deeply.
She’d crept into the living room at five and found Helen asleep on the uncomfortable black couch and the kitchen spotless, all dishes washed and the cupcakes iced and put away. Helen was quite good at looking after people—it was one of her favorite things to do, actually. So Zoe knew if she didn’t get out of the house before Helen was awake, Helen would be ordering her to rest and cooking her food all day. In short, hovering over her, which wouldn’t do. Helen had a job to go to and Zoe had already kept her away from home all night.
There were voices and activity downstream to her left, but she hardly noticed them. Her attention was focused on the sharp slope of ground and the water. This was where he went to wait out the storm. The island of concrete that supported the pilings of the bridge looked small and steep. It would be hard to keep your footing, especially with the rain and wind lashing around. She searched the grass for marks, tufts that maybe he’d pulled up as he tried to grab for a handhold, but the grass near the water was smooth and bent over from all the rain.
Had it been quick? Had he known what was happening or was he pulled under immediately? Zoe knew he’d fought. If he’d been conscious, he would have kicked and wrestled with the current. Her throat felt tight.
She’d hoped if she saw it herself, she might see something that would give her some optimism, but the water was still high and moving at a rapid clip. If he’d gone in unexpectedly, or hit his head...
A twig swept by, rocking back and forth on the current. Her gaze followed it under the bridge, until she couldn’t see it anymore. She let out a ragged breath and turned away from the water.
She swiped at her eyes and realized she was cold. The brisk wind was buffeting her suede jacket and pushing the fabric of her weathered jeans against her legs. She paused to lean down and look in the window of Jack’s Honda. There were a few odds and ends—napkins and sunglasses—on the passenger seat, but it was his phone that she focused on. He always had that phone with him. He was constantly connected. He could text faster than she could type. At first, she’d thought his dedication to the business was admirable and his speedy texting was impressive, but gradually the traits became irritating. He was always firing off texts, during dinner, while he was jogging, and even at night. His phone was on the nightstand beside the bed—or at least it had been when they were married. Jack had said it was because they were a start-up business and things would eventually calm down, but when Zoe woke up one night and found him replying to a text at three a.m., she’d decided that day might never come.
She turned away sharply, a wave of sadness breaking over her. She didn’t want to look at that abandoned phone. The rush of emotion surprised her. She was divorced. She and Jack had moved on. They weren’t even part of each other’s lives now, not really. She felt a sharp pain somewhere in the region of her chest as she remembered their last conversation. Utility bills were all they had to talk about.
She went back to her car and watched the movements of the people downstream. As the sun rose, the shadowy figures slowly resolved themselves into men moving along the creek banks, people in boats, and figures in scuba gear. Her phone rang several times. She ignored it. A helicopter circled overhead. Gradually, the searchers moved downstream, farther way from her. She wondered what they would do when they reached the point where Deep Creek emptied into Humbolt Lake. It wasn’t that far away. Less than a mile. Would they stop then? Zoe thought a complete search of the massive lake would be nearly impossible. The people receded in front of her almost as if they were being carried downstream, becoming smaller and harder to see. There was no change in their movements, no excited calls or hurried gestures.
She decided to leave when a tow truck rumbled up and parked in front of Jack’s Honda. She couldn’t watch anymore. She stopped and talked to an officer. She showed him her I.D. and told him she was Jack’s next of kin. Zoe wondered how she could feel so numb and detached and yet almost achy at the same time. She told him if they needed to tow the car, they could take it to her house. She found her card from the auto service that Jack had insisted that they have.
Amazingly, it was something she’d kept up even after the divorce. Not her normal style, which was more haphazard, but the annual bill had arrived at a time when she had a little extra cash and renewing it seemed like the smart, responsible thing to do. The tow truck driver said something about impound, so she shrugged and went back to the Jetta. She pulled away from the busy scene, not really caring where the car was towed. She would sort it out later.
She drove aimlessly for an hour, until the sun was completely over the horizon and the roads became impossibly clogged with traffic. Sh
e pulled into a 7-11 and bought a coffee. It was too hot to drink, so she held it in her hands, staring at the dashboard. She needed to call Sharon and Connor. She took a cautious sip of the coffee. It was bitter and burned her tongue. She put the coffee down and picked up her phone. Five phone calls and seven text messages from Helen. Yep, she was upset.
Without listening to the messages or reading the texts, she sent a text to Helen. “I’m fine. Will call later. GO TO WORK!” Zoe hit send. Next, she brought up the number for the GRS office, but stopped before dialing. It was too early, and this wasn’t a conversation to have on the phone. As much as she disliked Connor, she should go there and tell him face-to-face what had happened.
It was a few minutes after eight when Zoe pulled into the parking lot of the office complex, thinking of the day she’d met Jack. He and Connor looked at one of the office suites she owned. The suites shared the same middle wall, and the layouts mirrored each other. Each suite had two separate offices as well as a reception area. She’d rented the suite on the left to an accountant with the unlikely name of Kiki. Jack and Connor had been looking at the suite on the right. They had been running their business out of Connor’s apartment, but it was doing so well they were looking for office space.
Connor had white blond hair, a perfectly tailored suit, was thin to the point of gauntness, and hypercritical. The carpets weren’t clean enough, the rooms were too small, and the location was too far away from downtown. He was at least six-five, and he’d looked down his long, sloping nose at her the whole time. Jack, on the other hand, had an upbeat personality and thick, dark brown hair with a bit of a wave to it, and blue, blue eyes. He was all optimistic excitement. The office was fine. Exactly the right size for a start-up and the location was the best part—they wouldn’t have to fight the traffic. He’d smiled widely and said, “It’s great. We’ll take it.”