Page 157 of Aria

Ken slapped me on the back with a hearty roar of laughter. “You got that right,” he said. “Thank God for the female species. Sometimes I wonder if I’d put my pants on the right way without my wife.”

I forced a smile. “Enjoy your evening,” I said, gathering my three sons. “Let’s head home, boys. Who wants McDonald’s?”

* * *

As I pulled into the driveway, a sinking feeling rumbled in the pit of my stomach. The house looked dark—Beth’s car was nowhere to be seen.

“I want the Minion toy!” Caden bellowed from the backseat.

“Mine!” Jeremiah shouted back.

“Dad, Jeremiah won’t trade with me!”

Turning off the engine, I sat in perplexed silence, checking my phone again for the hundredth time. My last two messages to Beth had not been read. I thought maybe her phone had died—she was awful about charging it, content with living in a technology-free world. She only used her phone for work and to keep in contact with me.

But she’s still not home.

Worry raced through me.

“Dad?” Sam’s concerned voice echoed through the vehicle. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, unbuckling my seatbelt as the two younger boys continued to bicker over their Happy Meal toys. “Let’s head inside,” I said.

I carried Jeremiah, while Caden and Sam trailed behind, and when I twisted the house key into the lock, I realized my hand was trembling.

Something was wrong.

The front door opened to darkness. The lights were still turned off and an eerie silence greeted us, the only sound being the leaky kitchen faucet and my thundering heartbeats.

“Dad… where’s Beth?” Sam asked, tossing his baseball gear to the floor and flipping on the entry light. “She said she would be home before us.”

“Mama!” Jeremiah cried. “Where Mama?”

I set my son down, running two sweaty palms over my face. “It’s okay. She’s probably just running late.”

It had been hours.

She should have been homehoursago.

I pulled out my phone to call her, but there was no answer. I tried three times.

Voicemail. Voicemail. Voicemail.

Maybe she stopped to pick up dinner. Maybe she ran to the grocery store. Maybe her car had stalled on the way home. “Boys, why don’t you bring your dinner to the table and eat up,” I told them. “I’m going to have Chrissy come over to play with you.”

“Yay!” Jeremiah ran to the kitchen table at full force, his French fries spilling out of the paper bag along the way.

Chrissy was the high school student who lived next door. She was our date-night babysitter.

I was thrilled to see her standing in the doorway five minutes later.

“Hi, Mr. Hayes,” Chrissy said with a beaming smile. She flipped her sandy hair over her shoulder and giggled when Caden came dashing into her arms. “Hey, little fella. Is that a Minion toy?”

“Mine!” Jeremiah yelled, joining us in the living room and reaching for the toy.

I snatched my car keys back up. “Thanks for coming over so quick,” I said to the bubbly teen. “I just need to run out. Hopefully I won’t be long.”

“It’s all good, Mr. Hayes. I brought my homework just in case.” Chrissy held up her backpack for effect. “Take your time.”

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