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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Joan arrived at Chloe’s house within forty minutes, despite the rush hour traffic, never having driven so fast, or so recklessly, in her entire life. Chloe was waiting for her at the front door, her cellphone in the palm of her hand, her beautiful face swollen from the nonstop parade of tears falling from her eyes.
“Where are the police?” Joan asked, ushering Chloe inside but leaving the front door open. “Did you call them?”
“They said there’s nothing they can do, that we’re not divorced or even legally separated, and that Matt’s their father, which means no crime has been committed…”
“Okay. Okay. Tell me exactly what happened. Start from the beginning.” Joan led Chloe into the living room and sat down beside her on the plum-colored velvet sectional, stepping on a stray piece of Lego and hearing it crack beneath the heel of her shoe. “Do you want some water?”
Chloe shook her head, spraying tears in both directions. “The kids were in day camp. The bus picks them up every morning and brings them home a little after three. Except this afternoon, there was no bus. I waited and waited. I was starting to get scared, thinking maybe there’d been an accident or something. So I called the camp and they told me that my husband had picked the kids up around two o’clock. And I started yelling, ‘What do you mean, he picked them up?’ and they said that they didn’t have any instructions not to let him, that the kids seemed delighted to see him, and were quite excited to go with him, that I should have phoned them if there were problems. And it’s true. I never called them. But it never occurred to me that he would do something like this…”
“Okay, okay. Slow down. Take a deep breath,” Joan advised, lifting Chloe’s hands inside her own and noting they were ice cold. “Have you spoken to Matt?”
“I’ve called his cell a million times. He’s not picking up. I called his office. They said he left early and could they take a message? I didn’t know what to do, so I called Paige.”
“She’s at a job interview.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I didn’t mean for you to have to come over…”
Joan brushed away Chloe’s concerns with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand. “You said you spoke to the police and they told you there’s nothing they can do?”
“They said that no crime has been committed,” Chloe repeated. “That under the circumstances, it’s too early to put out an Amber Alert, and that all we can do for the time being is wait. If Matt doesn’t bring the kids home by suppertime, then I should call them again and they’ll send someone over to talk to me.” Panic pushed its way through Chloe’s tears. “You don’t think he’d hurt them, do you?”
“Do you?” Joan asked, alarmed at the prospect.
Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. I mean, he has a temper, but he’s never…but I don’t know. He’s so angry. Oh, God. Oh, God. If he hurts them, I’ll die.”
“Okay, okay. Try to calm down,” Joan urged. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves here.”
“Where are they? Where has he taken them?”
“Is it possible there was anything that was arranged before you kicked him out? A birthday party or a dentist appointment?”
“No. I’m the one who always takes them to things like that. Oh, God. Why is he doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Joan said, feeling increasingly useless.
“What if he just takes off with them and disappears? What if I never see them again?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Joan told her forcefully. “Matt has a job and a life here in Boston. He’s not just going to abandon that.” She heard her phone ping in her purse. “Maybe you should call the bank.”
“The bank? Why?”
“Do you have a joint account?”
“Yes. Why? You think he’s closed it?”
“I think you should call the bank.”
“I have to find their number.” Chloe ran into the kitchen.
Minutes later, Joan heard her talking on her landline. She released a deep sigh, pushing her fine hair away from her forehead and extricating her cellphone from her purse, expecting to see a message from Paige. Instead she saw another response from Simply Pete. She opened it, then fell back against the sofa’s pillows in horror. Simply Pete had sent her a message—Just how adventurous are you?—accompanied by another photo—this one a close-up of him from the waist down, a significant bulge protruding from his skimpy, leopard-print thong. “Oh, my good God.”
“What?” Chloe asked, reentering the room.
Joan passed her the cellphone. “A romantic gesture from a would-be suitor.”
Chloe’s face filled with disgust. “What the hell is the matter with these guys? Do they honestly believe women are turned on by this sort of thing?”
