He passed Jake’s room, looking at his posters for the Bills and Sabres, pictures of the three of them at Six Flags in Darien, and Bills Stadium in Orchard Park.
He smiled.
Greg took a quick, hot shower, checked his hands—no splinters to pull out tonight. He brushed his teeth, got into his sweats and a T-shirt, then climbed into their king-size bed.
The green numbers on his bedside clock showed 9:59 p.m. His alarm was set for 4:35 a.m.
He usually went to bed before Jenn, especially on book club nights. Sometimes he woke when he heard her come home, most times he didn’t.
In less than five minutes, Greg sank into a deep sleep. He began dreaming before surfacing through a foggy stage of near wakefulness, glancing at the clock.
One twenty-one a.m.
No, get back to sleep. I need sleep.
In his sleepy state, he turned over to Jenn.
But she wasn’t there.
Two
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
Greg lifted his head.
Jenn’s side of the bed was still made.
It hadn’t been slept in.
What the—
Greg snapped awake.
Where is she?
He looked to their bathroom, the door was open, no lights on. She wasn’t there. He looked to their closet. He’d left the door open. It was dark.
Maybe he’d been snoring again; “like a wild beast,” she called it, forcing her downstairs to sleep on the sofa. That happened sometimes.
His thoughts then went to the cordless landline phone on his bedside table. If Jenn had called, he would’ve heard; he had the ringer set to its loudest level. He grabbed it.
No messages.
Where is she?
Greg got up, first looking in the other upstairs bedrooms. All were empty. He padded downstairs.
The sofa was empty.
He went through every room on the main floor, flipping on lights, looking for her in vain. He went downstairs to search their finished basement, the guest room, his man cave, the spare room.
She wasn’t there.
Climbing up to the main floor, a tiny warning bell pinging in a corner of his mind, he went through the laundry room and opened the door to the garage.
Jenn’s Corolla was not there.
He pushed the button on the wall control, raising the garage door.
His pickup stood alone in the driveway.
Cursing, he rushed back into the house for his phone on the counter. Yanking off the charge cord, he called Jenn’s phone. It rang to voice mail and he left her a message: “Where are you, honey? Call me!”
He texted her with the same message, then checked his phone for any calls, texts, or emails Jenn may have sent earlier that he may have missed.
There was nothing.
Driving his hands through his hair, his mind raced.
This had never happened before.
All right, okay, she’d gone to her book club meeting at her friend’s house in Ripplewood Creek, a hamlet, what, some three miles away, if that. And they always finished around 10:00 p.m., or 10:30, and she always came home and went to bed.
So why wasn’t she there?
Did her car break down? Was she in an accident? Wouldn’t someone have contacted me?
Staring at his phone, Greg had an idea. He hurried into his office and switched on his tablet. Their plan came with an app to help locate their phones if they were lost, or track them if they were stolen.
If I find Jenn’s phone, I’ll find Jenn.
Greg tapped on the app on his tablet. He wasn’t good at this stuff. Taking a breath, he followed the instructions and a map of their neighborhood appeared on his screen, locating his phone at their house, but nothing current on Jenn’s. The last location of Jenn’s phone was old, placing it at their house. But her phone was not plugged into her charger on the kitchen counter, where she always kept it.
That meant she had her phone with her.
He went through the help pages to find the contact number for the twenty-four-hour support line and called. After the prompts, he was put on hold, then a live person came on the line.
“I’m trying to locate my wife’s phone. It’s kind of urgent,” Greg said.
“Yes, sir,” said the agent, whose name was Taj. “Just a few security questions about your account.”
Forcing himself to stay calm, Greg answered the questions.
“Okay, sir. I’ve verified your account.” Taj was pleasant. “Did you try signing into the advanced browser online?”
“No, I don’t know how—look—” After Greg explained his situation, he said: “I need your help.”
“Yes, sir. One moment.”
Greg could hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard for several moments.
“Sir, I’m sorry but we’re unable to provide an updated location for that phone.”
“What? Why not?”
“It could be any number of reasons, such as a dead battery, no internet connection, or a SIM card issue...”
“I need to find her phone.”
“I would advise you to keep up with your efforts. Your wife could resolve the issue at her end, and then you can locate the phone. Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?”
“What?” Stunned, Greg then said: “No.”
He was at a loss.
It was now 2:46 a.m.
He thought for a moment.
Jenn’s book club.
He’d call whoever hosted. But who was it? A small wave of shame rolled over him. He knew little about his wife’s book club group, other than a few first names, and that most of them lived in Ripplewood Creek.
Wait.
Greg went to the kitchen calendar, where Jenn had noted the meeting: “Book Club. L.”
That had to be Liz. Greg had met her at the mall. It was last year. Jenn introduced her as being in the club. Liz was a retired bank teller. But what was her last name? He thought for a moment. It started with an M...for Martin! No—Meyer! No—Miller!
It was Miller.
Liz Miller.
He needed her number.
Greg went beyond the kitchen to the alcove that was home to Jenn’s desk and computer, where she handled all their household finances. It was a foreign land to him. She kept it ordered, tidy. Jake smiled from a framed picture she kept on one corner.