I wish I’d done this sooner.
He was thinking … thinking … there had to be a logical explanation. And then it came to him, a story that worked. He called the main desk, got transferred to the valet.
“Michael Hart here, room 3541. Has my wife been down there with some luggage? Did she have it put in the car?”
Poor Natalie must have gotten cold feet about their stay, and she’d brought all of the suitcases back to the car, or at least the ones she could take without calling for a bellhop.
He waited, biting the nail of his thumb.
I’m grateful for the truth.
“No, Mr. Hart,” the valet attendant informed him after getting confirmation. “We haven’t pulled out your car, and nobody has gone to it since you arrived.”
“Thank you,” Michael said weakly before cradling the phone.
He called Natalie a second time and again got voicemail straightaway, no ring. Either her phone was off (dead battery?) or she’d declined his call. But why would she do that?
Another thought now; they were coming to him quickly: she’s downstairs at the restaurant with the luggage. She thinks she sent him a text, but it didn’t go through. And her phone died and she doesn’t realize it. That’s it. That makes sense. Michael could see his family in his mind’s eye, the three of them sitting at a table with plates of French fries and glasses of chocolate milk, a little payoff to make up for the shortened (extremely shortened) trip.
Michael grabbed Teddy and headed for the elevator. The vanilla smell seemed to follow him into the hallway. Down he went, the glass windows of the elevator no longer holding any small thrill for him. The ride felt interminable. Michael ignored the other passengers, keeping his gaze locked on the digital readout counting down the floors, cursing softly to himself with each stop. He clutched Teddy the way Bryce did after a nightmare.
When at last the elevator reached the eighth floor, Michael shot out of the door, pushing past a younger man attempting to exit. No time to waste. He ran. He was a jogger, quite fit, but he had significant ground to cover. The hotel was a cavernous space with modern décor and enough square footage to house the reception desk, a box office, conference rooms, shops, and the restaurant, all on a single floor.
Crossroads served American cuisine, and the place could have been moved to any airport, USA, and would have blended in just fine. Michael breezed past the hostess, who didn’t even blink as he went by. This was New York. Everyone here was in a hurry. He walked between tables, clutching Teddy at his side.
He checked every table twice, but Natalie and the kids weren’t there.
There’s an explanation … there’s always a logical explanation, he told himself as he approached the hostess with the wide-eyed look of someone in shock. His skin felt clammy and cold even though he’d begun to sweat profusely.
“Excuse me,” he said breathlessly. “I’m looking for my wife.”
The raven-haired hostess, who stood a good deal shorter than Michael, peered up at him through coffee-colored eyes, a grave look of concern on her face. It was as if his anxiety had automatically transferred to her.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Um … how can I help?”
“My wife,” Michael repeated in a low voice. He didn’t want to make a scene. “Natalie Hart. Room 3541. Did she eat here recently?”
The hostess took a cautious step in retreat, and Michael wondered if she thought he might be unhinged.
“Please … just help me look for her,” he said. “Talk to a manager. Room 3541. Did she eat here? Is there a room charge?”
The hostess left her station to find a manager, while Michael got out his phone. Natalie’s number was the first in his recent list, but once again his call went straight to voicemail. He texted:
Where are you????? Why aren’t you answering me????
No answer.
The hostess came back to her station.
Her face said I’m sorry before her words echoed that exact sentiment.
“Please call the other restaurant,” Michael said briskly. “The View, I think that’s the name, right? Ask them if Natalie is there. A woman, with two kids—boy six, and a girl, ten.”
“What do they look like?” asked the hostess.
Michael unlocked his phone, but sweat from his thumb made it difficult to navigate to his photos app. Eventually, he got it open. Luckily he didn’t have to scan for a picture of Natalie and the kids, as he had taken a group shot of his family in front of the hotel entrance moments after they’d arrived.
In that photo was Addie, beaming, wearing a gray Athleta sweatshirt and black leggings. Her hair was light blond like Natalie’s had been when she was that age, but their daughter was clearly a blend of them both. She had inherited Michael’s deep-set eyes, while getting (as luck would have it) Natalie’s cute snub nose and full cheeks.
Bryce, who had hair several shades lighter than his older sister, looked sleepy, and true to form, wasn’t looking at the camera when the picture was taken. No surprise, he had Teddy tucked under his arm, and there was a trace of a smile on his rosy lips.
Natalie, her hair once a cascade of chestnut, gorgeous in any lighting, appeared thinner now, perhaps from nerves and lack of sleep. Even so, she looked strong and assured, a natural beauty in every sense. She emanated a special sort of grace. To Michael’s eyes, she appeared earthy and grounded, very much a Capricorn. Not that he was a believer in astrology, but he was a Taurus, so supposedly they were quite compatible.
A fan of the Grateful Dead, a devotee of yoga and meditation, Natalie was spiritual though not religious, and anyone who saw this picture, including the hostess, would think that his wife looked radiant. But Michael saw beyond the fa?ade to the fatigue and sheer exhaustion lurking beneath the skin’s surface. He knew that makeup could do wonders.
After studying the picture for no more than five seconds, the hostess returned Michael’s phone.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen them. Maybe try the concierge? They’ll be able to call The View. And if they charged a meal from here to your room, it will be on your room bill.”
Michael managed a curt thank-you before departing. He was back in the lobby, walking fast, Teddy swinging from his hand like a fuzzy pendulum.
Natalie’s words again: I wish I’d done this sooner. I’m grateful for the truth.
Michael prayed with all his heart that it was a different truth from the one that haunted his dreams.
CHAPTER 3
MICHAEL
By the time Michael reached the concierge desk, he was nearly out of breath. He was also third in line. From the snippets of conversation he could overhear ahead of him, a kindly looking elderly couple was having what would surely be a long chat about theater tickets. He barged to the front of the line.
The man he had interrupted grunted his protest.
“Hey, we were here first,” he said in a raspy voice.
Michael ignored him.