Local Woman Missing

by Mary Kubica

The more specific he is, the more sure she is of his betrayal. Still, she says nothing.

I think that Gus is younger than me, on account of how chicken he is, even if he is taller. But anyone can be a chicken, no matter what their age or size.

The house is a yellow 1904 Italianate in our town’s historic district. It sits just a stone’s throw away from a college campus, in an area more liberal than conservative. It’s romantic, with brick walkways and hundred-year-old trees. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t the occasional hatred and bigotry. Because no matter where you go, you can’t get away from that.

Crayons go missing. Puzzle pieces go missing. Moms and sisters do not go missing.

Shelby used to work. She no longer does. She no longer has her own source of income. We think that victims of abuse should leave their spouses. We judge them for not leaving but choosing to stay in abusive relationships. But with no job and a baby on the way, what are women like Shelby to do? She’s reliant on Jason.

One thing I’ve figured out about the lady cop is that she has two voices. She has her cop voice, in which she thinks she’s pretty badass. That’s the one I always hear at the police station. And then there’s her lady voice, which is the exact opposite of this. It’s eager to please. Tonight her lady voice showed up.

It’s not like she could know about her husband, Marty, and me. Unless he told her, but he wouldn’t do that. We’d agreed to keep things secret, for Cassandra’s and Josh’s sake.

I do talk to Leo, but it only settles me somewhat. Because the realization that harm can come to one of my kids when I’m not there to protect them still terrifies me.

Tonight the hospital is busy. Many women are in labor, including another of Dr. Feingold’s patients. The nurse says, “Must be a full moon.” There’s no truth in that. It’s only folklore. Changes in barometric pressure can cause women to go into labor, but not full moons. It’s more likely there’s a storm coming than that there’s a full moon.

“I’m going to get this baby out of you. Sound good?” Shelby unleashes a scream with the next contraction. Dr. Feingold finds humor in it. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says arrogantly. It makes me irate. The absence of a no should never mean yes.

The only other houses besides farmhouses are tornado bait, aka mobile homes.

They stayed in town, just on the other side of it, where they didn’t have to look out their window and be reminded that bad things happen to good people every day. It’s like six degrees of Kevin Bacon. All the time, we’re closer to disaster than we think.

It’s been a long time since Josh has offered more than a sentence or two about work, about his clients, about his coworkers, because every time he tries, his words are punctuated with kids’ needs and arguments. Can I have more milk? He’s touching me. I hate broccoli.

The waiter is there standing beside the table. He’s young. Everyone looks young to me these days.

I don’t know who this woman is, but I know this woman is as scared as me, even if it manifests itself as anger and control. Bea is a good person. She’s not a psychopath. But she’s backed into a corner, desperate for a way out. This is that way.

Dad gets the point. He puts his arms down, knowing you’re more of a trauma victim than his daughter. You may never be the daughter he used to know.

I tell him, “I’m listening.” The way I say it is petulant. All my life I’ve had to be a grown-up. It’s nice acting like a child for a change.

Guilt isn’t only emotional. It manifests itself in very physical ways. My head aches. My back aches. My stomach is in knots, and I’m constipated.