Wtf
Margot answers on the first ring, the ever-present laugh in the back of her throat. She is a happy girl, my sister. I’m about to ruin her day.
“That didn’t take long. I thought you’d be sound asleep over the Atlantic by now.”
“Margot, listen to me. I’m in Atlanta. The airline rerouted us, and as we were getting on the connection to Milan, Trey went to the bathroom and never came back.”
“What?”
“He disappeared. Walked right out of the airport. Got into what looked like a rideshare and drove away.”
“And left you and the kids behind? What the actual fuck, Brook?”
“My thoughts exactly.” My composure starts to slip.
“I don’t know what to do. I’ve already faced the inquisition, and the airport police have decided he bailed on me.
At first, they acted like he was some sort of terrorist, then about-faced and said, ‘Oh well, sorry your husband left you,’ and sent me on my way.
It was bizarre. They had an unbelievable amount of security, but once they saw he’d left the premises?
It’s no longer their problem, I guess. Oh, and he threw away his phone.
They found it in the trash. The passcode and Face ID were changed. I can’t get in.”
A scoff. “He has a brain tumor. Surely. This is not like him at all.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Have you talked to Uncle Bob?”
“He’s my next call. He’s the one who set up this whole trip. He and Aunt Pat had to go to Dubai on short notice yesterday.”
“They did? They didn’t tell me that. Okay. Where are the kids?”
“This is the weird thing. There was a woman on the plane who knew Trey. But she called him Andrew and said they went to high school together. He swore to me he didn’t know her, but then he took off.
Anyway, she works for the airline and is kindly hanging around, keeping an eye on them while I figure out what to do. ”
“That’s . . . odd.”
“Everything about today is odd. He wigged out on me when we had to divert to Atlanta, and it’s all gone downhill since.”
“Can you fly back?”
“You think I should? I mean, he’s here in Atlanta somewhere. Shouldn’t I stay in case the police find him?”
“Are they looking for him?”
“Technically, no. Maybe they’re looking for the car he got in? I don’t know, Margot. I’m freaking out here. They said I have to wait a day before I can report him missing.”
Matheson is standing across the terminal, watching me. His expression is unreadable. It makes me want to scream. He suspects something; I’m sure of it. Why won’t he help? What is he not telling me?
“Okay,” Margot says, taking control of the situation as she always does when I’m in doubt. “Here’s what we do. You stay overnight. I’ll drive down first thing and pick you up. If he hasn’t surfaced, we can go to the police and pitch a fit.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come down. We can fly back. Or rent a car, it’s only four hours home. Or Uber, worse comes to worst.”
She shuts that idea down immediately. “Ugh, a stranger for four hours? With the kids? No, no way.”
“Good point. God, Margot, what do I tell the kids? What if he’s hurt? What if he was threatened?”
“He’s going to understand that term much better when I get my hands on him.”
My sister is taking the fear and fury on herself. Margot being angry allows me room to think more logically. I blow out a breath.
“We should stay. At least for now. I want to talk to the police, but the airport security guy said because he left of his own accord, that doesn’t exactly bolster my case.”
“Okay. I’ll make a hotel reservation for you.
Someplace close to the airport, so if he comes back, they can reach you fast. You take the kids to the hotel.
And ignore the airport guy. Call the Atlanta police the minute you’re settled and see if they have any other suggestions.
He’s in their jurisdiction. They might be more amenable than the TSA suggests. Are the kids okay?”
“They’re hanging in there.”
It’s three in the afternoon now. The kids have to be starving. I’m starving. How I can even think of food and bodily necessities right now . . . But I am a mother, and there are little people depending on me. I have to handle their needs, and then my own. It’s in the contract.
“Text me the info. Thank you, Margot.”
“Of course. Try not to worry. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find him. And when we do, I’ll kill him. Slowly.”
“Get in line.”
We hang up, and I look at my phone, calculate the time difference between Atlanta and Dubai. Eight hours ahead; they’re probably at dinner with clients. No matter; this is too important to wait. Bob answers on the first ring.
“How’s he doing, Brook?”
“Excuse me?”
“Trey. June said he called in sick this morning. Said he was worried he might have COVID.”
This takes me a minute to process. June is Bob’s admin. Trey called her and said he was sick?
“Wait, what? He called in? Bob, he’s not sick. We were on our way to the conference in Milan.”
“Milan . . . Italy? What conference?”
“The new client you’ve assigned him? The economic conference? He’s going for you? You don’t know about this?”
“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My heart is thundering so hard I think the people walking by must be able to hear it. My voice goes up a notch.
“Bob, I think we’re having a misunderstanding. You and Pat are in Dubai, right?”
“No. We’re in the office.”
“So you didn’t get Trey an emergency passport yesterday? It came last night, by courier, so we could take this trip. He said the trip was paid for, that your office had already arranged the hotel in Milan for us.”
A heavy sigh, like I’m a madwoman he needs to calm. “Brooklyn, I know nothing about this.”
“Well, then, you’ll be very confused when I tell you our flight was rerouted at the last minute to Atlanta, and he walked out of the airport and left us here with no warning.”
“You’re in Atlanta?” he asks sharply.
“Yes.”
“And he . . . left you there, alone, at the airport?” I hear the disbelief in his voice. Three hours ago, I would have mocked the idea, too.
“Yes. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” he says. “That doesn’t sound like the Trey we know at all.” His voice sounds funny, but I can’t put my finger on it. I feel like I might just pass out.
“No. It doesn’t.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Just . . . if you hear from him, please call me right away.”
“I will. What else do you need?”
“Nothing. I’ll keep in touch.”
“All right. I’ll take a look on this end, see if anything shows up. Maybe he left something on his desk or in his files. If I find anything, I’ll reach out immediately. What else can we do for you? Do you want me to have Pat call?”
This little bit of compassion threatens to swamp me.
“Not right this second. I’ll be in touch if I find out anything more.”
“Then you take care, Brookie. Be careful. This sounds very out of character, and I’m worried for you.”
I hang up and give myself a second to have an internal meltdown. Why would Trey lie to all of us? What in the hell is going on? This is way beyond worrying he might be having an affair. That email last night seems more critical now. Something huge is happening. Life altering.
I fear my husband is in grave danger.
I pack up Trey’s suitcase, square my shoulders, and return to my kids.