Missing Like You

NINE

SCOTT DONOVAN
SATURDAY JUNE 18, 2022

Saturday morning arrives, and for a brief second when I first gain consciousness, I forget about everything that's going on. I feel a moment of serene tranquility as my eyes flutter open and I glance at the clock. 9:23 a.m. I'm comfortable. Zeppelin is at the foot of my bed, curled up in a deep sleep. But just as I begin to relish in the moment, it all hits me. The floodgates have opened and I remember the stark reality: Isabelle is missing. My heart accelerates and I grab my phone, hoping for good news. Unfortunately, there is none.

I make my way downstairs to the kitchen as I go through my messages. Zeppelin waits by her dish and I distractedly use one hand to pour some food while the other hand holds my phone.

News of Isabelle's disappearance has spread like wildfire. Every outlet in the city has picked up on it. Her face is being broadcasted everywhere. But no one has seen her. No one knows where she is.

I hear noises and peek out the curtains to the front of my house. There's a sea of reporters out there, snapping pictures, waiting for me to come out. The detective told me yesterday that it's probably best I find somewhere to stay until some of it dies down or blows over.

I phone Jake and ask if I can crash at his place for a few days. Zeppelin's not allowed at his condo, but I can't just leave her here. I pack a bag, grab some of her things, put her on the leash, then walk out the front door and into the eye of the storm.

They launch forward, yelling things, shouting questions, shoving microphones and cameras in my face, asking if I know where Isabelle is.

"If I knew where my wife was," I say to them loudly. "I wouldn't be standing here getting harassed by you."

Detective Gibbons told me not to engage with them or say anything without a statement prepared. If I could, I'd tell them all to go fuck themselves.

I safely make it to Jake's place and settle my things in the spare room. He's not happy about the presence of Zeppelin, but he'll get over it. As if on cue, she growls at him. I politely remind her that we are guests here, and we don't growl at our hosts. Jake offers me a beer. I decline.

We spend a good portion of the morning sitting around doing nothing. Jake has the TV on so we can keep updated on what the news is broadcasting. We order takeout for lunch and make small talk. It's as though Jake is walking on eggshells, unsure of what to say to me, how to broach the topic.

A couple years ago, when we were twenty-five, Isabelle discovered that she was pregnant. I was ecstatic, and Isabelle was an array of emotions. Initially she was scared and nervous, unsure of what to think. But after going to the doctor and confirming the pregnancy, she was excited. This was what we had always wanted. We just didn't expect it to come so soon.

We didn't want to tell anyone because it was still early and we didn't want to jinx anything. It was a secret that only the two of us knew about. And each night before we went to bed, we'd smile about, envisioning what our future with our baby would be like, both our hands atop her tiny stomach.

That elation we initially felt over the pregnancy only lasted a few months. Because one morning as Isabelle was going into the shower, she collapsed in excruciating pain. I rushed her to the hospital immediately, and it was there that the doctor told us that Isabelle had suffered a miscarriage and we lost the baby.

"It's not anyone's fault," the doctor told us, trying to be reassuring. "These things can happen sometimes. But your uterus is more than viable and you have plenty of eggs. I know this may be difficult now, but don't let it discourage you in the future. When you feel ready, go ahead and try again."

It was hard on the both of us, but Isabelle had a much more difficult time than I did trying to move forward.

After a few months passed, I pushed her to try again. I tried to remind her of how happy we had been once we learned of the pregnancy, and how the doctor seemed optimistic that we could try again. But Isabelle felt the opposite. She was scared and resented the idea of trying again. She worried that she would get pregnant, only to lose another baby all over again. Her mother had had two miscarriages before Isabelle, after all. I think she feared the same thing would happen to her. It was too much for her, she told me. And so, we eventually gave up on the idea for the time being. Though deep down I always hoped the time when she was ready again would come sooner rather than later.

It never did.

Part of me always wondered if things would have turned out differently if we never lost that baby. The series of events that subsequently played out could have been prevented if only there was a child involved. A baby could have changed everything. But we never had the chance again, so here we are.

One night as we were in bed, talking before we went to sleep, Isabelle asked me, "Do you regret getting married so young?"
I turned to look at her through the darkness, her face illuminated by the moon. "No. Do you?"
"No."
"Then why are you asking that?"
"Just a thought I had."
She was quiet again.
"It's the two of us, Iz. Always has been, always will be. The only thing we need is each other," I grabbed her hand, brought it to my lips, kissed it.
"I know," she smiled at me. "Isn't it crazy that we've only ever been with each other?"
"I guess."
"My friends always talk about crazy exes or random one-night stands. But I can't relate, because I've never experienced that."
"Are you complaining?" I asked her. "Would you like to have a lineup of crazy exes?"
"No," she laughed. "I'm not complaining at all. Quite the opposite, actually." She turned to me and smiled. "I'm so glad you're my one and only. Like you said, it's you and I forever."
"Forever," I said.

Around 12:30, my cell phone rings. I recognize the number as Detective Gibbons' and my nerves stir with anticipation, mind already set on the idea of him telling me they've found Isabelle and she's okay.

"Did you find her?"
"I need to speak with you," he says. "You're not at the house."
"You told me to find some place to stay."
"So where are you?"
I recite the address and he tells me he's on his way.

Upon their arrival, Jake gives us some space and heads to the grocery store. Detective Gibbons and the female officer sit with me in the kitchen. Zeppelin is next to me, eyeing them. She growls, a wretched snarl. I pull hard on her collar.

"Friendly," the detective remarks.
"She doesn't like strangers." I look at Zeppelin, then face the two of them. "Is everything alright?"
"You failed to tell us a vital piece of information," he says.
"What's that?"
"Why your marriage ended."
"I told you – things just weren't working."
"And now we know that's bullshit," he says, staring at me. "You cheated on her."
I remain silent. Well, shit, it was bound to come out eventually. "Who told you? Was it Kate. It was probably Kate."
"Was this a one-time thing, or a full-blow affair?"
"I wouldn't consider it an affair. It was one time. I fucked up. I know that, okay?"
"Who was she?"
"Just some random woman. I barely knew her."
"What's her name?"
I hesitate. I can't say her real name now. "Sarah," I improvise.
"Sarah what?"
"I didn't get her surname. We were a little busy to have formalities."
They both give me a look of dismay.
"What? Is that all you came here for? To talk about my infidelity? How does this have anything to do with Isabelle's disappearance?"
"Plenty," the female officer interjects.
"Have the two of you taken any more steps in locating my wife? I didn't think so. So why don't you focus on that instead of a mistake I made in the past."
"Have you obtained a lawyer yet, Mr. Donovan?" he says to me. "By the looks of how things are going thus far, I think you're going to need one."