Page 19 of You Know Why

Matheson is standing across the terminal, watching me. His expression is unreadable. It makes me want to scream. He suspects something; I’m sure of it. Why won’t he help? What is he not telling me?

“Okay,” Margot says, taking control of the situation as she always does when I’m in doubt. “Here’s what we do. You stay overnight. I’ll drive down first thing and pick you up. If he hasn’t surfaced, we can go to the police and pitch a fit.”

“Oh, you don’t have to come down. We can fly back. Or rent a car, it’s only four hours home. Or Uber, worse comes to worst.”

She shuts that idea down immediately. “Ugh, a stranger for four hours? With the kids? No, no way.”

“Good point. God, Margot, what do I tell the kids? What if he’s hurt? What if he was threatened?”

“He’s going to understand that term much better when I get my hands on him.”

My sister is taking the fear and fury on herself. Margot being angry allows me room to think more logically. I blow out a breath.

“We should stay. At least for now. I want to talk to the police, but the airport security guy said because he left of his own accord, that doesn’t exactly bolster my case.”

“Okay. I’ll make a hotel reservation for you. Someplace close to the airport, so if he comes back, they can reach you fast. You take the kids to the hotel. And ignore the airport guy. Call the Atlanta police the minute you’re settled and see if they have any other suggestions. He’s in their jurisdiction. They might be more amenable than the TSA suggests. Are the kids okay?”

“They’re hanging in there.”

It’s three in the afternoon now. The kids have to be starving. I’m starving. How I can even think of food and bodily necessities right now . . . But I am a mother, and there are little people depending on me. I have to handle their needs, and then my own. It’s in the contract.

“Text me the info. Thank you, Margot.”

“Of course. Try not to worry. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find him. And when we do, I’ll kill him. Slowly.”

“Get in line.”

We hang up, and I look at my phone, calculate the time difference between Atlanta and Dubai. Eight hours ahead; they’re probably at dinner with clients. No matter; this is too important to wait. Bob answers on the first ring.

“How’s he doing, Brook?”

“Excuse me?”

“Trey. June said he called in sick this morning. Said he was worried he might have COVID.”

This takes me a minute to process. June is Bob’s admin. Trey called her and said he was sick?

“Wait, what? He called in? Bob, he’s not sick. We were on our way to the conference in Milan.”

“Milan . . . Italy? What conference?”

“The new client you’ve assigned him? The economic conference? He’s going for you? You don’t know about this?”

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

My heart is thundering so hard I think the people walking by must be able to hear it. My voice goes up a notch.

“Bob, I think we’re having a misunderstanding. You and Pat are in Dubai, right?”

“No. We’re in the office.”

“So you didn’t get Trey an emergency passport yesterday? It came last night, by courier, so we could take this trip. He said the trip was paid for, that your office had already arranged the hotel in Milan for us.”

A heavy sigh, like I’m a madwoman he needs to calm. “Brooklyn, I know nothing about this.”

“Well, then, you’ll be very confused when I tell you our flight was rerouted at the last minute to Atlanta, and he walked out of the airport and left us here with no warning.”

“You’re in Atlanta?” he asks sharply.