27. Chapter 27
Cate
“Honey, I’m home!”
John’s voice carried through the house, bright and familiar, followed by the sound of rainwater splattering onto the tile. I was off the couch and moving before I fully registered it - muscle memory more than thought.
I launched myself into his arms as he stepped into the kitchen, a large brown paper bag hooked around one wrist, his jacket darkened with rain.
“I missed you,” I said, taking the bag from him and setting it on the counter. I slid my hands into his, tugging him closer like I needed to anchor him there.
With a week left before the wedding, I was calm in a way that surprised me. No spiraling doubts. No second-guessing. Just a steady sense of this is it. Of him.
“How was your day?” I asked.
He kissed my cheek. “Good. Played some pool. Had a couple beers.” His smile tilted. “What about you?”
I brushed my fingers over the damp shoulders of his coat. “Let me guess… It’s still raining?”
“Like cats and dogs.” He shook his head, sending droplets flying.
“Hey, stop!” I laughed, backing away. “You’re going to soak the floor. I’ll get you a towel.”
It was moments like this that made me wonder if he’d lived alone too long, just him and Baby and no one around to tell him not to fling rainwater everywhere.
He peeled off his jacket and draped it over the sink, still smiling. I grabbed a towel and stood on my toes to dry his hair, the way I always did. It felt domestic and easy and right.
I opened the bag. Chinese food. Sesame chicken, fried rice - the good kind. The kind we saved for nights when neither of us felt like trying.
I pulled plates from the cabinet and John portioned the food out.
“How was your day?” he asked again.
“Quiet,” I said, sitting down. “Almost too quiet. I took the day off and did absolutely nothing.”
He smiled. “And now you feel guilty about it.”
“Yes,” I said, laughing. “Exactly. Like I forgot something important, even though I didn’t.”
“I get that way with work,” he said. “I’ll lie awake replaying everything.”
“I know,” I said softly.
And I did. He always understood me in a way that felt effortless. I didn’t have to translate myself. I didn’t have to soften the edges.
“How’s Seth?” I asked.
The pause was subtle, but it was there.
John took another bite, chewing slowly, his gaze dropping to his plate. The air shifted, just enough for me to notice.
He didn’t answer.
I waited, forcing myself not to fill the silence.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “How are the bridesmaids’ dresses coming?”
I blinked. “Tonight’s the final fitting.” I glanced at my watch. “In about two hours.”
“That’s tonight?” His voice wobbled slightly, and he laughed like he hadn’t meant it to. “I was just, uh, wondering something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What is it?” I asked, already reaching for my phone. “Do you need me to reschedule?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
I frowned. John didn’t stumble over words. Not with me.
He inhaled slowly. “Would Gerry be able to make one more dress before Saturday?”
“What?” I stared at him. “Why would we need another?”
He wiped his forehead, suddenly restless. “Lindsay wants to be in the wedding.”
The words landed wrong. Sharp.
I shook my head. “You’re kidding.”
“She asked if you’d make her a bridesmaid.”
“No.” The answer came out fast and loud. “Absolutely not.”
He winced. “Cate…”
“No,” I said again, pushing my chair back. “Just no.”
“You won’t even ask?”
I stood. Heat rushed up my neck. “Why are you pushing this? Why her?”
He rose too, knocking his chair back. “Are you accusing me of something?”
The question startled us both.
I crossed my arms, my chest tight. “You’ve been gone a lot lately. How am I supposed to know?”
His expression hardened. Not angry, but wounded.
“This is for Seth,” he said. “He begged me. Lindsay can’t stand not being in the spotlight, and you know that. He just wants to keep the peace.”
The truth settled, heavy and uncomfortable.
I sagged. “I overreacted.”
“Yes,” he said gently. “You did.”
Shame burned my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I just… I don’t want her to take this from us,” I said quietly. “This is ours.”
He studied me, then nodded. “I know.”
