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I look at my wife, disbelieving the question I’m about to ask her. “How do you kill her?”
Miranda shakes her head. “I don’t know. George is still on that.” She looks at the cell phone in her hand. “We have a good plan, right? You think I’ll have a signal underwater?”
I can’t tell if she’s serious, but if it’s a joke, her timing has never been worse. I’m too worried about her to find anything funny right now. “Well, does the plan depend on you having a signal underwater?”
“George said he’s going to call you on his way down to help once he gets more information.” She finally looks away from her phone and back to me. “I guess, try to call me when you know more?”
I move to her so we are a breath apart. I wrap my fingers around her wrist, where she would wear the bracelet from Maria if she had thought to bring it on our trip. “Remember to breathe. You’ve got this. You’re my wife and you’re a motherfucking superhero.”
She collapses against me as we embrace. I kiss the top of her head.
We all walk downstairs to the living room where the kids are still snuggled on the sofa reading to Tabby, who is starting to doze off since it is passed her bedtime. Rory picks her up and gives her the kind of big bear hug only a dad can give.
Miranda wraps her arms around Jessie who stands stubbornly still, until her shoulders round and she wraps her hands around Miranda’s waist. When they separate, she tries to hide the fact she has a tear running down her cheek.
Miranda tells the other kids, “Uncle Rory and I are going to go take a walk to see if we can find Aunt Eliza.”
“Oh, okay.” Phoebe shrugs, looking at her feet with red-rimmed eyes.
“Hey,” Miranda hugs Phoebe tightly, “Sweet dreams, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She kisses the top of her head and looks up. I’m sure she’s praying.
She hugs, kisses, and says prayers over Natalie and Sammy, then tells our children collectively, “We’ll be back before you know. Listen to Daddy while I’m gone, please.”
They all nod slowly. They are worried for their mom. I silently thank God that they don’t know how worried they should be.
I walk Miranda and Rory to the door. Before they leave Miranda and I hug. Then she looks into my eyes and I kiss her. I need her to know now, before she leaves this house, how much I love her, how much I will always love her. The kids don’t even groan, which is kind of scary.
When the kiss is over, I hold her a few more moments and whisper, “Be safe. Come home to us.” We lock eyes as we separate.
Rory hands Tabby off to me and wipes his eyes as he nods to Miranda. Jessie and I stand close together, watching them through the large windows as they turn left to go up the boardwalk, away from the ever-busy tourist attractions, toward the more secluded stretches of beach.
Jessie shakes her head to clear the cobwebs and figure out what she needs to do next. She takes Tabby from me. “Let’s get you to bed, little girl. It is way past your bedtime!”
Tabby giggles. She’s past the stage of only cooing. She is growing so fast, and my heart aches a bit for the days long gone when our kids were that tiny. Looking out at the ocean beyond the glass, I hope Miranda can bring Eliza back. I have to have faith that she can.
Chapter 19
Miranda
Thecoolbreezeblowsright through my sweater and chills me as if my arms are bare when Rory slowly slides the glass door closed, separating us from our collective children. Thankfully, the temperature is not top-of-a-snowy mountain-outside-of-Vegas-level cold, but I still have goose bumps. At least I wore a sweater this time. Even so, my teeth chatter involuntarily. We walk in silence until we reach the end of the footbridge that spans from the deck to the boardwalk. Then we stop with a mutual understanding that we have no idea where to go now.
“Which way?” Rory’s voice is gravelly and quiet. He has to force his words to reach my ears.
I look to the right, past Rory, to the touristy part of the boardwalk, the spot where I last saw Eliza. It’s so close. And so busy. It’s busy with people enjoying their vacations, their lives, unaware of the dangers lurking so close, maybe even among them. They’ll stay out here, like we used to do, into the late hours of night or even early morning, just living a life I no longer have the luxury of living.
I wonder if the intoxicated sounds emanating from the boardwalk irritate sirens. I don’t know a hell of a lot about their kind, but I know they prefer seclusion. I wonder if one would have dared to try to captivate someone in such a populated area?
I look left. Could Eliza have decided to not go straight home? I scrunch my eyes shut and try to imagine the scene. She was so dazed, so overtired. Could she have walked right past her own family’s house, the one she’s spent every summer at since she was six, without even realizing it?
I open my eyes and look at Rory. “I think it has to be left. Something is telling me, even if she caught Eliza’s attention over there,” I jut my chin toward the weather-worn planks lit up by so many lights that one would think it’s day and then twist my neck to face the darker stretch on our left, where the planks fade into oblivion with only small patches of light every few feet to guide the way, “she had to have led her somewhere down this way.”
A breeze from the water hits us, a breeze that’s somehow warmer than the night air and smells of pineapple, as if some benevolent sea sprite is confirming my gut instinct. Or maybe it’s a coincidence, but it’s getting harder for me to believe in those.
I look at Rory. His bottom lip sticks out from the intense frown his face is stuck in, but his blue eyes meet mine as he nods. “You’re the boss.” His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. I take a moment to commend his foresight in wearing it (and on his first time out as a superhero), but then push that thought out of my mind. I need to focus.
We continue in silence, both because we have literally nothing to say to each other, and we need to listen for the siren singing. I hope the distant sounds of beeps and boings from arcade games, of laughter and music, or loved ones calling to each other, aren’t so loud that they will drown out what we need to hear. But the waves lapping gently against the shore encourage us along, and the loud sounds of happiness recede into the background.
I debate asking Rory for his sweatshirt since the wind is blowing right threw my sweater, when he stops in his tracks. I stop half a step ahead of him and look back at him, but his face is frozen and empty, like when they test one of the rides my kids went on earlier with no riders in it. His eyes are still angled downward, at the ground, to keep his footing in the poor light. But they are now wide open, so too much of the whites show around his irises. His bottom lip is no longer jutting out because his whole being has gone rigid. Even his chest and shoulders are still, making me wonder if he’s breathing at all.
