Eleven Hours (7 page)

A girl stood behind the Freshens Yogurt counter. She smiled. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” said Rich intensely. “I hope so. My wife—” He stammered. “My wife was here earlier today.” He thrust the bag at her. She moved away. “My wife was here and bought these two pretzels.”

“Wait, hold on, hold on, sir,” said the girl. “I just came on. I don't know anything.”

“Who worked before you?”

“Alex. He just left.” Rich's face must have implied urgency, because she said, “Wait, maybe he's still in the back changing. Hold on.”

She came back a few minutes later with Alex.

“It's your lucky day,” said Alex.

“Somehow I doubt it,” said Rich. “Unless you want to redefine the nature of my luck.” He thrust the bag with the receipt and the pretzels at Alex. “My wife was here earlier. She bought these here.”

Glancing at the receipt, Alex said, almost defensively, “Is something wrong with them?”

“No, but something could be wrong with my wife,” said Rich. “She's disappeared.”

Alex smirked a little. “Do you think it had something to do with the pretzels?”

The counter rattled when Rich slammed down his fist. “You think that's funny? Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Let me explain. My wife, nine months pregnant, was here earlier today shopping. At twelve twenty-five she bought these from you. At twelve-thirty she called me and asked if she could meet me for lunch earlier than planned. At one o'clock she didn't show up, and no one's heard from her since. So now, tell me what part of that you find funny, so we can laugh together.”

Paling, Alex said, “Hey, look, I'm sorry, I didn't do anything. What did your wife look like?”

“Pregnant. Extremely, inordinately, unbelievably pregnant. How many pregnant women did you serve today?”

“Well, one that I remember,” said Alex grumpily. “But you know, the counter is high—I don't look over and check out my customers' stomachs.”

Rich reached over and grabbed Alex by the shoulders, shaking him. “God, help me. Please,” he whispered. “My wife is missing.”

Immediately he let go; Alex looked noticeably upset. Rubbing his arms, the teenager said, “Look, I don't know anything. I just saw one pregnant woman here, long dark hair, carrying a lot of bags.”

Rich brightened. “Yes?” he said. “That sounds like my wife. What was she wearing?”

“I don't know—oh, wait. A yellow dress.”

Rich nodded. “That's my wife.” Did that make him feel better? If it did, it didn't make him feel better for long.

“Yeah?” Alex said. “That's all I can tell you. She bought a couple of pretzels, I think. Paid. Left, carrying all her bags. A guy who was here buying a pretzel for himself caught up to her and asked her if she needed some help with the bags—”

Rich asked in a small, stricken voice, “What guy?”

“I don't know. Some guy. I'd never seen him before.”

“No, of course not. Did my wife seem to know him?”

“No. He seemed nice, though. Kept asking her questions about the pregnancy, you know, when she was due, that sort of thing.”

Rich stepped back from the counter. “This guy, what did he look like?”

“I don't know,” said Alex. “I didn't pay attention.”

“Please try to remember.”

“I really don't know. Maybe your age.” Alex looked Rich over. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“No. I don't know. He was older than me, that's all I know.”

“Beard? Mustache?”

“No, clean-cut. Short hair. Taller than me.”

“Taller than
me?
” asked Rich.

“How tall are you?”

“Six feet.”

“No, I don't think so. Taller than your wife.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“Listen, he was just a guy. There was nothing special about him. He was just another customer, you know?”

“You don't remember what he was wearing?”

Shrugging, Alex said, “No, not really.” He glanced over at the salesgirl, who was listening to the conversation. She shrugged, as if to give him moral support. Alex turned back to Rich. “I think jeans, a jacket. But I can't be sure.”

Rich was quiet. “You said he approached my wife and asked her if she needed help with the bags?”

“I think that's what he asked her.”

“And she?”

“I don't know. They were, like, too far from me. I didn't hear her. I assume she said no thanks, because he lagged behind and she walked on by herself.”

“When you say lagged behind—”

“What?”

