Twenty-Four Shadows. Tanya J. Peterson

fool Max, but unfortunately he saw right through her. After setting Elise down on the blanket already waiting with toys, he stood and said, “That bad, huh?”

      She nodded. “I thought I did a good job of covering it up.”

      “You did. If anyone else were to see you right now, they wouldn’t have a clue.”

      “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that I was a mess, either.”

      Max shrugged. “You don’t look like a mess, Reese. It’s just that when I look at you, I see the same thing I see when I look in the mirror.”

      “Oh, Max.” It was when they embraced that she realized that he was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. She pulled back. “Casual Thursday at work today?”

      He smiled. “No. I took today and tomorrow off. I’ve got tons of vacation time built up because Gretchen never wanted to take time off or go on a vacation.” He looked down and slowly shook his head. “I guess I should have seen the signs, huh?” He looked back up at Reese. “Anyway, I’m not just dumping my baby on you and fleeing the scene. I hope you haven’t fed Dominic yet because I’m taking him to Waffle Weirdos for breakfast. It’ll give you some space to think and maybe discover a clue as to Isaac’s whereabouts.”

      Reese opened her mouth to protest, but on their way out the words contorted themselves into a consent. “Thanks, Max. I think I’d like that.”

      Dominic went beyond liking the idea. He went wild, and he was outside standing by Max’s car before Reese could give him his sandals. Max laughed. “Here, give them to me. We’ll see you later.” He hesitated and seemed to be considering something. Then he leaned down, kissed Reese on the head, and walked out, baby in one hand and sandals in the other.

      The instant the door shut, Reese’s emotions returned with a vengeance. Yes, the possibility existed that Isaac had pulled a Gretchen, but it seemed so remote. She just couldn’t let herself believe that, at least not yet. Max’s comment about seeing signs had made her realize something. Yes, there were multiple signs, indicators that in hindsight seemed so glaringly obvious, that Gretchen was unhappy with motherhood, marriage in general, and Max in particular. But Isaac didn’t display any of those signs. He had those episodes, but that wasn’t the same thing at all. They involved strange, out-of-character behavior that he claimed not to remember, but even those didn’t smack of marital discontent. Okay, Sunday night in the garage was extreme and had the potential to be problematic, but it was an isolated event. But what was up with it? Was there a connection between that and his disappearance?

      Disappearance. The word hit her as hard as Dominic hit his baseball off his tee. What if, somehow, foul play was involved in this? As outlandish as that seemed, it actually made more sense than the idea of him intentionally leaving her. She felt sick. She had to sit down with her head in her hands while the wave of nausea passed. She sat up straight. Why was she just sitting here? Time was ticking. She hadn’t seen him since Tuesday, when he was fired. Two whole days had gone by. What if he needed help? What was the threshold for the police having a good chance of finding a victim? Twelve hours? Twenty-four, maybe? It didn’t matter because Isaac was at forty-eight.

      She grabbed the phone and called the police. Her shaking fingers couldn’t handle more than the three short numbers of 9-1-1. After explaining the nature of her call to the dispatcher, she was irritated to learn that this type of call wasn’t an “emergency,” and she had to dial the police main number, which the dispatcher gave her. “Not an emergency, my ass,” Reese muttered as she labored to dial the longer number. Her irritation grew as she had to be transferred to a different department. After they took their sweet time coming to the phone, Reese’s anger had risen to meet her panic. In this agitated state, she launched into her plea for help.

      “Wait. Ma’am, please slow down. I need you to tell me the story slowly enough that I can understand the details.”

      She took a deep breath and tried again. At the end of her description, the detective calmly informed her, “Mrs. Bittman, I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do at the moment.”

      “What? Why not?”

      “Do you know how many calls like this we get in a month? It’s like this. Your husband is an adult. He has both the power and the right to go anywhere he wants to. You said he was fired from his job. Maybe he’s just on a bender.”

      “He doesn’t drink like that,” she replied.

      “Maybe he does now. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just took a little trip. Maybe he didn’t want you to know the truth about what happened. Or…by any chance, is he mentally ill?”

      “What? No! And what the hell does that have to do with Isaac’s disappearance?”

      “It was just another theory. I was thinking of statistics. But it really doesn’t matter. We could speculate all day, but I don’t have time for that. No matter the reason, your husband is an adult and as such there’s really not much we can do.”

      “Are you kidding me? What the hell kind of help is this, Detective?” She spit out the last word as if it were bitter poison.

      “It’s the only type of help we can give you at the moment, Mrs. Bittman. If you find evidence that foul play has been involved, feel free to call us back, but until then, there’s nothing we can do.”

      The police wouldn’t help her? They wouldn’t help Isaac, who might be in trouble? She thought that that was what the police were for. Now what was she supposed to do? She pressed her hands against the sides of her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to drown out her thoughts and burn some of the energy she could feel building in all of the little muscles and nerves in her body. She stomped out of the kitchen, down the hall, yanked the vacuum out of the closet, and began to suck up all of the fuzz and specks and particles that peppered the carpets. She finished the floors, fastened the attachments, and began to clean the furniture. Thanks to the noisy machine, which was only mildly successful in muffling her screaming thoughts, she didn’t hear the door open and close. She caught a flash of movement in the backyard, turned off the vacuum, and rushed to the window to investigate. Just as she saw Dominic hop on his swing, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She yelped and spun around to come face to face with Max.

      Max cringed. “Whoops. Sorry, Reese. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

      “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not an intruder. Apparently I’d be screwed, then, because the police aren’t any help to anybody.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

      Reese filled him in, concluding by snapping, “And I know I don’t have ‘evidence,’” she made air quotes and adopted a rather mocking tone as she said the word, “but I’d think they could at least try something. What if someone hurt him, Max?” She paused. She stared at Max’s face. His mouth was open and his eyes had grown wide. “What is it?” she asked.

      “I totally forgot.” He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. “How could I forget about this? Maybe the police are right. Maybe this isn’t foul play.”

      “Okay. Then what?”

      “What if he’s just with his band, Reese? Have you called any of them yet?”

      It took several long seconds before Reese could find her voice to ask, “What on earth are you talking about, Max? Isaac isn’t in a band.”

      Max took a few steps back and stuck his hands in his pockets. “You mean you don’t know?”

      “Know what?”

      “About his band.”

      Reese crossed her arms across her chest. “No, I don’t. Can you maybe enlighten me?”

      Max filled her in about the people he met after he and Isaac played tennis on Monday. He tried to think of the name of the band. “They called themselves, what was it? It was different. Oh yeah! Your Grandma’s ’Hose.