Between Octobers

Travel

Evan—Travel

Reykjavik, Iceland is seven hours ahead of California. I'm technically travelling back in time. Not even the clock can give back what's been lost.

It's a twelve-hour trip by corporate jet on loan from the studio. I spend it making phone calls. Lily's in a state. Marcus is on his way back, as well. I've done everything I can think of, remotely—hired an independent security team to sweep the property, a private investigator to assist police, reported her car stolen, talked with Noah and Caleb to be sure they're alright, and called her brother. Bloody awful conversation—and there's still seven hours to go.

Eric's issuing a press release as we speak, asking anyone and everyone to help with the search. She's sick and pregnant and she never would've left of her own volition.

My estranged wife is pregnant. We're having a baby. Another boy. As excited as I want to be, I'm bloody terrified. Grace's car is gone. It's an old piece of shit. No way to track it. I bought her a fucking GPS and she never used it.

I guess Lily got a worried call from Noah. He'd come home with Caleb after school and couldn't find her. Lily said her cell was on the bed beside her purse. Grace never leaves home without those two items. Ever. We've all called every hospital and clinic in the greater Los Angeles area and no one matching her description has turned up. None of her co-workers, church affiliates, or doctors have seen or spoken to her. Not even Ray or Sergio, the neighbors whose house I bought. There are no signs of forced entry and nothing's missing. Nothing except her.

My chest is tight; held together by a taut string. I press my hands to it. If it breaks, I'll lose it. I need her to be alright.

Near the last time I was in the house, when we were still good, I begged her to come with me. I should've fought her decision to stay. Then none of this would be happening.  

When we find her safe and sound, I'm going to make her get a new car, then flog her for worrying us this way.

Supplications keep me busy for the remainder of the flight. I pray, begging God—who I'm not even sure exists—to make her come back, as the burden of possibilities crush me.