A Song In The Daylight Part 51

"Yeah, so sorry, Mrs. Connelly. Everyone just like that fell under the weather. Larissa will be in touch soon."

Detective Cobb called at three. Had she returned? Because no one at the surrounding hospitals and precincts had any information. Cobb said once they filed the missing persons report there was a chance the FBI, suspecting cross-state foul play, might get involved.

Cross-state? Foul play? Jared hung up, his arms, his head, his eyes sore and hurting. Ezra fixed him a drink. Maggie fixed him some food. He didn't eat, he didn't drink. "I don't understand what could have happened," he kept repeating. "I simply don't understand. Is there an explanation?" He raised his eyes, his palms.

Ezra shook his head, his own palms opening, shoulders rising in rank bewilderment.

"What makes sense?"

"Nothing." He and Maggie exchanged a glance.

"What? What, you fear something? You suspect something?"

"I suspect nothing." Ezra took a deep breath. "But on Wednesday when we had lunch, Larissa was unusually distraught, not at all herself. She wouldn't touch her food. I didn't think much of it at the time, but I'm thinking of it now. She was asking me weird questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Hypotheticals, she said, to help her deal with students."

"Like what?"

"Likeais there a right and wrong? How do you choose? How do you stop yourself from doing wrong? Are there absolutes in this, or is it a matter of perspective? She wanted to know about Jesus. And Epicurus."

"What's so weird about that?"

"How do you know what to do, she kept asking, if you don't believe in G.o.d? What do you draw on? What else have you got? Aside from experience, aside from common sense?"

Jared wanted to swipe all the gla.s.ses off the island; it was only through a crus.h.i.+ng burden of his will that he didn't, remembering his small son in the den, not wanting to scare him with noise. "What the f.u.c.k are you telling me?" he asked. "Ezra, what are you talking about? What does that have to do with this?"

"I don't know, pal," Ezra replied simply. "But she was asking me for help in making tough life decisions, and now she is not here. I don't know. Perhaps it's a coincidence."

"You're d.a.m.n right, it's a coincidence. Ezra, you and she have been shooting the s.h.i.+t for twenty years. Religion, Epicureanism, principles of elocution, all you do is talk this c.r.a.p. It's like verbal handshakes with you two. What you're saying is she woke up in the morning and brushed her teeth and now she's gone, so maybe it has something to do with her brand of toothpaste!"

Maggie tried to quell him. Ezra looked both deeply estranged and sympathetic. "There was a desperate quality to her questions." He looked down into his hands, balled them into fists, pressed them to his eyes.

"You only see it now!"

"She lost so much weight, man."

"She really had, Jared," said Maggie, her hand on Jared's back, patting him. He wanted to thrust himself away from her. Being touched was suddenly painful to him, unholy.

"A minute ago, you couldn't imagine what could've happened. Now suddenly she's losing weight and asking questions? And why are you talking about her in the past tense?"

Before Ezra could reply, Michelangelo walked into the kitchen. He was hungry. Maggie made him a sandwich, made everyone sandwiches. The kids sat in the dining room and ate. Asher didn't speak. Was he upset about losing his playoff game? Jared didn't know. He didn't speak himself. Jared didn't know what to say to his children. What could he say? All of Ezra's degrees, all of Maggie's years in public education, all of Jared's apt.i.tude for investments had not prepared them for this, a missing mother in the middle of one's sacred life. Somehow three o'clock became four, and four became five, and then, because they forgot to call and cancel, there was a knock on the door, and Bo and Jonny strolled in, with a bottle of wine and a dozen cannoli for their Sat.u.r.day night dinner. They came in the kitchen, all smilesa"evaporated just like this when they saw Jared's face, and Maggie's and Ezra's. Made Jared wonder who else they forgot to cancel, who would show up Monday expecting a raucous bash in the backyard.

Maggie took Bo to a corner and (thought she) whispered, "Larissa's missing."

"Missing?" Bo said (loudly). "What do you mean?"

"What can one mean by this?" Jared said. "She is missing. We don't know how else to explain it."

There was a moment of silence. "Why didn't you call us?"

"I did," said Jared. "Remember, I called you yesterday and asked you where she was and you said you hadn't seen her."

Ah, Bo mouthed, her brown eyes moistening. She surveyed the room in a way Jared found irksome; she remained so composed! How could one remain calm? If this wasn't the time for shouting, for flailing one's hands, when was? Wasn't there anything that wasn't sanitized, climate-controlled? All of them living in 72degF houses, no breeze, no bugs, always comfortable. The fridge at 45degF, the freezer at 37deg, everything crisp and clean and clam. Ah, he wanted to groan. A guttural sound signifying uncontrolled despair. Ah.

