Page 161 of His Surrender

He called her again. No answer.

He looked at me and tried to smile. “Traffic,” he said. “Probably traffic.”

But I saw the fear in his face.

I could feel it filling the house before either of us knew the reason. Every ordinary object became threatening.

The untouched dinner. Her coat missing from the hook. The empty space in the driveway. The phone that refused to ring.

I stand abruptly, still holding Liana. The motion makes her cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly as my voice cracks.

The sound frightens me more than the tears. I never lose control. I solve problems, but there is no solution for not knowing where Aubrey is.

No call I can make that will guarantee she is safe.

No amount of money I can spend to pull her through the apartment door.

I carry Liana into the living room and set her carefully in the playpen because I no longer trust my arms.

Then I call Aubrey again.

Voicemail.

I call again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

By the fourth call, I am no longer hearing the recorded greeting.

I am hearing the knock at our front door nineteen years ago. Three hard raps.

My father freezing in the middle of the room. His face changing before he ever opens it. Two police officers standing beneath the porch light.

One removing his hat.

I remember the way my father’s hand slipped from the doorknob. I remember knowing, instantly and completely, that nothing would ever be the same.

Aubrey’s face replaces my mother’s.

I see her in the path of a taxi. I see blood in her hair. Her coat torn. Her eyes closed.

I press both hands against the kitchen counter and bend over it, trying to drag air into my lungs.

“This isn’t happening,” I say. The words sound distant. “It is not happening.”

My phone rings. I snatch it up so quickly that it nearly slips from my hand.

It’s Sawyer, not Aubrey. I answer anyway.

“I’m coming over,” he says.

“No.”