Page 23 of His Loving Guidance
He grabbed his keys and locked up his office. The drive home felt like five years, especially when he called Stephie a few more times only to get her voicemail. Again and again.Hi, this is Stephie. Thanks for calling. Please leave a message after the beep.
Madness would consume him if he had to listen to that message one more time.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he pressed the accelerator to the floor, racing around the turns in the winding country roads. He’d paddle her good for this, he decided. He’d told her to expect his call, and he typically called every day around lunchtime, so it wasn’t as if she shouldn’t anticipate his call.
Worry gripped him when the house came into sight. Her car was missing from the driveway. Sick with concern, he ran into the house calling her name, just in case.
Silence.
The bed was made, the kitchen spotless. The blinds in her studio were drawn, evidence that she hadn’t worked at all today. Unless…
The air rushed from his chest. It was Wednesday. The day of the art exhibit in New York. Marcus bolted to her closet and flung it open, searching for her bags. Of course, she had so many different suitcases in varying sizes, he couldn’t tell if one was missing. He made a mental note to take inventory of them later, lest she go missing again.
Another call to voicemail made his blood boil and he staggered on the edge of madness, but a second later the worry returned and helped rein in his emotions, calming him enough to think rationally. What if something had happened? He vacillated between anger and concern as he considered his options. After canceling his classes for the rest of the day, he called Darla’s work, only to be told she’d taken a personal day. Darla didn’t answer her cell phone or apartment phone, either.
Fuck.
He snooped around on a desk in Stephie’s studio until he found all the information he needed. The time and location of the exhibit. He couldn’t imagine where else she’d gone. Her cell phone battery couldn’t have died: she kept a car charger on hand. If she didn’t answer, it was because she chose to ignore his calls.
After grabbing his keys, he locked up the house and raced to his car.Please let her be okay. Please let be safe.
Just to be sure she’d left town, he circled around her favorite spots – an Italian restaurant where she often met a friend for lunch, her hair salon, and the local art gallery. He didn’t spot her car, so he drove out of town and merged onto the highway.
His heart grew heavier with each mile, and his anger and frustration mingled with his profound worry. After the blissful week they’d spent, he couldn’t believe she’d turn around and disobey him so gravely. He’d offered to take off work and drive her to New York. She’d refused, and she hadn’t brought the topic up again, so he’d assumed she no longer wished to go.
Dammit, he should’ve known better. He should’ve double-checked with her. His knuckles turned white under the tight grip he maintained on the steering wheel. He glanced down at his pained hands and lessened his grip. Staring at the road ahead, he wondered how long ago she’d left the house. Perhaps he’d catch her on the highway.
As it happened, he had no such luck. Mile after mile, he still hadn’t spotted her car. Bright purple, it stood out like a sore thumb. No way had he missed it. He’d even scoured rest stops looking for her, but she’d obviously gotten an early start. She might even be in New York already, perhaps lunching with her sister.
The thought of her sitting in a posh restaurant footloose and fancy free while he frantically searched for her reignited his anger. Even before her illness, before they’d had to take a break from domestic discipline, she’d never done anything half as naughty as running off behind his back.
First he had to find her and confirm her safety. Then he needed to lay down the law.
