Page 27 of The Thinnest Air
I lift a brow, biting my tongue as I let Wade’s thoughts marinate. My mother walked away from dozens of relationships over her many incarnations. Is it possible she somehow instilled that behavior into my sister over the years?
Deep down, I know anything is possible, but it’s as if my mind refuses to believe she would’ve kept anything from me. I want to believe she would’ve told me if she were leaving, but after everything that’s come to light the last few days, I’m beginning to realize my sister was drowning in an ocean of secrets, and I was inland the entire time, clueless.
Andrew dabs his lips with a napkin, chewing his bite quickly as if he has something to say before anyone else gets a chance. I’m not sure how he can eat at a time like this. My appetite’s been nonexistent for days now, my jeans beginning to fall down my hips when I walk.
“She was pregnant.” His words suck the air from the room.
My mother cups her hand over her mouth, speechless for the first time ever. This bombshell is cushioned by the ones that dropped before it.
I’m hurt, maybe.
But not surprised.
My attention is glued to him, scrutinizing his concentrated, businesslike mannerisms and wondering where the hell his emotion is hiding right now. Any other “loving husband” would be beside himself, hardly able to function, if his beloved wife was missing. Add an unborn baby to the mix, and that takes things to a whole new level.
But Andrew is as stoic as ever.
Weird.
“She wasn’t very far along,” he says. “Just found out a few weeks ago. We hadn’t shared the news yet. Obviously. But for that reason alone, I know she would never leave on her own. She was excited about the baby, about this next chapter in our life. It was all she could talk about.”
The fluffy fur of my sister’s black Pomeranian, Maxie, rubs against my feet. Growing up, neither of us had ever had so much as a hamster, but Andrew gifted Meredith with a puppy for Christmas one year, and suddenly she was a dog person, taking Maxie with her everywhere she went in her little Louis Vuitton carrier and joking with me about how much Maxie loved massages and manicures at the local dog spa.
“She is her mother’s daughter,” she’d said, laughing. Meredith seemed placated by the dog. I never once suspected she was suffering from a bout of baby fever. I suppose in my mind’s eye, she was still a baby herself. Forever my helpless, knobby-kneed kid sister.
I asked her once, shortly after she got married, if she wanted a family of her own. She’d had a far-off look in her eyes, hesitating before simply stating, “Someday. Hopefully. Yes. Andrew wants to wait a little longer.”
It wasn’t long after that, Maxie came into the picture.
My brother-in-law knew what he was doing.
“Do the police know?” I ask. “About the baby?”
Andrew sinks back in his chair, contemplating his answer. “They do. I mentioned it to the detective ... McCormack.”
“I’m surprised the police haven’t fed that detail to the media yet. Missing pregnant woman would sell a hell of a lot better than missing woman.” My voice is sarcastic and my words sting even myself, yet I speak the truth. The more news outlets discussing this case and sharing my sister’s photo, the better.
“Greer.” My mother snips my name, and I can’t help but wonder if Meredith ever worried about what kind of mother she was going to be. We didn’t exactly have a shining example.
“I’m just saying.” I turn my focus to Andrew again. “It’s odd, don’t you think? Wouldn’t they want as much publicity on the case as possible?”
“For whatever reason, the police haven’t made that public yet,” Andrew says, unaffected by the tone I’ve taken.
Wade blows a breath through his thin lips, his brow wrinkling. “I’m inclined to agree with you on that, Greer. I find that a bit peculiar.”
Good old Wade.
He might be the only other person sitting at this table who’s worth a damn, and as much as everything about him annoys the ever-loving shit out of me, he just might be one of the more tolerable gentlemen my mother has sidled up to over the past thirty-odd years.
Our conversation ceases, the four of us sharing a round of awkward silence. If the police haven’t made this information public, it must mean they’re suspecting it could be some kind of motive ... Andrew’s?
The doorbell slices through our nonexistent conversation like a sharp knife, and Andrew wastes no time excusing himself from the table. When he returns with a little blonde thing barely out of college, she offers an awkward wave and takes a seat beside my mother.
“This is Britt,” he says. He issothe kind of guy who would hire someone like Britt. I bet he uses the excuse “It’s easier to train the young ones than to break the bad habits of the experienced ones.” Jackass. “She’s my executive assistant, and she’ll be fielding calls, answering the door, and keeping me from losing my sanity until we figure out where the hell my wife is.”
He speaks of Meredith as if she’s just run off, like a teenager who’s bound to come home eventually. Whether he’s fueled by denial or hope, I’ve yet to figure out.
Britt glances at Andrew with the roundest eyes I’ve ever seen, like she finds him equal parts fascinating and heroic. Enchanting almost. He has that effect on people, though I’ve never understood why. I can’t help but wonder if he’d hold the same sex appeal if he were donning a plumber’s uniform and driving a rusted pickup truck.
