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

her at that pizza place she was designing. I was there for lunch. We took a selfie. She didn’t tell you?”

James cautiously read his friend’s face. “No. She didn’t.” He looks at the picture again. “This is dated last Thursday. You saw her that day? Before she went missing?”

Evan took the phone from James’s hands. “It’s my fault. I was supposed to text it to you, but I got sidetracked with a case.” He peers at the screen. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Look at that smile. She was always so happy with you.”

Tessa wasn’t with James when she smiled that smile. In fact, he’d detected something glowing about her face in that moment.

Evan tapped a few buttons. “I just texted it to you, so you can have it when you get your phone set up again. But let’s focus. Call Robert. Find out what extra DNA was at the scene.”

James’s head said that Evan was telling the truth. His gut swirled, but it’d been betraying him all week. Focus.

With shaky fingers, James called and heard it straight from Robert’s lips—another person’s DNA. Another person’s blood.

James explained what he did to his cell phone out of frustration, and said that until he got a new one, Evan could be a point of contact, and that he can have full disclosure on what was going on at any time. Evan lived five minutes away, and he wouldn’t let the last five minutes of doubt dictate what he knew about his best friend. Evan was the only one James could trust. He hung up, and handed the phone back to Evan.

“They’re going to find out the truth, James,” Evan said. “We’re getting closer.”

33

Tessa

Things are still weird with James since I pretty much avoided him yesterday. He gave me my space. I still feel nauseated, like the beginning of the flu is wreaking havoc on me. I get up out of bed with Candy and go downstairs. Right on the counter, there was a little folded up note from James.

Tessa—I got rid of the gun. I never want you to feel unsafe. I’ll be home as soon as I can tonight. I love you. James

He’s trying, and that’s all he’s ever done—try to make me feel safe. I instantly forgive him, and I can’t wait to see him after his work thing. First, I text him that I don’t feel well, just in case he attempts to contact me during the day and I’m napping. I don’t want him to think the fight is still going on. It’s not.

I put the water in the coffee pot and open the refrigerator to grab the coffee, but as soon as I smell it, my mouth starts to water. Not in the yum way, in the oh-my-god-please-make-it-to-the-bathroom-in-time way. I do make it in time and pull my hair back and empty my stomach. Candy sits outside the opening to the bathroom, making sure I’m okay.

I hate being sick. But why, every time I think about or smell coffee—

Holy shit.

What’s today’s date?

I run to my phone and look at the calendar. Back back back… weeks back. The last time I had my period. It was well over a month ago.

I don’t have the flu. I have a case of the babies.

Pushing down the nausea, I stand and run up the stairs, where I have pregnancy tests. Every woman of a certain age does. You know, just in case. I tear open the wrapper and pee on the stick, and pace the bathroom, back and forth, back and forth, which Candy does too, in tandem. It’s cute. Ten seconds lasts a year, half a minute lasts a decade, and by the time these two minutes are up, I’m convinced I’ll be in assisted living.

I don’t even need to look. I know the results.

And I’m correct.

The first time I got this result, I was a teenager. I felt nothing but panic and dread and immediately thought of how to make it go away. The second time, I considered keeping it for a hot second. But with the jobless loser it belonged to, I knew I’d end up just like my mother if I attempted parenthood before I was stable. I wanted to be stable. Fuck the guy. I needed something concrete.

Third time’s the charm.

The only feeling I have now is hope and love and I’m thinking of bottles and mobiles and my belly popping and how cute it’s going to be. I want it, I want it so bad, and I finally get to have it. My happy ending.

I have to call James!

No. Tell him in person. If I can make it through the day without hiring a skywriter.

I think of how to tell James, and I’m flabbergasted. What do I say? We’ve never really talked about it, especially so soon into our marriage. Aside from having to tell him this, I decide I need to come clean to him about everything, not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because he deserves it. About my upbringing, my past, Drew. My previous terminated pregnancies. Maybe I need therapy. I always have, I just never had a reason to go through with it. If I’m going to be a mom, I want to be a good one. Not like my mother. I contemplate this for hours. The how I tell him is almost as important as the what I’m going to tell him.

After a quick shower, I head out to walk into town. The sun is hot like a skillet, and it rejuvenates me as I feel the vitamin D soaking into my skin. When I pass Gwen’s house, I want to run in and tell her, but her car isn’t in the driveway, and I remember it’s Thursday. She has Caleb’s art class today. While she’s making flowers out of construction paper, I’m, we’re, walking into town to do some shopping, to figure out a fun way to tell James that he’s about to be a