He opened a new text and keyed in, Hi sexy, got an ETA? Then he scrolled down his contacts list, missing Jenny’s name, pressing the red button by mistake, and having to enter the list again. Damn it, he needed to get up, stir himself, have a strong coffee and a shower.
He smiled at the memory of that morning’s shower. Her deep sigh as she came, her leg hooked around his. The warmth as he soaped her down. Her look of surprise when she’d found him hard again so soon…
Her name wasn’t in his contacts list. That was weird. And then he frowned, because he couldn’t remember her mobile number. He’d never had to; whenever he called or texted her, the number was already entered in his phone.
“Fuck it.” He stood and stretched, and all the while his eyes were darting left and right and something felt wrong.
“Hello?” he called, because the silence was becoming oppressive. But no one replied. He hadn’t expected them to, because if they had come home earlier and found him asleep, Holly would have leapt on him, bouncing on his chest until he woke so that she could tell him about her day, the shops they’d visited, what she’d had for lunch, and the jokes Uncle Jonathan had told.
He began to stride from the room, blinked, then froze.
There was a picture missing from the wall beside the flat-screen TV. His and Jenny’s wedding photograph-unobtrusive, yet one of his favorite images of them together. They’d spent almost a thousand dollars on an official wedding photographer, but this snap had come from Jonathan’s camera, capturing more of their love and happiness than any amount of posing could ever find.
And now it was gone.
“Okay,” Jim said. “Okay.” He glanced around the room. The TV looked different-same size, same sleek black shape, but…
It was a different make.
“That’s just-”
Just before he’d fallen asleep, he’d noticed Marv the Moose sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Night, Marv, he’d said, smiling because it made him think of how Holly cuddled the thing the same way every single night, snug under her left arm with its face pointing up at hers. But now Marv had vanished as well.
“Okay,” he said again, then snapped his phone open again and scanned down for Jonathan’s number. He called, and as the ringing tone whispered in his ear he shoved aside his unsettling thoughts. He was still tired and confused from his afternoon sleep, his legs hadn’t woken properly yet, and maybe he’d dreamed something weird again-something that still impressed upon him without him being able to remember anything.
“Hey,” Jonathan said when he answered. “How’s it hangin’?”
“Less than nine inches,” Jim said.
“What?”
“Nothing. Are Jenny and Holly still with you?”
“Who?”
“Jenny. Holly. They must be still with you, because they didn’t take our car. I was just wondering when they’d be home.”
Jonathan was silent for a few seconds. Jim heard his agent breathing softly, and he listened for Holly’s conspiratorial giggle as she watched her uncle Jonathan playing a joke on Daddy.
“Say that again. What are you talking about?” Jonathan asked.
“Jenny and Holly. Where are they?”
“Who the hell are Jenny and Holly?”
“Jonathan, stop screwing around. I was going to get takeout tonight, and I need to know when they’re coming home so that-”
“Have you been drinking?” Jonathan asked.
“No.” Jim frowned, looking around for an empty glass or bottle. Have I? No, that was last night, because I always get horny the morning after a drink and… He remembered sex in the shower, and the taste of Jenny on his tongue.
“So who are Jenny and Holly? Did you have one of your weird dreams again?”
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m tired and cranky and-”
“ You’re cranky? The love of my life has left me, my liver’s about to call it quits, and you’re cranky?”
“Jonathan?”
“Yes, dude?”
“What are you doing?”
“Jim… this is just weird. I mean… you know what I’m going through here.” He fell silent again for another few seconds, his breathing not as light as before. “Jim, you’re not on drugs, are you?”
“No! You know I’ve never…” Jim closed his eyes and trailed off, rubbing at his head and trying to contain his anger. Then he opened his eyes again, looking at where their wedding photo had once hung.
“What’s happening?” Jim asked. “Where are they? Help me here, Jonathan.”
“Jim, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Jenny? olly?”
“ Holly! My daughter, Holly. And Jenny, my wife.”
“Riiight…,” Jonathan drawled. “Okay. Well, considering you’ve never been married-”
Jim snapped the cell phone shut. He’d seen something that thumped at his chest, something not there that he’d only just noticed, because things not there were so much harder to see. He closed his eyes and thought back. The photograph had been there forever. Mummy and Daddy got mallied, Holly would shout, and Jonathan never failed to comment on his superior photography, and how his talent was wasted as Boston’s most successful artistic agent.
He opened his eyes again and walked across the room to where the picture had been removed. There was no square mark where the paint on the wall behind it had faded over the years, no hook, no nail.
No hole.
It was as if the picture of him and his wife had never hung there at all.
Man with No Country
Breathe, Jim. He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take four long, shuddering breaths, then opened his eyes again and looked around the living room. His hands were clenched into fists-not in anger, but in some subconscious attempt to grab hold of the fabric of the world, as if he could clutch it to himself and it would not slip away.
The wedding photo had been just the beginning. His mind had been muddled by sleep and then by irritation with Jonathan, but that empty place on the wall where the photo should have hung-and the absence of any faded paint, any hook, any evidence of a nail-sparked a barrage of tiny epiphanies that paralyzed him. At first he’d thought the furniture had been rearranged, but that impression lasted only a split second before he realized that the room around him had changed much more than that.
The armchair by the fireplace had been stiff-backed, striped in white and burgundy, but the chair that now occupied that spot was wider and plusher, upholstered in a chalky shade of blue. The end table beside the sofa and the long teak coffee table were the same, if a little more pristine than he remembered, but the lamps were different. When Jenny’s grandfather had died, her mother had sold the house and asked them to take whatever they wanted. The only furnishings Jenny had claimed were a set of antique lamps with glass shades hand-painted with red and pink roses. The lamps had vanished, replaced by more modern lighting, including a brass floor lamp Jim could not imagine ever buying.
“Jenny?” he shouted in the empty apartment. “Holly?”
His voice filled the place, giving it a sense of occupancy that felt entirely wrong. His voice alone shouldn’t be enough to make the apartment seem full. The very life and laughter of the place had gone from it, and it did not yawn with emptiness the way a home ought to when its people were out.
He glanced at the mirror over the fireplace. He had inherited it from his own mother. It remained, but something caught his eye, and Jim finally snapped from his paralysis and rushed over to stare at the mantelpiece. The two small framed photos that had always seemed to attract too much dust were now missing. One had been a baby picture of Holly, the other a snapshot from a Vermont trip a few years ago when Holly had been four or so, the three of them sitting on an old-time toboggan in the snow. But the pictures weren’t there. Neither did he see any sign of the usual detritus that having a daughter provided. Jim and Jenny were constantly picking up small parts of her toys-plastic Barbie shoes, pet bobbleheads, Super Balls, beads from broken bracelets-but the mantel was clear.