“‘Lagged behind' implies he followed her. Or did he turn around and go the other way?”

Scratching his head, Alex said, “No. I think he lagged behind. I think he went the same way she did. I'm not sure. I got another customer, and stopped watching them.”

Rich's hands were drumming on the counter. “Did you get a feeling about him?”

“No, I got no feeling about him,” said Alex, for some reason sounding offended.

“Did you see him again?”

“No, I got busy. It was lunchtime. I didn't see anybody.”

“Didn't see my wife either?”

“Uh—come to think of it, I did see him. I saw her too. She was walking back from over there.” Alex pointed. “She had more bags in her hands. She looked tired, but was walking faster than before. Like she was hurrying, you know?”

“And when did you see him?”

Alex thought. “I don't know. I think after I saw her. He was kind of shuffling along.”

“Was he going in the same direction she was going?”

“Well, I don't know if it was in the same direction.” Alex pointed to the mall aisle. “You see, either someone is walking to the left or they're walking to the right. They either disappear behind the wall to the right or they disappear here to the left. Occasionally they may go into Dillard's or sit near the fountain. But that's it. I saw her going to the left, and I saw him going to the left too.”

“Yes,” said Rich in a raspy voice. “What time was that?”

“I don't know. Maybe a little after one. I went on my break at one-thirty.”

“Alex, please take a ride with me, will you? To the police station.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” said Alex, looking nervous. “I'm not getting in a car with you. I don't know you.”

“Okay, then can I use your phone? I have to call the police.”

They let him call the police, and then they waited. Rich called home, found out that Didi had not called or returned. He asked Ingrid to call his mother and ask her to come and take care of the children for him.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Rich, closing his eyes as he leaned on the counter for support. “We're just—I'm just going to be delayed—listen, don't worry. How are the girls?”

“Hold on,” said Ingrid. “Irene wants to talk to you.”

Rich tried to put on his cheeriest voice. “Hi, honey. How was playgroup?”

Three-year-old Irene didn't want to talk about playgroup. “Daddy,” she whined, “Manda won't share Sing and Dance Barbie with me!”

“It's okay, honey,” Rich said. “Where's yours?”

“Mine broke and now she won't share hers!”

In the background, Rich heard Amanda's voice. “She broke hers and now she wants to break mine!” Then, “Give me the phone! I have to talk to Daddy too.”

Rich took a deep breath. He heard the phone crash to the floor, followed by piercing screams. Ingrid picked up the receiver and said, “Everything is all right.”

“Good,” Rich said. “Please call my mother.”

“If you want, I can stay a little later,” Ingrid said.

“Thanks. I don't know how late we'll be, though.”

“Is Didi having the baby?”

And in the background, Irene shrieked, “Mommy's having the baby! Mommy's having the baby!”

Rich tensely rubbed the bridge of his nose. All he wanted to do was hang up. “No, she's not having the baby. Just call my mom, Ingrid, please.”

He had no stomach to call his mother himself. He had nothing to tell her, anyway. He just needed her help. His mother was going to lose it no matter what. Ingrid had never called before to ask Barbara Wood to come over and help with the children. Rich knew that talking to his mother required too much of him, and he didn't have the patience for it. Ingrid asked again if everything was all right, and Rich said yes, sure, but had to hang up. He could barely hold himself together.

Five minutes later the police arrived. There were two officers—Officer Charles, a man, and Officer Patterson, a woman. Patterson did not seem particularly sympathetic and Rich took an instant dislike to her. She reminded Rich of the disapproving older woman in the parking lot. Like, what's the matter, your wife is away from you for a few hours and you panic? What about when you leave us to go on your business trips and we can't get in touch with you? What about when you go out with the boys and say you're coming home at midnight and it's three and you're still not home? Don't worry, Officer Patterson's casual expression read. Your wife is probably at the movies.

Officer Charles was talking, but through the din in Rich's head, he could barely hear him. Then he realized the din was there just so he couldn't hear Charles speak, because Rich didn't like what he was hearing. Something about not jumping to conclusions.

