leslie

It was when she turned up missing that all his problems began. Alive. There. In front of him. He could trust her. He did trust her. For 12 years. And she him. Now, everything would come out. All of it. Before, they would’ve covered for one another. Now, he had to make a choice – come clean, or build a story that would wash. He hadn’t much time. Minutes, probably. Within them, his phone would buzz. It would be Henna or the police or the reporters. Henna he could handle. She would believe what she wanted to believe and that was that they were ok, the two of them. The police ranged from being dumb to just being polite. And most of them wanted him to like them. He had that sort of cachet. The reporters? He thought for a minute. Them, too, he could handle. And why not? They reported what he said. He loosened his tie, sat back in his chair, nodded slowly, to himself. His phone vibrated; he checked the number. He didn’t recognize it, but this was the wrong time to be ignoring a call. “Hello?” “Dad,” Leslie said, “I’m using Nancy’s phone. Can I stay at her house for a while?” “Yes. Sure.” “Thanks, dad. Bye.” “Wait …” But she’d hung up, already. Gone. He wondered when he would see her again. Maybe never.