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She could have been sick. But why not say something to that effect in the note:
Hey, sorry. I have the plague. Don't want to infect the whole office. See you in two weeks.
It was the kind of silly but witty note he could see her leaving for someone who she was close to. But not to him. To him it was all Mr. Michaels and formality. She wouldn't let him see the person underneath the professional mask.
Elliott found himself canceling his lunch meeting, something he had only ever done a handful of times over the course of his entire professional career. He found her number in the employee rolodex and dialed the number, stabbing his finger into the buttons with unnecessary force. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. And it wasn't even her voice on the message, it was one of those automated ones telling you that you reached that number and to leave a message. He sighed, hanging up. He told himself to leave it at that.
But he couldn't. He called time after time, knowing full well she was probably sitting somewhere laughing at her near-stalker boss and her twelve missed calls.
It only took a few hours of not getting a return call, even after one voicemail and a text message for his frustration to take a turn toward worry. It wasn't something he recognized at first. It crept up slowly, a strange swirly feeling in the pit of his stomach that he blamed his lack of eating on. But as the work day ticked away and he fruitlessly tried to put his mind on tasks that needed his attention, it grew and spread, up to his throat which felt suddenly tight.
With a frustrated sigh, he closed the files on his desk and turned to his computer. He carefully signed into an account he never felt the need to look into before: the employee records. He brought up a search and typed in her name. Hannah Clary. Such a simple, pretty name.
The page loaded slowly, bringing up her original cover letter and application form. A list of references with notes from when Sally had called them. Her hiring paperwork complete with phone numbers and addresses. He printed the pages and walked into her office to pick up the copies from her printer.
Opening the door, he could smell a faint trace of her, soft and clean like baby powder. She had over the course of time made the space more her own. There was a spider plant and mother-in-law's-tongue on the edge of the low filing cabinet near the window. There was a black sweater over the back of her chair and single picture frame on her desk. He walked closer, picking it up. It was a heavy, silver frame in a swirling and knotted pattern. The picture was her family, he realized and wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. Three people. There was a tall man with short brown hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a strong, knowledgeable face had his arm around a woman, an older version of Hannah, all softness and long black hair. She had it twisted into a single, thick side braid. Like Hannah did that one time. Her hand was resting on the shoulder of a little girl. She was maybe five or six year old Hannah with a silly, missing-teeth grin and a chubby face. Her hair was long even then, pulled into pigtails. She wore jean shorts and a white t-shirt which was stained with what looked like paint. There were smears of red and blue up her arms and a hint of green above one of her eyebrows.
They stood in front of an old wooden town sign, painted white with blue and silver bold script lettering. Stars Landing.
Elliott was never one to think much about childhoods. He never had much of one himself. But there was Hannah, a happy, fingerpaint-covered kid with two proud-looking parents. He wondered what she had been like. A girly girl or a tomboy. Someone who spent her days inside with books and crafts or ran out with the kids in the neighborhood building forts and chasing balls. He could see her as both honestly. She had the brain of someone who read a lot. And from the looks of her father, it was an inherited trait. But there was a wild-child, hippy, carefree look to her mother that spoke of outdoors and community.
He shook his mind from his reverie and grabbed the papers from the printer tray. He told Sally to cancel his plans that he was going to be out of the office for the rest of the day. And, despite his better judgment, he drove to the home address on her employment forms.
It was a dated red-front brick building in a neighborhood just sketchy enough for him to be more aware of his surroundings but not bad enough for him to worry about his car or check for his wallet. The front door had buzzers and he tried hers twice before he realized the front door wasn't even locked. It wasn't exactly the safest place for a single, attractive woman to live.
Her apartment was a few floors up in the middle of a hallway. He knocked rapidly on her door, listening for any sounds of life inside. But there was nothing. No movement. No television. Nothing. She wasn't there.
To his right a door opened and a elderly woman with salt-and-pepper hair and keen blue eyes popped her head into the hallway. "You looking for her?" she asked, her face pinched in concern. "Who are ya? I know she don't have a boyfriend."
Elliott tried to offer a less cross face, his lip hinting upward at the side. Just enough to look friendly but not seem like he was putting on a show. "No. I'm her employer," he supplied and noticed the woman's wariness ease a bit. "I got a note that she wasn't going to be back for two weeks but she left no reason why. I was concerned."
"Ah," the woman said, stepping into the hall halfway in her lavender colored sweatpants and white sweatshirt. A small gold cross hung from her neck. "Yeah, it was weird. She's usually so quiet. But as soon as she got in last night, all I heard was noise. And then I heard her door open real early this morning. I was up, I don't really sleep much anymore. And so I got up and looked out and there she was in the hallway with a few bags and a couple cups of coffee. Looked like she was going on a road trip somewhere."
"Hmm," Elliott said, trying to sound nonchalant, "that's odd. Alright, well thanks for your time. If she comes back, please tell her to give me a call," he said, automatically reaching for a business card and handing it to her. "I just want to make sure she's alright."
But he wasn't going to wait for the nosy neighbor to phone him and tell him she had finally returned home. He needed to find her. He needed to set things straight. To get all this stuff off his mind, to get her out of his mind, so he could focus.
Without giving it much thought, he packed a bag, told Sally to cancel his plans for the next week and got in his car.
He didn't have much to go on. But a quick internet search of Stars Landing gave him the general location of a very small town in rural Pennsylvania. Chances were her parents still lived there. He couldn't imagine why one would live in a small town their whole lives and then move in their forties or fifties.
It had been well after five when he finally got onto the road. And he was in for many long, grueling hours of bright headlights ahead of him. He hit traffic as soon as he crossed over into Jersey and was stuck in bumper-to-bumper until almost eight o'clock at night.
By the time his GPS told him he needed to take a right and then a left and he would be at his destination, it was deep in the dark hours of morning. He cursed, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes and following the instructions. Then he saw it. The same white sign with blue and silver writing.
Welcome to Stars Landing.
He worried, perhaps a bit too late, what the hell he was thinking. He should have found a hotel in one of the busier towns he had passed through. He certainly wouldn't be finding Hannah at that hour. What were the chances that a town like this had a place open that he could stay at?
He had been driving through hills and fields for hours before even pulling into Hannah's hometown. He hadn't been prepared for how small of a town this was. It was straight out of 1930's rural America. There was a main street which, he noticed with a laugh, was called Main Street. On each side were a few small mom-and-pop businesses: a diner, small market, book store, bar, and others. All long dark, making the town look eerie and abandoned.
He wasn't used to finding things closed. Everywhere he frequented he could find convenience stores and restaurants open all night.
He drove a few moments, passing old historic buildings, perfectly up kept. A library. A museum. Small town things in these grand old structures. Then he saw a light ahead, down a bit from all the other places, settled grandly on a corner. An inn. With the lights on.
Elliott parked his car, but left his bags, expecting to find a locked door. The building was falling into slight disrepair, but it was gorgeous, an old Victorian house with wrap around porches on both levels. Its white paint was chipping as was the green paint on all the shutters. There were window boxes overflowing with white and red flowers under every single window.
Elliott turned the door and found it unlocked and it opened with a chime of a bell. He stepped into the main entrance, met immediately by a large wood staircase in front of him and a sitting room to his left decorated with faded chaise lounges and captains chairs. A fire was still burning in the fireplace. To his right was a reception area, a large boxed-shaped area, open only slightly on one side for employees to walk in and out. The desk was large and a deep polished wood. On it was the usual fax machine and computer, land line phone and paperwork. On the wall behind was a rack with keys and a section of cubby holes full of various items- clothing, mail.