The hands opened, someone touched his back, someone got him a beer, someone else patted him. Someone let Riot out and someone ordered Chinese because the children and the soldiers of the vanished had to eat. Lo mein came, shrimp with lobster sauce, fried dumplings. Jared, who hadn't eaten all day, took one look at the food, one whiff of the sweet soy sauce odor, and left the kitchen to void the void in his stomach. Afterward he didn't feel any better. Bile kept bubbling up to his throat.

"I can't think," he said when dinner was done and the children dispersed to be entertained by Dylan. "I can't figure it out. Like I'm missing something." Besides my wife. "Like there is a piece of the puzzle I'm not seeing." That infernal puzzle again! The missing piece was now a missing wife.

He searched the faces of his intensely worried friends, for comfort, for answers. In Ezra's eyes he saw another Epicurean attack, and snapped. "Ezra, this is not a theoretical coffee-hour discussion about materialism."

"I don't think it's theoretical, man," Ezra said grimly.

"I don't care that she was pale and without appet.i.te. Tell me what you think. Could she have died?"

It was possible, Ezra agreed, silently distressed.

"Was she kidnapped?"

No one thought she was.

Perfect. Finding out what happened to Larissa by committee.

"Someone say something. What else?"

Dylan put Michelangelo to bed, and Jared put the older kids in front of a movie before someone answered his question. The person who answered him was Ezra.

"Dude," he said heavily, "is it possible she could've left you?"

"Left and gone where?"

"I don't mean thata"" Ezra broke off, glancing at Maggie, as if for strength, staring at Jared for silent understanding. "I mean, left you."

Jared sat back in his chair. "Like up and left?"

Ezra nodded.

Now it was Jared's turn to search Maggie's face, Bo's face, Jonny's face.

"You tell me," he said at last. "Is that possible?"

After an agonizing pause, they agreed it wasn't possible.

"It's not likely," he led them. "Right? Not likely?"

After a terrible pause they agreed it wasn't likely. And yetanot a trace of her anywhere.

"Left me why?" Jared said.

They said nothing.

"Do you mean left me?" Jared said. "Oraleft me for someone else?" He almost laughed when he said it. If she hadn't vanished, he would've laughed when he said it.

"It happens, man," said Ezra.

"Yes, to other people," said Jared. Bo and Jonny looked into their drinks, into their hands.

"No, I agree with Jared," Maggie said staunchly. "Not our Larissa. It's unthinkable."

"She is not here," Ezra said. "That's also unthinkable."

"Besides, I would've known," continued Maggie. "She couldn't have kept it from me. Or from Bo. Right, Bo?"

Bo nodded with uncertainty. She wanted to say something but, glancing at Jonny, reconsidered.

"Call Evelyn," said Maggie. "Call Tara. Dora. Call any one of her friends. They'll all tell you the same thing. It's not possible."

"And yeta" said Ezra.

"Stop it!" Maggie cried, expressing what Jared wanted to express. "Stop, Ezra! You're only causing more trouble. Until we know, let's not speculate. It'll just show how ludicrous you are when you're proven false." She turned to Jared. "Are you sure she hadn't told you she was going away?"

"How could I forget something like that? She runs this house. How could I forget she wouldn't be here for Memorial Day weekend, for the kids?" The kids! Jared allowed himself a small smile. "Ezra, look, even if what you're saying could be true, even if she could leave me, she couldn't leave her kids, could she? It's Larissa we're talking about."

"You're right about that, man," said Ezra, finis.h.i.+ng his beer, reaching for another, reconsidering, pulling on Maggie to get up. "It's Larissa we're talking about."

They stayed with him as long as they could. But short of staying overnight, eventually they had to go. Soon forty-eight inconceivable hours would've pa.s.sed without a word from her.

"She must've left a note somewhere," Jared said. "It must've blown away, or fallen on the floor, was swept into the garbage."

"A note saying what?" asked Ezra.

"Maybe she needed to go away and think."

"About what?"

"Well, I don't know, do I?" Jared paused. Maggie left the kitchen. He heard her crying in the den, then calling for Dylan. "You really think she could've left me, Ez? This isn't how people go. They say something. They pack. They take their children. This isn't what they do."

"You're right, I'm an idiot. I'm sure there's a very good explanation."

"Ezraa" Jared was standing but felt like he was falling. "Left me forasomeone else?"

"I don't know, man. I'm so sorry."

"But wouldn't I have known? That doesn't happen in a vacuum, there's no way to hide something like that. I would have known!" Jared exclaimed. "There'd be a thousand signs."

Ezra said nothing.

"What? Did you and Maggie talk about it last night?"

"About nothing else. We didn't sleep till sunrise."

"Well?"

"Well, what? Were there signs? She has been very distracted for months. But I do know that to do rehearsals, you've got to be completely into it to put on even a mediocre play."

