My Wife Is Missing(51)
One problem solved, but another remained.
Sleep.
The road was doing that hypnotic thing again, making it hard for Natalie to focus on driving. Lines dividing the highway blurred from solid to dotted and then back again. How many hours of sleep did she get last night? Two? Three? No … probably less.
She tightened her hands on the wheel, but her eyes still felt heavy. Why was it she could sleep where she shouldn’t and couldn’t sleep where she should? She felt like the butt of a cruel joke.
Her gaze softened as her attention drifted from the road to nothing at all. It was some distance later that Bryce asked when they could stop, and only then did Natalie realize she was behind the wheel of a car, going sixty, with her two kids in the back.
Holy shit, she thought.
She bit the inside of her mouth hard enough to make her eyes water, but at least she was awake and alert again.
“We’ll stop soon,” she told Bryce.
Bryce didn’t seem to like the answer and retorted: “When will we see Daddy?”
Kids know, thought Natalie. They just know how to make it hurt.
“Soon,” she said, hating herself for the lie.
“When’s soon?”
“Who needs a bathroom break?”
When in doubt, change the subject. Bryce raised his hand, and thinking she’d get to a rest area, Natalie followed a sign to a country highway. Away from the interstate the landscape changed with farms and fields on either side, and while this route offered nicer scenery, the road seemed to stretch on forever. Natalie felt herself driving toward some invisible edge—not only in this physical world, but in her mind as well. Her thinking was muddled, but at least she was keeping the car in its proper lane. Eventually, she pulled over onto the side of the road so that Bryce could do his business. No cars passed.
Everyone had a stretch, and Addie groaned about getting back in the car, a sentiment Natalie shared, but that was the extent of it. They had to keep driving. Complaints from the kids died down with the start of yet another game of I Spy.
“I spy with my little eye something … green,” Bryce announced.
Natalie glanced out the window.
Green … no shit.
Everything looked green to her. The trees. The grass. The houses. Hell, even the cows looked green. Natalie felt utterly disconnected from everything and everyone, as if she were having an out-of-body experience while behind the wheel of a two-thousand-pound car.
I’m going crazy, she thought. Bit by bit. Drip by drip. I’m going insane.
This line of thinking was as predictable as the dawning of a new day, and it served only to usher in waves of doubt.
Am I doing the right thing?
She reminded herself how easily Michael had slept that night after what he’d done. She knew she had no choice.
Her mantra came to her as it always did in moments of uncertainty.
Move. Move. Move. Keep on moving.
Her other thoughts: get to Kate’s farm. Rest and recharge. Turn the evidence over to the police, but do it from a place where Michael can’t find us.
Kate had replied, “ok,” in response to the new number, hadn’t asked any questions, which meant she hadn’t seen the Facebook post. Good. She’d learn the truth soon enough.
Five or so hours and a few stops later, Natalie drove into Zanesville, Ohio. Finally, rest was imminent. No way could she make the full eight hours she’d planned on driving.
Brightly colored religious messages and neon-lit crosses greeted the family at every turn as they drove along the wide, quiet streets lined with white clapboard homes and their welcoming front porches. Natalie noted the overall Americana charm of the place, and without warning, a torrent of sadness rose up inside her. This was the life she’d imagined for herself when she and Michael first got serious. Lemonade stands and ball games. Good neighbors and cookouts. Campfires and cuddles. A husband who adored her—and didn’t lie about everything. This was what she’d always wanted: a modest but decent existence in a town just like this one.
She drove through the town center in what she guessed to be under four seconds. It was approaching one o’clock in the afternoon, but the streets were eerily empty. Maybe everyone was at church. Natalie couldn’t help but take in the multitude of spiritual messages peppering the sides of buildings and antiquated farmhouses, reminding her to pray.
She checked out three different motels, until finally selecting a modestly priced Fairfield Inn. The kids were all energy as they bounded out of the car, desperate to give their legs a good stretch. They ran in circles, chasing after each other on a patch of grass in something of a courtyard fronting the inn. Perhaps because the air tasted extra fresh out here, Addie didn’t seem to have any breathing troubles, though Natalie’s deep inhales were hardly rejuvenating.
After issuing instructions to both children to stay close by, play only on the grassy area. Natalie went to check in.
The receptionist greeted Natalie with an affable smile that could have advertised a dental practice.
“Checking in?”
A gritty film covered Natalie’s eyes, as though she’d driven through a dust storm. Road-weary travelers had to comprise the bulk of the Fairfield’s guests, which would explain why her bedraggled appearance attracted no special attention from this clerk.
“Yes, but I don’t have a reservation,” said Natalie.