I rolled over lazily, rested one arm and my chin on the edge of the bathtub, and watched as he pulled the razor down each cheek then raised his chin and cleaned the lather off his neck with practiced, upward strokes. “What time is it?” I asked as he rinsed the razor under the hot water tap.
He grabbed a towel and patted his face dry. “Almost noon.”
“Yipes!” I stood up so fast that my head swam and I had to grab onto the wall for support. “We’re going to be late!”
Paul tossed me a clean towel. “Here. You dry off and I’ll go pick up Emily and Chloe and be downstairs in time to meet your dad. Take your time.”
Time! I turned in a personal best, maybe even an Olympic gold medal performance for hair drying and makeup application. When I breezed into the restaurant fifteen minutes later, radiant in my favorite black slacks and red sweater, my family was waiting for me.
But two chairs at the table were empty. “Where’s Daddy?” I asked as I headed for one of them.
Emily shrugged. “He’ll be along.”
I checked my watch. “But he’s twenty minutes late.”
Paul stood and pulled out my chair. “And so, may I remind you, darling, were you.”
I plopped myself down. “Oh. I see your point.”
Paul handed me the menu. “I’ve ordered you some coffee.”
“Thanks.” I decided on a mushroom phyllo, then sipped my coffee and watched Chloe push Cheerios around on her high chair tray with a plump finger. Emily poured orange juice from her glass into a bottle, screwed on the nipple cap, and handed it to Chloe. The sun shone, cars passed by on High Street just outside the window, my family was around me… what could be wrong? But when fifteen more minutes had passed, my third cup of coffee did little to calm my growing dread. I rummaged through my purse, extracted my cell phone, and handed it to Paul. “Here. You call him.”
“Why me?” he asked. “I don’t even know Darlene’s number.”
I opened my address book and read it off to him. He dialed and after a long minute, he mashed his thumb down on the End button. “No answer.”
“That’s odd. Somebody should be there!”
Paul shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Here, let me try,” I said, taking the phone from him. “Maybe you got the number wrong.” I punched in Darlene’s number and waited. After the tenth ring, I hung up. “Not even an answering machine.” I laid the phone on the tablecloth and rested my chin on my hands. “Do you suppose he forgot?”
Emily spooned applesauce into Chloe’s mouth. “Not likely. He told me he was looking forward to it.” She studied me with serious eyes. “Maybe he’s too hung-over, Mom.”
I pushed my plate away, my lunch barely touched, knowing that Emily was probably right but a little annoyed at her for saying so. “I’m going over there.” I sent Paul my I-dare-you-to-try-and-stop-me look.
Paul folded his napkin and laid it next to his plate. “All right, but I’m coming with you.”
Emily looked up from wiping applesauce off Chloe’s chin. “Did you ever think you might be interrupting something?”
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, trying to wipe that picture out of my head. I stood up. “I certainly hope so!”
“We’ll be here when you get back,” Emily said. She waved a spoon. “Don’t think you’re going to stick me with the bill.”
As I passed behind her chair, I patted the top of Emily’s head. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon.”
I believed it when I said it, I really did. But ten minutes later, standing on Darlene’s front porch, repeatedly ringing the doorbell and listening to Speedo’s urgent barking from the entrance hall just behind the door, I forgot my promise. Darlene’s Porsche was still parked on the street, but Daddy’s car was nowhere to be seen.
Paul parked his buns on the porch railing. “Hannah, they must have gone somewhere in your father’s car. Be reasonable!”
While Paul sat there, relaxed, both hands stuffed in his pockets, I peeked through the front window. The Christmas tree lights still blazed, lamps on the end tables burned softly, and I could see the red and green glow of the indicator lights on the stereo system. Plates with bits of food still on them and half-empty glasses covered every surface. Clearly the party had gone on long after we left.
I turned around to face my husband. “Look for yourself, Paul! If they went somewhere, don’t you think they would have cleaned up first?”
“Not necessarily.”
I tapped on the window with my knuckles and was startled when Speedo lunged into view. The dog leapt onto the sofa, settled his big paws on the windowsill, and pressed his wet, black nose against the glass. I tapped on the window again. “Hey, boy!”
Speedo went berserk. He jumped off the sofa, raced in a tight circle about the room, scrunched up two scatter rugs with his windmilling paws, then leapt onto the sofa again, barking furiously.
“Hey, boy, what’s wrong?” I laid my hand flat on the window where Speedo’s nose had left a smeared impression. I turned my head to look at my husband. “Something’s wrong in there, Paul. I just know it.”
Paul was beside me in two long strides. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the window, which did nothing to calm the frantic dog, who began to scrabble at the windowpane, toenails clicking on the glass. Paul straightened, walked to the front door, and turned the knob. “Locked.” He gave the doorbell another try, listened, then rapped loudly with the knocker. Speedo relocated himself behind the front door and began to howl.
“I’ll try around back.” I scampered off the porch and dashed around the side of the house, through a wooden gate, and into the garden. I careened around the patio table, exclaiming as I scraped my thigh against the arm of one of the chairs. Still swearing and rubbing the sore spot, I stepped onto the neatly laid brick patio and peered through the double French doors into the kitchen.
The screen on the TV Daddy had been lounging in front of the night before was dark. Like the living room, dirty dishes were piled on every flat surface and open bottles of alcohol, including a bottle of schnapps-Ruth’s?-stood like soldiers on the long kitchen counter. The light over the kitchen table still burned, but the candlesticks on the table were empty. My heart did a flip-flop in my chest. “The candles burned down to nothing,” I said as Paul caught up with me. “Nobody blew them out.”
I jiggled the door handle and gasped when the door swung slowly inward. I pulled it closed just as Speedo thundered into the kitchen. When the dog sat politely on the other side of the door and simply whined, I said, “I’m going in.”
“Hannah! What if they’re asleep?”
“If they are, then we’ll wake them up. If they’re gone, then what they don’t know won’t hurt them.” And before he could persuade me to change my mind, I pushed open the door and eased myself into the house.
What I saw then made Speedo hang his head: A prizewinning pile of dog poop had been deposited squarely in the middle of Darlene’s highly polished floor. I scratched behind the dog’s drooping ears. “Poor Speedo. It’s not your fault. Nobody let you out today!” Cold fingers squeezed my heart and I looked at Paul. “This is not good.”
Although sunlight flooded the kitchen, cheerful with its glossy white woodwork and blue-and-white gingham curtains, it did little to lighten my mood. “Let the dog out, Paul,” I said.
Paul held the door wide, stepped out onto the patio, and slapped his thigh. “Come on, Speedo. That’s a good boy.” But Speedo refused. I was standing under the overhead rack where copper saucepans and frying pans hung in a gleaming row when Speedo startled me by dashing past, through the pantry and into the dining room. I followed, catching sight of the dog’s tail as he disappeared around the curve in the staircase that led to the second floor. With my heart thudding, only partly from the exertion of racing up the stairs two at a time, I finally caught up with Speedo, sitting, four feet firmly planted, waiting politely by the bathroom door. My pulse drummed in my ears. I tried to breathe normally, and failed. The last time I’d followed a crazed dog there’d been a body at the end of the trail. I didn’t relish a repeat performance. So, when Paul appeared at the head of the stairs I wimped out and waggled my hand toward the door. “You open it.”