Missing

Chapter 6

Originally, I'd planned to take the bus. I wanted to find her; and to find her, I figured I had to think like her. So I climbed onto the first bus to San Francisco, took one whiff of the odor (an odd combination of spilled cola and sweaty feet) and stepped back off.

Surely I could think like her in my car.

I took Bruno for a walk, refilled his water bowl, grabbed my suitcase, and hit the road just before dawn. Sara had disappeared over fourteen hours earlier, and I knew the trail would already be growing cold.

The combination of fatigue and stress overtook me several hours into the trip, and I stopped at a diner out by the Mojave Airport. My waitress, an older woman named Jeanne, had a bad dye job and two runs in her stockings.

"What can I getcha?" she asked, flipping open a notepad.

"Strongest coffee you've got," I replied tiredly, opening the menu. The place served western omelets, and Texas French toast, and... dear god, chocolate chip pancakes. My mouth watered. I hadn't had chocolate chip pancakes in... well, how long had I been with Sara? Months and months of oatmeal and fruit.

Screw it.

"And a full order of chocolate chip pancakes," I added, handing her the menu. "Thank you, Jeanne."

Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped butter, drenched in maple syrup. My tongue was curling in anticipation. I'd order a tall glass of cold milk - whole milk - whenever the waitress returned. I'd pour the syrup (not drizzle, Sara, pour) until the pancakes were soft enough to be spooned up.

See what happens when you leave me, Sara? It's your own fault.

The diner was one of those establishments that seemed to think that 'ambiance' was the French word for 'yard sale junk all over the walls.' Hanging on the wall by my booth were a washboard from J. E. Smythe & Co., a framed flyer for the Ringling Bros. Circus, a Blue Devils pennant, an old tricycle, and a photo of Marilyn Monroe. Jeanne brought me a cup of coffee, and I blew on it slowly as I inventoried the walls.

The coffee smelled like hot tar. Perfect.

A woman came into the diner. She was a tall, thin brunette, and for a moment I thought it was Sara. But then I saw the miniskirt and the low-cut shirt, and I looked away.

It was one of the things that I found most jarring when Sara and I started dating: her body. Which sounds dumb, I know, because I knew she was a woman and I knew what women looked like naked. But Sara tended to wear jeans and loose tank tops. She didn't flash cleavage, and she didn't bare her legs. So the first time I saw her naked, with her hips and her breasts and her curves, I just sort of blinked at her.

For a tomboy, she sure looked like a woman.

"Here you go, hon," Jeanne said, sliding the pancakes in front of me. They looked amazing, absolutely amazing. The butter was half-melted on the stack, and the chocolate chips were shiny and smooth, sure to be gooey.

I knew Sara would tell me to send them back, to order something heart-healthy. Something with low cholesterol and high fiber. I knew she'd shake her head and remind me how well I'd done at my last physical, and how-

The pancakes tasted really good. I ate the whole stack.

After a few calls to some old colleagues, I managed to get the name and address of the bed and breakfast where Sara grew up. It was on a quiet street. The houses were far apart, and I wondered whether the neighbors just hadn't heard Sara's screams all those years.

Assuming she'd screamed.

I parked on the street and got out of the car. It was a big house, white with black shutters. It didn't look like I'd expected. It didn't look haunted.

An older woman answered the doorbell, and looked at me curiously. "Can I help you?"

"Hope so," I said, smiling. "I'm looking for a friend of mine... maybe you've seen her." I pulled out a photograph of Sara, handing it to her.

The woman looked at the photo, cocking her head. "She doesn't look familiar, sorry."

I could feel my heart stop. "You're sure? Does anyone else live here, could they-"

"It's just me," she said, apologetically. "It's possible the young lady has been in the neighborhood, but I haven't seen her. I don't leave the house much. Bad hips, you know."

I nodded numbly, thanking her and walking down the front steps. Sara wasn't here. I'd wasted ten hours; ten precious hours I could have spent making calls, or emailing her Yahoo account, or checking in with police officials in each of the cities she'd bought bus tickets for-

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

Sara had taken a cab to the bus station. That was the last movement we'd been able to track. She'd bought the tickets, yes, but how could we know that she'd taken a bus anywhere? She could have bought the tickets, hopped in a new cab, and headed somewhere completely different.

I closed my eyes, fighting the rush of panic. Sara was gone. She knew how to disappear, and she'd done so. If she'd wanted to leave me a clue, she would have.

It was hopeless. I'd lost her.

When I opened my eyes again, I noticed a man across the street, watching me.

"You okay, buddy?" he called.

I glared at him a little; I wasn't his buddy. "I'm fine."

He nodded and opened his mailbox, pulling out some envelopes.

"Hey," I called, walking toward him. "You got a second?" I'd already wasted ten hours; another minute wouldn't matter.

He shaded his eyes, watching my approach. I pulled out the photograph, handing it to him.

"Have you seen this woman?"

"Let's see," he said, fishing a pair of glasses out of his pocket. Putting them on, he peered at the photo. "Kind of looks like Sara Sidle."

My heart leapt. "You've seen her?"

"Not in twenty-something years," he said, handing the picture back to me. "She okay?"

"She's missing," I said, my hopes falling again.

"You her husband?"

"Fiancé."

He nodded. "Sara was a good friend of mine when we were kids. I lived a couple blocks over; we used to hang out all the time." He shook his head. "Hope you find her. Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

I nodded, and he started to walk away. Then a thought occurred to me.

"Hey, um-"

He turned. "Terry," he supplied.

"Terry. You got a few minutes?"