Rich wasn't sure if he needed to respond to that or just get in his car and go home. He said, “I thought you came to help me. If you can't help me, then let me talk to someone who can.”

The officers tried with little effect to be more helpful. “Could your wife have gone into labor?” said the woman officer. “Could she be in the hospital somewhere?”

Shaking his head, Rich said, “We're preregistered at Columbia Medical. If she was having a baby, that's where she would go, and they have my number. Also she has it. She's not there. I called them. And no one's called me.”

“Could she have been in an accident?” said Charles

“Yes, yes, she could have,” Rich said impatiently, failing despite his best wishes to talk slowly, calmly, reasonably. “No, absolutely. You're so right. She could have been in an accident.” He paused. “But not in her own car. Because our car is parked out—” and he flung his arm for emphasis—“there.”

Officer Charles stared at him. “Perhaps she had an accident in someone else's car?” he said.

“Maybe she met a friend and decided to spend the afternoon with him or her,” Officer Patterson suggested.

Rich rubbed his eyes, shaking with frustration, and other things. “Oh, dear Jesus! We had a lunch date at one. She didn't show up. She has the cell phone with her—”

“Maybe it ran out of power,” said Patterson.

“You mean to tell me that my wife decided to stand me up after calling me and asking me to meet her early?” he said loudly. He may have even shouted. The officers asked him if he wanted to go upstairs and talk to them privately in the security offices. Rich refused.

“Could she still be in the mall, maybe?” said Charles, while Patterson looked at Rich disapprovingly.

“Okay,” said Rich. “She buys a pretzel from Alex at twelve twenty-five, at which point she's accosted by a stranger who offers to carry her bags. She refuses. He follows her—”

“He goes in the same direction she's heading,” Officer Patterson corrected him.

“Of course, excuse me. At twelve-thirty she calls my office and asks me to meet her a little early for lunch. That's unique in my experience.”

“Maybe you're prejudging your wife,” said Officer Patterson. “There's a first time for everything.”

Rich faced the male officer. “She shops for a little while longer, and then Alex sees her heading that way.” Rich pointed. “Which is where her car is parked. I know because it's still there. The man is walking in the same direction she is. I know you say it's a coincidence, but how many can we have in one day?” Rich could not stop moving. “If my wife met me for lunch, then I'd say everything's hunky-dory and isn't it all so coincidental. But she didn't meet me for lunch. No one's heard from her. Her car is still parked outside. Which means that my pregnant wife with all her shopping bags is still in this mall, because the bags are not in the car. Except for this bag, the pretzel bag. I found it next to our minivan. Look, there's a receipt in it, two pretzels, my wife's smell on the bag, and what to me looks like her blood. Look!” He shoved the bag rudely into Officer Patterson's face and then into Officer Charles's. “What do you think it is?”

“Listen, maybe her nose bled, and she decided to come back in,” said Officer Patterson, a little more sympathetically. “Then she met someone she knew, and decided to spend the afternoon with them. That's likely, right?”

“Then why hasn't she called me?” Rich screamed.

They looked frightened of him. Frightened and concerned. As if they didn't understand what was driving him, what he was so upset about.

Am I crazy? Am I mad? Have I lost my sanity? Rich looked around him. There was the Disney Store, there was Dillard's, there was FAO Schwarz. He could see, he could comprehend. He wasn't insane yet. Rich concluded that police officers were trained to deal with robberies and homicides and rapes, but not trained to deal with fear.

“Tell you what,” Officer Patterson said. “If she's in this mall, let's alert mall security. They'll call for her on the PA.”

Rich threw up his hands. He paced furiously near the fountain in the middle of the mall, peering into strange faces walking past him while the officers went to talk to security upstairs. Rich was still hoping that somehow Didi would miraculously appear before him with a new hairdo. Within five minutes there was an announcement over the public address system: “Will Didi Wood please come to the security office on the second floor as soon as possible?” It was repeated twice.