Somewhere Out There(81)

“I hope you don’t mind I didn’t pick up,” he said. “I actually think it’s a good idea for people to see how the other really lives. I’m not a slob, but I don’t exactly keep things neat.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Are the dogs going to be okay out there?”

“They should be,” he replied. “Scout already knows this property like the back of his paw.” He smiled, and so did I.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as we made our way into his kitchen.

“A beer would be great,” I said, eyeing what looked to be a simple but functional galley kitchen. The walls were painted light blue, the appliances were white, and the cupboards were oak. The air smelled of onions, garlic, and some kind of citrus.

Evan set the plate of brownies on the counter and then reached into the refrigerator to pull out a couple of Coronas. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, and I shook my head. He smiled again, popped off the caps on both, and then handed me one of the bottles. We clicked their long necks together as we both said, “Cheers.”

I took a swig and then glanced at the stove top, which had a large pot on the front left burner. “What are we having?” I asked, grateful for the warm, soothing sensation that filled my body after that first swallow. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I did enjoy a beer or glass of wine on occasion. Especially on nights like tonight, when my nerves were a little on edge.

“Tortilla lime chicken soup,” Evan said. “I don’t know why it’s called that because there aren’t any tortillas in it, but I think I remember you saying that Mexican food is your favorite, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

I smiled, flattered that he’d remembered something I’d barely mentioned during one of our dates, then took another sip of my beer. “Do you like to cook?”

“I do.” He paused to take a drink, then pushed a bowl of chips and another of salsa in my direction. “What about you?”

I nodded, embarrassed to tell Evan where it was that I’d learned to cook, and who had taught me. “But since I live alone, sometimes it feels like too much work, you know? It’s easier to order takeout.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, smiling.

We both grabbed for a chip, and then he motioned for me to taste the salsa first. It was a spicy explosion of sweet, fiery tomato, garlic, onion, jalape?os, and fresh cilantro. “Oh my god,” I said, holding a hand in front of my mouth as I spoke so I wouldn’t spit out any crumbs. “Did you make this?” He nodded again and tried some as well. “It’s phenomenal,” I said. “Seriously. You could bottle and sell it.”

“Thanks,” he said, clearly pleased. A few minutes later, after we’d talked about how our workdays had gone, he pulled a couple of soup bowls from the cupboard and used a ladle to fill them with the soup on the stove. There was no dining room, but there was a table in the kitchen, which I just then noticed had two small votive candles burning in its middle. “Let’s eat,” he said, carrying the bowls over. I picked up the chips and salsa and followed him, only to be interrupted by the sound of a dog whining and scratching at the back door.

“They must have sensed it was time to clean up anything we happen to drop,” Evan said as he set the bowls down and took a couple of steps over to open the back door. Scout trotted inside with his white-tipped ears perked, still whining at his master. He was alone.

“Trixie!” I called out, hoping she was just outside, behind her playmate. I whistled, the short, sharp noise I used to call her in when we were at our own house. She didn’t appear. “Oh, no,” I murmured, dropping the two bowls I carried to the table. Salsa spilled out onto the light blue tablecloth, a fact I barely registered.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Evan said, but we both ran out to the back deck. It was already dark and there was no moon. The sky was inked with heavy clouds.

“Trixie!” I yelled again. “Come here, girl!” I whistled again, but the sound broke. She can’t be gone.

“Wait just a sec,” Evan said. He turned around, went back into the house, and quickly returned with our jackets and a flashlight. He helped me on with my jacket, then put on his own. After closing the back door, we both headed into the yard, calling out Trixie’s name.

“Where is she?” I asked, unable to keep the panic and desperation from my voice. My head began to spin. Oh, god. Is it happening again? I hadn’t felt this way since the morning in the park with the little girl who fell down, all those years ago. Despite the icy air of the February evening, I started to sweat.

“She couldn’t have gone far,” Evan said. “Has she ever done this before?”

“No!” I said. I peered into the field, unable to see more than ten or fifteen feet in front of us, even with the flashlight. “I shouldn’t have let her stay outside. We have a fence at home. Maybe she got confused. What if she’s gone? What if she got hit by a car?” I began to feel as though I couldn’t catch my breath. I bent over, my hands on my knees, my heartbeat pounding between my eardrums. “No!” I cried. “No, no, no! I can’t lose her!” All I could think about was Brooke and Natalie, the last time I held them. The day the social worker carried them away.

Evan stepped over and crouched next to me, putting his long arm over my back. “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. Come on now. We’ll find her. I promise. You have her chipped, right? If she’s lost, someone will take her to the shelter.” His words were distorted, sounding as though they were traveling to me underwater.