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“No,” he says, “I don’t have any more questions for you right now. I’m calling to tell you that we’ve located your husband’s missing car.”
“Oh,” I breathe out. I don’t know what I expected Officer Boone to say, but this wasn’t it. I reach out to set a hand on the window for support, and then I lean my head against the glass, because the glass is cool and I’m feeling hot all of a sudden and dizzy.
Jake’s car. They found Jake’s car.
Officer Boone’s news is good news, but it brings no relief. If anything, it makes things worse because where is Jake if not with his car?
“Where did you find it?” I ask. Behind me, my classroom suddenly descends into chaos. I turn back, finding Ryan in the hall with me, brought out of his own classroom by the mayhem in mine. He gazes at me from a distance, and then he turns away, going to my classroom door where he stands in the open doorway, keeping watch over my students like a sentry. It works. They quiet down immediately and I’m grateful.
“At a hotel,” Officer Boone says through the phone, “in Bridgeview.”
“What is it doing there? Is my husband there? Have you found him too?”
“No. Your husband was not with his vehicle.”
A hotel. Jake’s car was found at a hotel in Bridgeview. Bridgeview is much closer to the city than where we live. As far as I know, he doesn’t know anyone who lives out that way. He doesn’t have a reason to be there. What would his car be doing in Bridgeview, and where is he if not with his car?
“Can I come get it?”
“Yes.”
I ask for the hotel’s address, but he says, “You won’t find his car at the hotel. It’s been towed.”
“Towed where?”
Officer Boone tells me that after sitting in that hotel parking lot for over seven days untouched, the hotel called to have it towed, because the car wasn’t registered to any guests of the hotel.
“Why was Jake’s car at this hotel if he wasn’t a registered guest?”
“We don’t know. We’re looking into that, Mrs. Hayes. It’s possible he registered under a different name, but we’re not certain. I have an officer headed to the hotel now. We’ll be in touch once we know more.”
“Where is the car now?” I ask.
He tells me that Jake’s car was towed and impounded. He says that I can come claim it.
“Okay,” I say, asking where the car is impounded and the officer gives me an address, which I memorize until I can write it down. “I’ll be there this afternoon,” I say. “As soon as I can.”
Ryan is watching me as I end the call with Officer Boone. I come back down the hall, feeling overwhelmed, trying to make sense of this. Ryan comes toward me, meeting me in the middle, somewhere between the endless sea of blue lockers.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his head angled, his features open and soft.
I gaze up at him. I shake my head, breathless, searching for words. When I find them I say, “The police found Jake’s car.”
“What do you mean they found his car?”
There is so much I haven’t told Ryan. The last he knows is what I told him that afternoon in the school parking lot: that Jake left me. He doesn’t know what’s transpired since, because it’s all happening so fast. “There is a lot I haven’t told you,” I say, feeling guilty, though I don’t know why. I have no responsibility to tell Ryan what’s happening with Jake. Still, I think of the last time he and I really talked about Jake, standing in the parking lot the same day I discovered the tracking device on my car, with Ryan’s warm, tender hand on my elbow and him saying to me,Then he’s an idiotabout Jake. “My husband didn’t leave me after all. I was wrong about that. Something has happened to him.”
His eyebrows pull together in concern. He tilts his head. “What do you mean something has happened to him?”
“I mean he’s missing. I’ve filed a missing person’s report with the police. The police are looking for him.”
“Oh my God, Nina. That’s terrible. Where was his car?” He reaches forward to give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. Ryan’s eyes are solicitous. They’re warm. He’s attentive, waiting quietly for me to speak, though my mind has gone to a dark place, thinking the worst if Jake has been separated from his car. Wherever he is, Jake has no money, no phone and now no car either.
“At a hotel in Bridgeview,” I say, hearing the subtle despair in my voice.
“Bridgeview?” he asks. “What was your husband doing at a hotel in Bridgeview?”
“I don’t know. The police say he wasn’t a registered guest, but that maybe he registered under a fake name.” I practically beg when I ask, “Why would someone do something like that, Ryan?”
