His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

James’s parents had retired to Florida about a year earlier, which fit, since they were in their sixties but acted like they were in their eighties. Five-cent coupons. Dinner at four P.M. They’d lived in the same area, less than a half hour from where James was now, their whole lives. His mother worked as a real estate assistant and retired at fifty because of her first cancer scare, which went on for ten years of cancer scares and two rounds of chemo, but there hadn’t been a thing on her scans for the last five years, thankfully. His father worked right up until sixty-seven and a half. Worked on parts for a local military base for their machinery. Not the bombs and the tanks, but the machines that made them.

They’d never met Tessa. James planned to bring her down to Florida for Thanksgiving.

Now what was he supposed to say?

James’s gut was wrecked as he thought about his parents having to deal with this shit. Especially after their first son, Tommy, his beloved older brother, died right before James was about to graduate from high school.

The eggs he burned didn’t settle the butterflies in his stomach, and the sponge he used to clean didn’t get the rot off the bottom of the pan. How did Tessa know what to do every time? He began to realize he was almost helpless without her, after only a few months. Maybe she was even better than he gave her credit for. He finally decided to pick up the phone to call his parents.

In the office, he picked up the cordless phone from the charger and pressed the green button and waited for the hum. His parents’ number and Tessa’s number were the only ones he knew by heart and was able to dial without looking them up in his cell phone. He dialed and while the phone line normally trilled for at least four rings, this time his mother picked up immediately.

“Honey? What’s going on? Why didn’t you call us?”

James pictured her sitting on her recliner, wrapped up in the blue, brown, and white patchwork afghan that she’d knitted when she was on her first round of chemo fifteen years ago. Yes, she probably still had it around her shoulders, even though it was likely a billion degrees down there. His father was probably crouched down, leaning into her so he could listen as James spoke. They’d never learned how to properly use a speakerphone.

“I don’t know, Mom. I didn’t want to bother you until I had all the details.”

“What details?” She coughed, which worried him. “So Tessa is okay? Oh, that Carina person. She scared the bejeezus out of us.”

How was he supposed to start this conversation? “Is Dad there?”

“Right here, son,” his father said, just as James predicted.

“Look, don’t listen to anything that witch says. Don’t listen to anything you see online.”

His parents didn’t know how to search for news articles online. His father still got up every morning and got a newspaper and still thought that was the most current way to get news and information. James remembered excitedly telling his father years ago that Henrik Lundqvist, the goalie for the New York Rangers, got a seven-year contract extension and his father didn’t believe him. It wasn’t in today’s newspaper, he’d said, not realizing the story broke midday and it wouldn’t be in the paper until the next day.

This mess with Tessa wouldn’t be in a newspaper in Florida. It was local news. And it wasn’t even real news yet. They hadn’t found a body, and people go missing every day.

“Listen, guys. When I got home Thursday night, Tessa wasn’t here. I noticed some suspicious stuff, so I called the cops. They’re investigating, but it doesn’t look good. Then someone leaked her name and then they got my name and now it’s all just a big mess. They’re accusing me of something I didn’t do.”

His mother waited for another coughing fit to subside before she spoke again. “But the lady said Tessa is dead and that you murdered her.”

He gripped the phone, turning his knuckles white. “Don’t listen to that. She’s missing. Not dead.” James gulped loudly when he said that.

“Okay. So, you’re still coming for Thanksgiving?”

James shook his head. He loved his parents, but they just weren’t getting it. They were old-school. Married thirty-six years. Still believed in kids riding bikes and playing outside after school, with mothers who stayed home and served warm cookies while the kids did their homework. They knew nothing of today’s world.

When he married Tessa, as quick as it was after they’d met, he’d told them they’d been dating for a while and decided to be spontaneous—the reason for the parents not getting a proper invitation to the courthouse. The truth was he had a girlfriend when he met Tessa. Joanna. They’d been together for about six months and his parents didn’t know many details about his relationships, so he let them assume she was the same girl.

And they still thought he was coming for Thanksgiving and bringing Tessa. His conversation wasn’t landing.

“I hope so, Mom. This will all be figured out soon.”

The coughing started again, violently, and there was a rustle on the other end of the line. “When do you think she’ll be back?” That time, it was his father.

“Dad, is Mom okay?”

“Hang on, son.” A muffled conversation took place for a few seconds, and then his father came back. “Mom’s been a little run down lately. We’re taking her for some tests.”

James’s heart stopped. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me?”

James pictured his father, once strong and stocky, now frail and a couple inches shorter than he was when he built the big bad machines. After retiring to care for his wife, he immediately moved them down to Florida, where the warm winters didn’t take such a toll on either of them. No more snow shoveling or fireplace maintenance. Now they were in a nice community of people their own age,