Page 48 of His Loving Wife

“I can’t get reception!” I yell. “We need to call the police.”

“Let’s stay calm,” Andrew says. “We don’t need to involve the police just yet.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Paul has kidnapped our daughter. The sooner we get people out there searching for her…” I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to think of the alternatives if we don’t find her in time.

“There’s no way Paul could have taken her,” Andrew says, his voice surprisingly calm. “I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

“The whole reason we’re here is to avoid him! Now he’s followed us here, and he has taken her.”

“That can’t be it.” He scans the room, his eyes falling on the sliding glass doors. “Let me take a look outside.”

Andrew is still searching for an alternate explanation, but it’s because I’ve not told him I thought I saw Paul at the grocery store and the restaurant. I didn’t want to worry him, but now I’m convinced he’s followed us here. I can feel it in my bones. Part of me feared it would always come to this.

I return to the sofa, trying again to find a signal.

I remember talking with the locals that live down the street, Dan and Jan. They suggested sometimes restarting the breaker box can help with reception. I pull open the front drawer of the coffee table. Inside is the notebook the homeowners left us with all the information we might need. There are cleaning requirements, a sheet of rules, restaurant recommendations and a list of instructions. Halfway down the list, I see the fuse box is in the attached garage—the one place I haven’t yet looked for Willow.

I open the door to the left of the kitchen, which leads to the garage. Inside, there are a few random boxes and an array of beach accessories scruffy with saltwater residue, but no sign of Willow. Across the way, I catch sight of the second exterior door. I don’t think I remembered it was here until this very moment. I twist the handle, and the door opens with ease. Has it been unlocked this entire time? Is this how Paul found his way inside the house?

I make my way over to the switchbox, trying to figure out how to reset the connection. There’s a small table right below the box. It’s covered with loose tools and scraps of plastic, then something catches my eye. There’s a tied grocery bag with a green and orange logo. It belongs to our Hidden Oaks grocery store. It strikes me as odd, since none of us have been in here, or so I thought. As I untangle the handles, I see that there’s a square box inside. It’s gray and heavy, but something is clearly on. There’s a green light.

I stare at it, momentarily forgetting about Willow, wondering what it could be. It manages to look both familiar and completely foreign at the same time, and yet I feel like I should know what this is. Like I’ve seen it before but know it’s not mine.

Then it hits me.

It’s a jammer. A device used to cut off reception within a particular radius. I can remember researching different surveillance items police, and sometimes criminals, use while working on a manuscript with a former student, the one who landed the book deal. That student’s story included a jammer; I was unfamiliar with the term and ended up googling it. The image that popped up then looks similar to the item I’m currently holding.

My first thought is, why would the homeowners keep this in their rental? Then I remember the grocery bag. Whoever brought the jammer here is local to Hidden Oaks. Andrew has been stealing random hours to work remotely; a weak internet connection only makes his life more difficult. It certainly wouldn’t be one of my tech-obsessed children.

It has to be Paul. He’s found us, and this confirms it. None of us would want to cut off contact with the outside world. He’s taken Willow and planted the jammer to stall us from getting help.

I flick the button below the green light, and the device turns off. I leave the box where I found it, and rush back to my phone in the living room.

I pick it up to see that I have full service.

“Nothing outside,” Andrew says, as he opens the door. “Are you sure we’ve looked everywhere?”

“I have a signal,” I say, ignoring him. I don’t have time to explain to him about the jammer. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting help for Willow. Even though we’ve been here over a week, we know little about the area. I don’t know where Paul might have taken her, where the police might begin searching.

“Mom, I have two bars,” Noah says, running into the living room with his phone.

“I do too,” I tell him. I stare at Andrew. “I’m calling the police.”

“Just wait.” He raises his hands to me, but he’s looking toward the front door. The glare of headlights comes through the entryway windows. “Someone’s here.”

I push past him, opening the door and running outside. In a matter of seconds, I live through the horrible scenario that the police have already found her. What if Paul hurt her? I have no idea how long she’s been gone. They’re here now to share devastating news.

It’s dark, and the headlights are blinding. I take a step closer and can see that the car in our driveway isn’t a police vehicle. I don’t know if I should feel relieved or worried. The backseat opens, and Willow stumbles out. I rush to her, holding her up. Her balance is off, and her clothes and breath reek of liquor.

Someone exits the driver’s side door. It’s Jan, the woman I met earlier at the restaurant. She puts her hands up in a gesture that reads both friendly and defensive.

“Kate?”

“Yes,” I say, that desperate tone still in my voice.

“I thought we had the right place.” She walks over to our side of the car. “Sorry to disturb you this late.”

“We were already awake. I couldn’t find Willow and—”

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