His eyes brightened, as if Martha were a genius. "Mrs. Volpe, if you can wait just a few more minutes, I'll send a taxi right over."
There was a pause on the line. "I'm sorry, sir. But the only people who can pick up children under the age of twelve from the youth center are parents or designated chaperones whose photographs and signatures are on file with the front office. We don't send children home with strangers."
"Oh. Of course." He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "Are you sure you can't reach my wife?"
"I've been trying for two hours."
"All right," he said with exasperation. "I'll try to find her. One of us will be there as soon as we can." He hung up, then quickly punched out his wife's cell phone number. After four rings he got the recorded message announcing that the customer was unavailable.
"Damn it, Beth. Turn your stupid phone on." He looked at Martha, obviously annoyed. "I'll take a rain check on dinner. Looks like I have to go play chauffeur."
"Where's Beth?"
"Who the hell knows."
"She do this often? Just forget to pick up the kid?"
He crossed the room and grabbed his overcoat from the hook behind the door. "It's always some damn thing with her."
"Sounds like she could use a good smack on the back of the legs."
Gus shot a look.
Martha said, "Just a figure of speech. I heard one of my British clients say that the other day."
"Hopefully not about his wife."
"Lighten up. I wasn't being literal."
"Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow."
He headed down the hall. An electronic access card allowed him through the metal gate that secured the firm's dramatic three-story lobby on weekends. He punched the button on the panel to call for the elevator. It would take a minute or two for a car to reach the forty-ninth floor. While waiting, he was thinking about Martha's comment. A crack like that was pretty awkward, given the state of his marriage. His fifteen years with Beth had had its share of rumors and allegations. It just wasn't anything to joke about. Or maybe he was just more sensitive lately, more aware of how unsettled his own feelings still were.
At times it seemed a miracle he stayed married to Beth.
Chapter Three.
Gus and his daughter sat up watching The Lion King video. It was way past her Sunday night bedtime, but Gus thought he'd take her mind off her worries with extended television privileges. It didn't work.
"When's Mommy coming home?" She must have asked that question every fifteen minutes. Gus had come up with just about every excuse he could think of. Traffic. Running late. By ten o'clock he was out of explanations. He put Morgan to bed, which was an ordeal. He read to her, sat with her, and finally crawled in bed with her. Anything to ease her mind. She was clearly sensing his own anxieties.
Finally, she was asleep.
He sank into the leather recliner and channel-surfed with the TV remote, stopping on the local news. The usual review of weekend crime sent his mind adrift until the broadcast shifted to a late-breaking live report of a fatal traffic accident on 1-5. A tangled mess of metal appeared on the screen, the remnants of two cars and a dump truck. He leaned forward, then relaxed. The victims were male, no women involved in the crash.
He chided himself for getting his pulse up. Of course it wasn't Beth. Her car was still in the garage.
That, however, was part of his confusion.