"But could she have been hiding in plain sight? Behind plays, rehearsals?"

"Possibly. Maggie says for some time Larissa hasn't been engaged in her life."

"She's only saying this now!"

"No, dude. Maggie kept saying it and saying it. Something is not right, she kept saying: I'm so sick, I feel so bad, and she can't remember from one day to the next what's wrong with me."

Maggie came into the kitchen with Dylan, her eyes red, wet.

"Did you say this, Mags?"

"I did, Jared."

"But you didn't say it to me!"

"We didn't want to pry. Especially since winter, when she looked like she was having some trouble coping. We were sure you were working it out whatever it was."

They talked about this standing up, near the door, their car keys in their hands. Eventually they had to leave him, and he was again alone. Jared didn't know how he would get through another night. He heard a noise at the front door, he ran to it. It was just wind. He heard a noise at the back door, he ran to it. It was just Riot. The children were asleep, the house silent. He thought of taking Larissa's Ambien. She said it helped her sleep; it might help him. But he was afraid. What if the phone rang and he was out of it? What if the cops came, and he was unable to talk to them? What if the kids needed him and he was all strung out on drugs? He couldn't do it.

Why did Larissa need to take Ambien anyway? Why couldn't she sleep? He hadn't questioned it. She had said she was having a little trouble getting to sleep, and he didn't want her to have any trouble. When she started sleeping better, she was happier, and therefore he was happier. But why couldn't she sleep?

With the house unbearably silent, Jared sat on the couch in the den. He put on the ballgame he had TiVoed earlier, muting the sound, then turning it up nearly full volume. He held a beer in his hands, and all the lights were off except the dim ones in the kitchen, except the cold blue flicker from the HD T V. Riot was by his feet.

What in the name of G.o.d was happening?

She did sometimes seem a little distracted, but gently distracted, as if she were thinking about plays and lines and scenes. She would always get like that when she was hip-deep in staging, rehearsing. It wasn't unusual.

She had lost weight lately; it was hard not to notice. She said she had been too busy to eat, always running around. In front of him a few weeks ago she ate a slice of cheesecake and a lemon meringue. They laughed about it, her becoming fluffy round like a lemon meringue herself.

She stopped shopping, stopped buying things. Was that proof of her restless heart?

Did they make love less? Jared didn't think so. Maybe a little less, he had to admit. But they were busy. Life intervened. She never asked for it, but she never refused him either. If he got busy and tired, and was sometimes too quick, too functional, that wasn't her fault, it was a product of their full and busy life. On vacations, during anniversary weekends, in the summer in Lillypond, they more than made up for the utilitarian approach to their physical intimacy. For the last sixteen years this was how they lived, ever since the kids came. Sometimes when he looked down at her, her eyes were closed. But so? His were closed too. She was so s.e.xy, to control himself, sometimes he didn't want to open his eyes and gaze at her. She kissed him, she did the things that good wives do. She made his lunch and picked up his s.h.i.+rts, she made him dinner, dressed his children and bathed them, she was the perfect hostess on Sat.u.r.day nights and let him watch baseball without complaining (too much). This is how she had been and that is how she was. Nothing in her recent demeanor suggested she was living a double life.

Excepta And it was only because he started to think about it, painstakingly raking over the grains of the days, the chaff of memory. Sometimes she really did seem more than just a little distracted. But he was a fine one to talk, so stressed out about crises at work, about diminis.h.i.+ng returns, unpaid dividends, capitalization, amortization, that he himself could barely see what was on TV unless it was a ballgame. When they sat and watched a movie, her eyes were open, she was looking at the screen, sitting close, eating popcorn, but once, a few months ago, she told Ezra she'd never seen Zoolander, when they had all watched it together a few Sat.u.r.day nights earlier and laughed their a.s.ses off, even her. They had teased her about it and she had sheepishly laughed.

But this was Jared projecting! Grasping at straws. Doug told him Kate always fell asleep during movies. Was that a sign of treason? A wife who didn't open her eyes at the TV? A wife who didn't laugh at Seinfeld?

The money remained in their account. All her clothes were in her closet. Though how could he tell? She could have taken two pairs of jeans, a skirt, five s.h.i.+rts, ten, five bras, ten. He wouldn't know. It was almost summer, the winter stuff had been packed away. Her spring jackets hung in the hall closet. The suitcases were down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Her makeup and perfume were on her dressing table. Her reading gla.s.ses! She didn't go anywhere overnight without her Versace reading gla.s.ses, and they were still by the bedside. He checked.

Tara said Larissa had been carrying some kind of bag. But that could've been anything. Tara said she had been walking as if to something. She waved with the hand that wasn't holding the bag. Waved like how, Jared had asked. Waved like she was saying goodbye?