There are plenty of places to hide, plenty of places to go to die.
If he’s here, we’ll never find him.
And yes, there is a small part of me that says he did this to himself. That he had it coming to him. That none of this would have happened if he hadn’t done what he did.
“Please, Christian,” Lily begs. “Please can we go back and look for him?”
I do it for Lily and maybe to assuage my own guilt. I make a U-turn, go back to the parking lot and park. Together Lily and I walk the ten miles of trails. It takes hours. When we come to a bench, I make her sit down and catch her breath and rest. She shouldn’t be exerting this much energy, and again I worry about the baby. I worry that this will be the thing that makes her miscarry. If that happens, I will kill Jake Hayes myself if he isn’t already dead.
We look for any sign of Jake, so that later, when we leave solemn, empty-handed and alone, we can at least say that we tried.
NINA
I wake up Thursday morning groggy and with a headache. I shower and even as I step out of the shower, I feel warm, sweaty, feverish. I’m not myself because I drank too much last night and because, despite a bottle of wine, despite being unconscious for six hours, it didn’t translate to a good night’s sleep. I’m not rested. I feel like shit. I don’t bother with breakfast because my stomach is off and my nerves are completely frayed. I run through a drive-through on the way into work to get coffee because in my fraught state, I left mine at home, and I won’t get through the day without caffeine.
Where is Jake?
It’s all I can think about. Where the hell is Jake?
Another day and night have passed and still he isn’t home. I tried calling him. Texting. The calls go to voice mail. The phone doesn’t even ring. Around midnight, drunk, I left another message for him, which must be something like the fifth or the sixth voice mail I’ve left for him now. The message must have been completely incoherent too. I don’t know what I said exactly. I don’t know why I keep calling, but, more importantly, I don’t know why he won’t call me back. The only text I received all night came from my friend Lily, asking if I was okay and if Jake was home yet. No and no, I’d typed back with the sad face emoji, and she replied,
I’m so sorry. I’m thinking about you, Nina. Please let me know if there is anything you need or anything I can do. Anything at all. xo
I drive to school. I just happen to pull in at the same time as Ryan Schroeder, the teacher whose classroom is next door to mine. Years ago, Ryan and I were first-year teachers together. We’ve come up through the ranks together, getting tenure at the same time. I follow him around the lot, to where we usually park. Ryan pulls in first and I slide into the spot next to him. He steps out of his car, waiting on the curb for me to gather my things and get out. I wave, but he can’t wave back because he’s holding two coffees.
“Good morning,” he says as I slip out of the car, setting my coffee on top to reach into the back seat for my bag. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and slam the door.
“Good morning,” I reply. I grab my coffee from the top of the car and together we turn and walk toward the building. The students have begun to arrive en masse. At this time of day, it’s mostly the bus riders and the kids that get dropped off by their parents. The line of parents dropping off wraps around the building, spilling out onto the street, creating a bottleneck in traffic. I always feel badly for cars that get caught up in the traffic by mistake. It’s mayhem, though after school is even worse. “Rough night?” I ask, because of his two coffees.
“Only one is mine. The other is for Pam,” he says. Pam is the school secretary and a godsend.
“Sucking up again, I see,” I tease, but then I sober and say, “No, really. That’s sweet of you, Ryan.”
“She does so much for me, it’s the least I can do. You look tired,” he says, looking sideways at me. Ryan is tall and built like a basketball player. He coaches the boys’ basketball team and is the kind of teacher that everyone likes and yet who commands respect.
“I am. I didn’t sleep well,” I say, longing for a caffeine drip. I don’t know that this one cup of coffee is going to do the trick and am envious of the two in Ryan’s hands. “And,” I admit sheepishly, looking up at him, “I may have drunk an entire bottle of wine before bed. My head kills.”
“Ouch. Fun night?”
“I’ve had better.”
Ryan gets serious. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how has your mother been doing? I haven’t heard you mention her in a while.”
“The same. No worse but no better either. We went to the ophthalmologist the other afternoon and she has a biopsy coming up, on that mass the doctor found in her breast. She’s so worried about it,” I say, letting him think the bottle of wine was on account of my mother’s health.
“I bet. That’s understandable. You must be worried too.”
“I am. Very. But once we know what we’re dealing with, we can figure out how to treat it.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” he says. “But this is a lot for you to be dealing with on your own. You don’t have siblings? Anyone to share the burden?”
“No, it’s just me. My dad left us when I was six and my mother raised me alone. Growing up, it was only the two of us. We’re close as a result.” Ryan and I approach the building. As we do, he stacks one coffee on top of the other to reach out and pull the door open for me. It’s awkward and I’m sure the coffee will spill. “Let me—” I start to say, reaching out for the door myself, but he says, “Nope. I’ve got it.” He beats me to it.
“Though I don’t know that I’d call taking care of my mother a burden,” I say as he pulls open the door and I make myself as small as possible to squeeze past. “I’m happy to do this for her, but it is hard. It’s time-consuming and emotionally draining. I just worry about her so much, all the time. Thank you,” I say, about him holding the door open for me, as a call comes through on my phone. The sound of my phone ringing sets me off again. My heart starts beating faster, and I think again that it could be Jake, that Jake has finally come to his senses and is ready to talk, to forgive me. I drop back. Ryan keeps going, bringing Pam’s coffee to her in the office so that he doesn’t see at first that I’ve fallen behind. I reach into my bag for my phone. Ryan turns and notices he’s alone and he tries waiting up for me, so we can finish our conversation. “Go on without me,” I call out. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
I find my phone. I look at the display and deflate. It’s not Jake. It’s not anyone I know. The air collapses out of my lungs like from a balloon.
Before I even answer the call though, I have a foreboding feeling, a sense of doom. Something bad is about to happen but I don’t know what. It’s not seven in the morning. It’s far too early for someone to be calling with anything other than bad news. Even robocalls and telemarketers don’t call this early. I step back outside the building for privacy, scooting past kids in the door, going the opposite way of traffic like fish swimming upstream. I clear my throat and answer the call.