Page 12 of Missing White Woman

“Thirty. Minutes. Breanna. Can’t you just give me thirty minutes?”

I finally stopped moving, my arm frozen mid-mop. Then slowly I pulled my hand away, my T-shirt snapping back to its rightful position touching my body. I ignored the wetness when it reached my stomach, just like I tried to ignore the tears that were forming. Then I turned and left. Not because I didn’t want him to see me crying. I was afraid he wouldn’t care.

This was the first time Ty had so much as raised his voice to me. I’d never been good with confrontation with people I cared about. Tears always sprang as if they were a leak. I cried as much as I yelled, sometimes doing both at the same time. The more I cried over an argument, the more I cared about someone. I still remember the first time I came back from spending the night at my boyfriend’s during freshman year. As soon as my best friend saw the tears, she was ready to kill. I had to tell Adore all he’d done was watch The Walking Dead without me.

I’d cried a lot over the past twelve years, but it hadn’t been because of someone outside my family that I cared about. Sadly, this was just another indicator of how much I liked Ty. He didn’t call after me, though I’d never admit I wanted him to. There was nothing but silence as I kept going until I made it down both flights of stairs and out the front door. I somehow managed to pick up my handbag on the way out.

The hotter than normal air hit me as soon as I got outside. Why had I done that? Why hadn’t I just made the eggs? Why hadn’t I just waited for him to come down? I stood there, questioning myself, as my middle finger and thumb rubbed my eyes to keep the tears at bay. This is why I don’t do second dates. I stayed like that—rubbing, questioning, berating. Then I started walking.

This time I didn’t notice a single pink flyer.

FOUR

Judging by the six-deep line, the taqueria was a good choice. I’d called before I’d come. Ty had a nut allergy. Even with the argument, I wanted to confirm they didn’t cook anything in peanut oil. Once they confirmed it was allergy safe, they asked if I wanted to place an order for pickup. I’d said no, not in any rush to get back.

I quietly got in line, careful not to invade the personal space of the woman in the mask in front of me. I had a friend at work who had to Yelp every restaurant before she would agree to go to it and would know exactly what she wanted before she even said yes.

That wasn’t me at all. Another reason I was happy with the long line: it gave me plenty of time to look at the menu plastered above the set of cash registers. I tried to focus on the options—Ty didn’t eat pork, so it would have to be chicken or beef—but instead I kept replaying our last interaction and checking my cell, willing him to contact me.

Can’t you just give me thirty minutes?

I was on my third replay when I heard a familiar name coming from the woman behind me. “Janelle has to be dead.”

I glanced back just as her friend spoke up. “You think?”

They were both white and brunette, looking like they’d just come from Pilates. “I’d rather be dead than stuck in someone’s basement. Wouldn’t you?”

She had a point. I didn’t say anything, just listened like they were a TikTok video. It was much easier to think about Janelle Beckett’s circumstances than my own.

“I don’t know,” the first friend said. “I just hope they catch whoever did this. I was afraid to walk from my car last night.”

At least I wasn’t the only one scared.

The man behind them spoke up. “It has to be someone she knew. Has anyone looked into the guy who reported her missing?”

“Why would he push the police so hard if he had something to do with it?”

Another good point.

“What about one of her other clients? She walked a lot of dogs. Maybe one of them hit on her and didn’t like being rejected.”

I immediately flashed on the huddle of neighbors putting up the flyers. What was the name of the guy in the orange?

“You gonna go?”

I turned to see all three of them staring at me.

It was my turn to order.

* * *

I went with chicken and beef tacos. The restaurant had a lunch special. Three tacos and a drink for eight dollars. A steal. The walk back should’ve taken just ten minutes, but I took my time, counting the flyers as I walked by so I wouldn’t check my phone for texts. This was not how I’d pictured the last day of my trip.

Ty was sitting on the porch when I finally got back. Jumping up when he saw me, he ran over to hold the gate open. He spoke as soon as I was in range. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Another lie. I wiped my brow.

“No, it’s not. I was supposed to be wining and dining you and instead I’ve been working. I snapped at you for wanting to make sure I ate, for goodness’ sake.”

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