He kissed my forehead. “I need to take a walk. Clear my head.”
“Be safe,” I said. “We’ll talk when I get home.”
He smiled faintly. “I love you. Go have fun tonight.”
I watched him disappear into the rain, the garage door rattling shut behind him.
I told myself it was over. Resolved. One of those normal fights couples have before a wedding.
The rain didn’t stop.
It tapped against the windows in a steady, needling rhythm, like it was counting something I didn’t want to acknowledge. I cleaned the kitchen out of habit, rinsing plates that didn’t need rinsing, stacking them carefully in the drying rack. The food went into the fridge untouched.
I told myself John would walk back in any minute - wet, apologetic, shaking rain from his hair like earlier. I pictured the way he’d smile when he saw me pacing, the way he’d open his arms and say, Hey. I’m here.
I changed upstairs, pulling on the lingerie I knew he liked underneath my clothes, letting it give me something to look forward to. A promise. An apology I hadn’t finished offering.
I came straight home from the fitting, the dress still vivid in my mind.
The dresses were stunning. Sleeveless lilac gowns, made to swish and flow soundlessly as each girl stepped and swayed down the aisle. They were absolutely perfect, just how I had imagined them; simple and elegant
I’d stood there, watching Amy and my sister Sarah, thinking how strange it was that something meant for a beginning could already feel like a memory.
I told myself John would want to hear about it. About how close we were now.
That was hours ago.
From the moment I walked in, the house felt quieter. Not peaceful, but empty.
I checked the clock on the microwave. Then the one on my phone. Then the one on the wall, as if one of them might disagree.
Still nothing.
I tried to laugh it off, pacing the living room. He probably ran into Seth. Or needed longer to cool off. Or decided to grab a beer.
John wasn’t careless. He just… lost track of time sometimes.
I called his name.
Nothing.
I moved through the house again, slower this time.
Living room. Kitchen. Bathroom.
Each space felt untouched, frozen exactly as I’d left it hours earlier. No shoes kicked off near the door. No jacket draped over a chair. No half-finished anything.
“John?” I called, keeping my voice light. Casual. Like this was normal.
The sound didn’t travel far.
I checked his office next. The desk was neat. Too neat. His laptop was gone, but that meant nothing, he took it everywhere. The window above the desk was still cracked open a tad, just like always.
I went upstairs.
Our bedroom was empty. The bed still made from that morning, the comforter smooth, my pillow exactly where I’d left it. The bathroom light was off. His toothbrush dry.
A faint pressure settled behind my ribs.
I went back downstairs and looked out the front window just to prove something to myself.
His truck was there, parked in the driveway, angled slightly crooked the way he always left it when he was in a hurry.
My heart stuttered.
I stood there longer than I meant to, keys cold in my palm, staring at the truck like it might explain itself if I waited long enough.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
I checked my phone again. There was a text I hadn’t noticed before.
My breath hitched as I opened it.
John: I love you Cate. See you soon <3
It had come in four hours earlier.
Four hours.
The relief I’d been clinging to cracked.
“Soon,” I whispered, staring at the screen. “Soon when?”
I checked my phone again, scrolling through my call log even though I already knew what I’d find. Nothing.
My thumb drifted to voicemail. I had one new message.
I pressed play.
“Hey, Cate, it’s Sarah…”
My stomach dropped.
I ended the message before she could finish and turned away, scanning the kitchen like something might explain this if I looked hard enough. The whiteboard on the fridge was blank. No note. No scribbled “Back later.” Nothing.
“John?” I called again, sharper this time. “This isn’t funny.”
The house didn’t answer.
I dialed his number. It rang once. Twice. Then his voicemail picked up.
“Hey, you’ve reached John…”
I ended the call before the message finished, my hand shaking now.
This wasn’t like him.
John didn’t disappear. He didn’t leave without saying where he was going. He didn’t miss dinner without texting. He didn’t forget me.
