The Herd(32)
“You’ve got it under control?”
“I’ll handle it. The press release nightmare too.” I felt a flare of annoyance: How nice it must be for Mikki, for everyone, to sit back and trust that I’d take care of it. Mikki had this blinky obliviousness that automatically absolved her of responsibility. It made people want to take care of her. This was not something we had in common. And Katie, too, could just plow through life like a toddler, glancing wondrously at messes she’d made in her determined scramble to get ahead…
Speaking of messes: “Have you talked to Ted?” I asked.
“No. He texted all of us, did you see that? I’m sure he’s worried.”
“Maybe he’ll have some ideas of how to find her. They’re still close.” I’d always found Eleanor and Ted’s continued friendship a little confounding—he was sweet, sure, but what did they have in common other than some shared playground memories? But that meant I didn’t have a clear inventory of what she told him, the personal baubles that passed between them. “I’m going to call him.”
“Okay.” A few charged seconds and I could feel us both listening, waiting, wondering if the other would say it. My pulse rushed up into my ears, faster and faster, a runaway train bumping over the tracks.
But she didn’t mention it.
“I’ll keep you posted,” I said finally, and hung up.
I tried Ted, left a pleading voicemail. Exhaustion hit me suddenly, like a weighted blanket tossed over me. But when I finally slid into bed, my mind whirred. Twice I took my phone off airplane mode, but Ted hadn’t replied. I took an inventory of my latest interactions with Eleanor: a text at 12:54, just “okay.” An email last night at 7:02: I’d had some last-minute questions on the logistics of the acquisition, and she’d answered in her usual calm manner.
Inspired, I emailed Mikki and Katie and asked them to provide the same info in a shared document—when they’d last seen and heard from Eleanor. Mikki had gotten texts from Eleanor at 10:42 a.m. and 3:03 p.m. today. Katie had left Eleanor at Mocktails at 6:28 p.m. (“per Lyft receipt”). Mocktails ended at 7.
Someone was calling me, a number that wasn’t in my contacts, and it took me a full two rings to realize it was Ted.
“Thanks for calling me back.”
“No prob. Did you find Eleanor?”
“No, she’s still missing. Katie, Mikki, and I went over to her apartment, but she wasn’t there either. We talked to some detectives—they might try to contact you too.”
“Huh.” He thought this over. “I sent her a bunch of texts after I left Hielo, but she hasn’t responded. Do they think something happened to her?”
“We’re not sure.” I took a deep breath, in and out. “They asked about exes. Have you heard from Cameron?”
“Cameron? He wouldn’t know anything. Him and Eleanor don’t really keep in touch.”
“When did you talk to him last?”
“Let’s see…I was home for Thanksgiving and we haven’t talked since then.”
“Is he living there, still?”
“That’s right.”
“How did he seem?” Still clean? I almost blurted out.
Ted chuckled uncomfortably. “He seemed normal. Hana, what’s Cam got to do with any of this? I’m sure he doesn’t even know Eleanor’s missing yet. No one really does, right?”
“You’re right. The cops asked about exes and I’m just…I wish I knew who to talk to.” I mashed a hand against my eye. “I’m so worried. The night of a big, important event—it’s an especially terrible time to disappear.”
“Is there ever a good time?”
“I guess.” One night earlier, and we’d be alarmed she left just before the announcement. One day later, and we’d be shocked she vanished on the heels of her exciting news.
A beat. “I’m sure Eleanor’s fine, Hana. She’s a smart girl. And very private. If she had to get away for a minute, she may not want us to know the reason.”
Woman, I thought. She’s a smart woman.
“You know, everyone says that: She’s so private, she’s so guarded, look at her running a lifestyle blog but hardly ever sharing anything about her own life.” I stood and crossed to the kitchen, fumbled in the cabinet for a water glass. “People think they’re opposite poles: You can be all TMI and post a million no-makeup selfies, or you can be like Eleanor and only post about your professional life. But it’s not any different. Eleanor doesn’t have more secrets than the woman who posts four hundred times a day. She just invests less time in hiding them.”
A long silence. “I like that she’s private,” he said, because he didn’t get it, not at all. “She just does cool shit and lets her work speak for itself.”
“That’s one way to think of it.” I took a sip of water. “Anyway, I’m gonna call your brother.”
“Good luck with that.”
I dialed anew, listening to the rings without much hope. After a few, a cheerful robot lady told me that this user has a voicemail that has not been set up yet, goodbye.
I was out of things to do and that meant I had to face it again: Eleanor missing, Eleanor gone without a trace, Eleanor most likely, most rationally, most reasonably dead in a ditch somewhere, because why else wouldn’t she have contacted us? Cosmo stood and leapt off the bed, annoyed by my shaking breaths.