Page 10 of Silence of the Missing

Jeb was gone.

I wondered for a moment if he had ever really been here. But he had—whoever he was, whatever intent he had.

I’d been about to ask him what he was doing in those years when I’d believed he was missing, if not dead. Why hadn’t he gotten in touch with me before? Why had my mom not mentioned his return? It was hard to believe she didn’t know about it—in St. Clair, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Even though more than a decade had passed—if he’d returned when he claimed—it would have been big news, spreading like proverbial wildfire. Trudy would have been on the phone to me the minute she got wind of it.

The front door opened, and I turned as Marc entered.

He read the look on my face like a page in a book. “What’s the matter?”

“I’d tell you, but I’m not sure you’d believe me.”

He cocked his head. “What?” He came more fully into the open living area and set his backpack down on the floor. He brushed a hand through his hair.

I gave him a peck on the lips. “Have a seat? You want some iced tea?”

He sat. “Okay, with lemon, if we’ve got it.”

I moved to the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher. As I was pouring tea, I prepared to spill some different tea. “I have something to tell you,” I said without looking at him. “Suspend your disbelief.”

II

“And this happened when you were, what, thirteen?” Marc lowered his glasses to peer out at me over the top of the frames with concerned brown eyes.

I nodded. Next to him on the couch, but not looking at him, I’d poured out the whole story of my first love and his odd disappearance on Independence Day, 1986. Stranger, I let him know that a man claiming to be Jeb Kleber had just been in our home fewer than twenty minutes ago. And then, at last, I met his gaze, fearful of what his reaction would be.

“This is crazy,” Marc said. “This is like some Lifetime movie kind of shit, ripped from the headlines, as they say.” He grinned, but there was little mirth in his expression.

“Tell me about it.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. We sipped our iced tea, looking out at the trees, the leaves whispering in the soft breeze. It was bright and sunny, a perfect summer day when we should have been east, at our neighborhood beach, which was walking distance from our condo. It was a time filled with birdsong, human chatter and laughter, music escaping from car windows, the hum of bees.

All of these normal things served to make what had just occurred even more surreal.

And then Marc asked, “What are you gonna do about it? Call the police?”

I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know. Certainly not call the cops, for god’s sakes. He didn’t do anything wrong, other than turn my world upside down. I don’t like that, naturally, but I hardly think it’s a crime.” In my mind’s eye, I pictured him standing in this very room and again, questioned reality, questioned my own sanity. Had hereallybeen here? Or had something subconscious triggered some kind of psychotic break, causing me to hallucinate?

Honestly, I wished I could believe I’d imagined him. After all, there was no trace of him in our place now. But I’d never been one for fantasy. As far back as I could remember, I couldn’t recall a single instance where I’d had trouble distinguishing reality from, er, something else. For better or worse, I was grounded in this world and the truth revealed by my own eyes, ear, nose, mouth, and fingers.

No, Jeb had been here. Or at least someone calling himself Jeb had. There was no doubt in my mind.

But what did he want? Why had he resurfaced after all this time? And why did he rush out without a word when I mentioned Marc was home? Why wouldn’t he simply stay?

These red flags made me more and more uneasy and yes, a little terrified, the more I pondered them.

Marc scooted closer and put his arm around me. “So weird. But it’ll be okay, right? He won’t come back, whoever he is, and if he does, he’ll have me to deal with.”

I wanted to laugh. My husband was a lot of things, but imposing or threatening wasn’t on the list of his sterling qualities. But I didn’t permit myself to laugh. For one, I didn’t want to embarrass him—I was touched by his protectiveness, no matter how ineffectual it might be. Just the fact that he wanted to look out for me helped allay my fears and made me feel cared for and safe. And for another, there was a nagging sense of hysteria, deep down, telling me that if I dared laugh, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“I wish I could be sure he won’t come back.” I wasn’t certain of that at all.

I wanted to know more.

My mind raced with possibilities.HadJeb been abducted and raised by some weirdo? I could vaguely recall seeing a TV special, maybe on20/20, about just such a case—had it happened in California? I tried to come up with a name and drew a blank. But I recalled how a young boy had been abducted and had lived, for years, with a pedophile as his son. And he’d somehow managed to escape when he was a teen.

I’d be googling later, for sure.

But for now, I needed to reassure Marc that this odd appearance posed no threat to us, whether that possibility had crossed his mind or not.

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