Missing

Chapter 1

Sara disappeared in the summer, right after our first hundred-degree day.

The new central air conditioner had been working nicely when we got home from work that morning, and we took a moment together to breathe in the cool air. I started moving around the kitchen, setting up breakfast, but Sara just stood still. Closed her eyes and breathed slowly, in and out, in and out.

I should've known then.

But I was caught up in the delicate procedure of scrambling eggs, so I didn't notice. I didn't notice the way she held Bruno close, murmuring quietly into his ear. Didn't notice how even the dog seemed to realize something was different.

We ate breakfast together, talked about her first week back on the job. She smiled when I smiled, and she ate when I ate. I remember thinking there was something missing, so I grabbed the salt shaker off the counter.

I worked on a research paper after breakfast, while Sara watched a cooking competition show on television.

"Reality TV isn't reality at all," she said to herself at one point. I chuckled, thinking she was joking.

She wanted to make love before bedtime. I reminded her what the doctor had told us about her injuries and the healing process, but she kept reaching for me over and over, desperation in her eyes.

"Just once, please, just once."

After my final "No, Sara," she curled up on her side of the bed and cried. Bewildered, I turned out the light and held her gently. She dug her fingers into my side and wet my shirt with her tears.

I should have known.

I awoke around four to the sound of Bruno whining. Blinking blearily, I stumbled out of bed and opened the door to the backyard. But he stayed put, staring at me and whining low in his throat.

"Breakfast isn't till six," I reminded him. He cocked his head and whined again. "Fine," I sighed.

Sara had convinced me to start getting vegan dog food, despite my protests that dogs weren't meant to be vegetarians. Bruno watched me pour the green kibble into his bowl, then scratched at the floor with his paw.

"Sorry, buddy," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mama's orders." I put away the kibble bag, yawning and heading back for the bedroom. I could still hear him whining as I got into bed.

I figured I'd sneak him some chicken when I woke up. Maybe if I mixed it up with the kibble when Sara wasn't looking-

It was only then that I realized Sara wasn't in bed with me.

Dr. Grant had been very clear, after the Garden Shed Incident.

"You can't always assume the worst, Gil."

"I know," I'd replied automatically.

"If you can't find Sara, she's most likely in the yard, or out on a walk, or grocery shopping. It is not at all likely that she's been kidnapped and placed under a wrecked car."

"It happened once."

"It did happen once. But what happened on Tuesday, Gil?"

I'd just sat sullenly, annoyed that Sara had told him.

"Gil, if you can't find Sara, then there are logical steps to take. First, you check the rooms in the house. You call her name in a reasonable tone. You may check outside, calling her name again. You can try calling her cell phone. These are all rational, logical actions."

I'd sighed heavily.

"What you don't do," he'd continued, "is call in the police squad, fire department, and FBI when your girlfriend is just getting clippers out of the gardening shed."

"I didn't know she was in the-"

"It's not good for Sara, Gil." Dr. Grant had been quick to pick up on the one argument I wouldn't refute. "You need to think about what is going to impede her psychological healing. She needs her home to be safe and logical."

"Fine. I won't. fine."

I walked through the house slowly, turning on lights and trying to hear over the pounding of my heart.

"Sara?"

Bruno was right at my heels, still whining.

She wasn't in the bathroom, or the living room, or the dining room, or the kitchen, or the laundry room, or the guest room. I called her name into the backyard, using a calm, reasonable tone.

Her car was in the garage.

She wasn't in the basement, or the hall closet, or the kitchen pantry. She wasn't underneath my desk or under her desk or in my closet.

It was only when I checked her closet that I paused. Some of her clothes were missing, as was her suitcase.

"Sara?"

Her running shoes were gone, and her toothbrush was gone, and her purse was gone, and Bruno was still whining-

My hands shook as I reached for the phone. "Pick up, Sara," I muttered, dialing her cell. "Be there, be there."

We're sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.

I dialed Brass, not because he was the most appropriate person, or because I trusted him the most, but because for some reason his was the only number I could remember.

"Yeah," came his sleepy greeting.

"Sara's gone," I said, pacing and pacing and pacing. "Sara's gone, she's, Jim, she's gone."

"Okay, hold on a second," he said, sounding more alert. "Did you check the garden shed?"

"She's not here, Jim, she's gone and her purse and her shoes and her toothbrush-"

"I'll be right there." He wasn't coming because he thought she was really gone, I knew. He was coming because he was my friend and he was Sara's friend and he remembered Natalie's singing as well as I did.

I sat on the couch, waiting for him and rocking back and forth. There was a photo of us sitting on the end table. It was taken right before Sara was taken, right after I'd proposed to her. Sara was smiling and I was smiling and we were both smiling and she wasn't missing.

Sara disappeared in the summer, before we'd even gotten an autumn.