Three things.
It wasn’t easy getting the conversation going. Typically the kids launched half-hearted protests, but in the end Michael always felt the game brought him closer to the people who were closest to him.
He recalled Natalie’s three things from the night before. They’d struck him as somewhat odd, just as this whole experience of returning to an empty hotel room felt odd.
Natalie had said:
“Today I got us all packed and ready to go.”
“I’m grateful for the truth.”
“I wish I’d done this sooner.”
He had meant to ask his wife for clarification—what was it she wished she’d done sooner? Pack? And what truth was she grateful for? But then Bryce spilled his glass of milk and those questions got lost in the aftermath.
Now, thoughts of that game—specifically Natalie’s reference to her packing prowess—brought Michael’s attention to just how clean the room was. He took in that vanilla and cedar smell again. It was as if they’d not yet arrived. Normally there’d be clothes strewn about, the TV blaring, and suitcases left open on the floor, but not this time. This time there was not an item in sight, as if Natalie had prepared them for a military-type room inspection.
In the bathroom, Michael splashed water on his weathered face and rubbed the dark stubble of a nascent beard. He looked aged well beyond his forty-three years, but stress can do that to a person. His marriage was on the rocks, but was there more to their troubles at home than he knew?
I’m grateful for the truth …
Noticing his reddish eyes, Michael went for his toiletry bag on the countertop, digging inside for the Visine. As he undid the zipper, a concern tugged at him, bringing with it an unsettled feeling not unlike the one he had experienced when he found Teddy all by his lonesome in the hallway.
All his senses were telling him something was wrong. He couldn’t immediately identify the source of his unease, but as he scanned the bathroom, he realized what was amiss. He distinctly remembered Natalie getting her toiletries out of her suitcase because she had wanted to brush her teeth. Now there was only one toiletry bag on the counter, and it belonged to him. Had she really put hers back in her suitcase?
Michael’s heartbeat picked up. Just a little.
He went to the closet directly across from the bathroom. There he paused, not quite ready to open the door. His thoughts gummed up as he took another look around the perfectly ordered room.
Two rambunctious children aren’t this neat.
The smell of vanilla taunted him.
He gripped the knob of the closet door, his stomach in knots, and gave it a yank. It was dark inside, but he had no trouble seeing the outline of his black suitcase pushed up against the back wall.
One suitcase.
Just one.
His.
CHAPTER 2
MICHAEL
After dragging his suitcase from the closet, Michael fumbled with the zipper. Inside, he found all his clothes as he’d packed them. Shirts, socks, pants, underwear—they were all neatly folded and in their proper places.
His mind went blank. He called Natalie but was sent directly to her voicemail. He texted her but never saw the three dots signaling a return reply. There had to be a logical explanation for this: Why was his suitcase the only one in the room?
And then it came to him. It was obvious. There was a problem with the room—wrong view, too stuffy, a plumbing issue, something else he hadn’t noticed—and Natalie had taken her suitcases to the new room, but his was too much for her to carry. She didn’t bother with a valet because she can be quite the frugal Yankee. In the process of moving, poor Bryce dropped his teddy bear and didn’t realize it. They were in the new room wondering what was taking Dad so long. Natalie had sent him a text, but sometimes those didn’t come through right away, and hotels had notoriously spotty service.
Grabbing the hotel phone, he pressed zero for the front desk. He’d call her before she called him.
“Hello, Mr. Hart, how can I help you?”
Mr. Hart because it was his credit card on file, not Natalie’s. They managed the finances by keeping their money pooled in joint accounts. To them it was a symbol of trust and respect—a what’s-yours-is-mine kind of thing.
“Yes, I believe my wife changed rooms. I’m sure she sent a text message to let me know, but for some reason I didn’t receive it. Could I have the new room number, please?”
He tried to put a smile in his voice while ignoring the light-headed feeling that overcame him. There was a moment of silence, which Michael used to check his phone, thinking her text must have reached him by now.
Seeing nothing, he waited, pushing down a gnawing concern.
“I’m sorry … um, no. There’s no change to your room number, Mr. Hart.”
Michael’s vision blurred.
“Well, that can’t be,” he said. “Their luggage isn’t here. Did she maybe leave it with an attendant? It must be with a luggage attendant. Can you please check? It’s Natalie Hart … Michael Hart … room 3541. Please … go check for me.”
The room seemed to be spinning now. Michael dragged the phone all the way to the dresser, where the pizzas awaited hungry mouths. He pulled open the top drawer and found it empty. The second drawer was the same. A leather-bound Bible greeted him in the third drawer.
The blood in his head pounded like surf against his skull as he looked again for a note, scanning every surface multiple times, feeling his chest grow heavier with worry. There was hotel stationery and a pen on a desk near the window, but nothing scrawled on the pad. He rechecked his phone; his hands began to shake.
Eventually, the desk attendant spoke in his ear.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hart. There’s no luggage belonging to your family down here.”
Michael dropped the hotel phone without bothering to hang it up. He raced out into the hallway, checking the long corridor in both directions, hoping that he’d see his family coming toward him, hear the sweet voices of Bryce and Addie. But the only noise to hit his eardrums was the steady hum of the hotel air-conditioning.
Back in the room now, his mind empty, stomach tight, Michael stood at the edge of the bed, his arms hanging limply by his sides.
No note. No call. No text. No explanation.
Everyone and everything, just gone.
For a time, he paced the room like a caged animal. Nobody’s here. Nobody’s been here except to drop off luggage. That’s what that vanilla smell was telling him. He looked over at Teddy. Poor Teddy. His eyes fixed and dilated, forever that way. Seeing nothing. Or maybe not.
Michael wanted desperately to breathe life into that bear so Teddy could tell him what had happened to his family. It was a ridiculous thought of course. It was all quite ridiculous.
Nat’s three things flittered in and out of his mind again.
Today I got us all packed and ready to go.
I’m grateful for the truth.