I crouched down when I realized I was breathing too fast, pressing my forehead briefly to my knees like that might steady me.
“Baby,” I called.
Her nails clicked softly on the floor as she padded into the room, tail wagging, eyes bright and trusting.
“Have you seen him?” I asked, my voice breaking despite my effort.
She sat down in front of me, obedient and unconcerned.
I stroked her head, forcing a smile that didn’t hold. “Okay. That’s okay. We’ll find him.”
The words sounded rehearsed. Like something I’d practiced for a moment I never thought would actually come.
Outside, the rain hadn’t let up.
Inside, the house remained quiet.
And for the first time that night, I let myself think the thought I’d been avoiding since I walked through the door.
Something is wrong.
I started with Seth.
It felt logical. He and John had been inseparable for years. If anyone knew where he’d gone, it would be him.
The phone rang four times before going to voicemail.
I didn’t leave a message.
Next was Jim.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Cate.”
Relief rushed through me so fast it made my chest ache. “Hi. Have you talked to John tonight?”
There was a pause. Too long to be casual.
“No,” he said slowly. “I thought he was with you.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “He’s not at home.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I haven’t seen him since earlier,” Jim said. “We were at the bar for a bit. He left before I did.”
“What time?” I asked.
“Four. Maybe a little after.”
I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was nearly eleven.
“Okay,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Thanks.”
I hung up and immediately dialed Seth again.
This time he answered.
“Cate?” His voice was thick, distracted. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it. “Have you seen John?”
Silence.
“Seth.”
“No,” he said finally. “I thought… I mean, I assumed he was home.”
“He’s not.”
I heard him exhale sharply. “That’s… weird.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
“I’ll come by,” he said. “Let me get my keys.”
“Okay.”
I ended the call and stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
My body shook as I tried to figure out what to do next. The only thing I could think to do was call my best friend.
“Amy?” I said as soon as she answered, “Amy I need you.” I was full on crying, the tears streaking my face and rolling off my chin in big drops, smacking against the cold tile floor.
“Cate? Cate, what’s wrong?”
“He’s gone, Amy.”
“Who’s gone? Cate, where’s John?”
“He’s gone. I can’t find him.”
“I’m coming over.”
I paced while I waited. Checked the front door. The back. Looked out the windows even though I knew what I’d see - rain, darkness, and nothing else.
Seth arrived first. Then Amy and Jim, with Trevor.
They filled the house with sound - boots on tile, voices overlapping, questions firing too quickly for me to answer.
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Could he have gone back to the bar?”
I shook my head over and over, my answers dissolving into each other.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Trevor stayed close, his hand steady at my back, grounding me without trapping me. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until I leaned into it.
Someone suggested calling the police.
I did.
My voice trembled as I explained, stumbling through timelines and half-facts and feelings that didn’t translate into anything official.
The dispatcher was calm. Polite.
Unmoved.
“Ma’am, how long has he been missing?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I said. “Four hours. Maybe five.”
“I understand you’re worried,” she said, and I hated how practiced the words sounded. “But adults are allowed to be out of contact. We typically require twenty-four hours before filing a missing persons report.”
“Twenty-four hours?” My breath hitched. “But he’s never…”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If there’s no sign of foul play…”
“There is,” I said. “I can feel it.”
There was a pause on the line. Then, gently, “If anything changes, call us back.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, my arms feeling too heavy to hold it anymore.
The house felt different now.
Not empty, but waiting.
Time stopped behaving normally.
Minutes slipped past without leaving marks, stretching and thinning until I couldn’t tell how long we’d been sitting there - me on the edge of the sofa, Trevor on one side, Amy hovering nearby, Seth pacing like he might wear a groove into the floor.
Even Baby was starting to show signs of distress.
No one spoke much anymore.
Every sound made me look up.
The refrigerator kicking on. A car passing outside. The house settling.
None of it was him.