Page 45 of Missing White Woman

Adore hadn’t said anything when I asked her to drop me off at the hotel. I made a big to-do of going to my room and waiting fifteen minutes before coming back down. Her car was long gone when I did.

The walk over to Exchange Place was shorter than one of my runs, but it felt like forever. Like I was running on a treadmill in one of those small, stuffy apartment-building gyms. I felt stuck and claustrophobic even as the sun beat down, my hand gripping my cell as Google Maps showed me the way.

It didn’t help that my phone rang on the way over. I was so surprised I dropped it, staring in horror as it rolled a few times. I scrambled to pick it up, hopeful it was Ty and that I got to him before he hung up. But then I recognized the ringtone.

It was just my mother.

I’d put her on Ignore and put my phone in my bag. Though she could barely use talk to text and didn’t even know her phone had emojis, she knew what going straight to voicemail meant. She called right back. I ignored her again. I’d have to deal with her eventually. It just couldn’t be now.

Instead, I kept walking, tuning out the oodles of people taking advantage of the riverfront view. Some were there for the Manhattan skyline. Some were just there for exercise. None of them paid me the least bit of attention as they passed me by. There were no nosy neighbors staring at me with suspicion. No former friends acting like I was naive. No cops wanting to ask me questions.

I was anonymous.

I should’ve enjoyed it. Instead, I felt alone. Helpless. Unsure of what to do.

I’d barely paid attention to the light-rail when we’d walked by it on Saturday, too excited to get into New York City. But now I took in the station from across the street. It wasn’t much. Just plopped in the street. The only hint that it was even a train stop were the tracks and long wires suspended over them. A handful of people stood waiting for the train, all donning the disinterested expression of New Yorkers despite being in New Jersey.

I looked at all their faces, hoping one of them was Ty. Like he’d just be standing on a nearby corner, waiting for the light to turn green—off to look for me like I was looking for him.

But he wasn’t there.

Even though I’d known it was a long shot, I still felt disappointed. He had been here Monday morning. And I had to believe that he was still here. Somewhere. Waiting.

I looked up. It felt like there were just as many tall buildings as there were people. This wasn’t like where I grew up or even like Little Street. Where you could tell what type of building it was just by the exterior. Some could have been offices. Others could have been condos.

I went to cross the street even though I now had nowhere to go. That’s when the panic truly set in, the tears feeling imminent. I was closer to him than I’d been in days and yet I was still so far away. I felt like a baby trying to hold something in my hand for the first time and not able to grasp it.

I stopped only when I heard the horn, felt the stranger’s hand grasping my arm. And that’s when I noticed the car mere inches away. Pedestrians here never paid much attention to WALK signs, but they did notice cars passing by. In my panic, I hadn’t realized that the cars were moving and the people weren’t.

“You okay?” the man said, and for a moment I was tempted to tell this stranger how scared I felt. How lost I was. Physically and mentally. But instead I just nodded. Thanked him for essentially saving my life.

WWTD?

He’d force himself to calm down. Come up with a plan—even if it was a bad one at this point. The only thing I could think of was just going door-to-door. I decided to start with the door closest to me. The sign above it said HYATT HOUSE. It didn’t look like a hotel, but nothing looked like it was supposed to here. It could’ve been a bank.

I couldn’t remember the exact hotel he stayed at earlier this week. A Hyatt or maybe a Hilton. It would make sense for him to go back there. I just hoped it was this one. When I went inside, I was expecting a hotel lobby. Instead, I got a set of stairs going down and one guy in a stock security suit rocking an N95. He nodded when he saw me. “You checking in?”

I nodded. It seemed simpler than the real reason I’d come.

“Take the elevator all the way on the right,” he said. “Hit ‘TR.’ Terrace rooftop.”

It turned out “terrace rooftop” was their fancy way of saying thirteen. The lobby was on the top floor. A good thing. Maybe I didn’t need to go up there at all. I could just start on two. Knock on doors until I found him. But then I hit the button for the second floor. Nothing happened. And that’s when I noticed the black box. You needed a key card to get to the rooms.

I was heading to TR after all. The only things with me in the elevator on the ride up were the butterflies in my stomach. My smile was in place by the time the elevator doors opened. The front desk was closer than I’d thought it would be, about ten feet away. Clear dividers still up for COVID safety. They were the least glamorous thing in the place. Unlike downstairs, this looked how a hotel was supposed to. The rest of the lobby stretched out toward the left, but I laser-focused on the Latina woman staring back at me. She wore a face mask, but I could tell she was smiling by her eyes.

“Welcome to Hyatt House.”

“Thank you.” I walked over, talking fast as I did. Partly because I was so nervous and partly to not give her time to think. “Can you call Tyler Franklin’s room, tell him Breanna Wright’s here?”

“Sure.” She picked up a phone. “What’s the room number?”

I should’ve known I wouldn’t be that lucky. My voice was slower when I spoke again, and for once, I didn’t lie. “Look, I’m trying to find my boyfriend. I’m not going to insult you by expecting you to tell me if he’s here when I clearly don’t know myself. But can I just leave him a note? You can give it to him when he checks out.”

She sighed, then: “The name does sound familiar. I will say that.”

She slid me some hotel stationery. Grabbing a hotel pen, I left yet another version of the note I’d left at Ty’s job. Then I folded it up, wrote “Tyler Franklin” in big bold letters, and placed it on the chest-level desk between us. “Thank you!”

I turned, ready to go back to my own hotel room and again wait to see if he’d call. But by the time I got to the elevator, there was another voice behind me. I didn’t turn around, just pressed the Down button.

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