and I breathe her name. How is this even possible? I blink, but she’s flesh and blood, not a mirage. I wave, the small gesture laden with hope and trepidation. She doesn’t wave in return, but she wouldn’t stand there if she didn’t see me. Didn’t know me.
Finally, she nods. Tears pricking my eyes, I do the same. The world falls silent. No rushing cars, no distant rumble of airplanes, nothing at all save two women who were the best of friends when they were girls. It feels like a million years ago. It feels like yesterday.
I point toward the light less than fifty yards away, hoping she’ll understand, hoping she’ll wait until I can cross. A hundred questions crowd my mind, each pushing to the front of the line.
She touches the side of her glasses, and I go all-over cold. I see an eyebrow, the top of an eyelid. My lips part, the word stop on my tongue, but I swallow instead, scared and confused at my reaction. At the hot sweat dampening my body. At every last hair now standing on end. I barely understand it, but I don’t want to look in her eyes.
They’ll find you in the morning with a mouth full of dirt.
An old pickup truck the color of hammered steel pulls out of the lot on her left and trundles by, obscuring Becca from view, and when it passes, she’s gone.
The spell shatters like an elbow to the gut. No. She can’t be gone. Not now. Not yet. I run toward the light, the distance stretching in cinematic slow motion, every click of my heel on the sidewalk echoing in my head. All the while, I steal glances at the café and its parking lot, even when I’m too far to see anything but the side of the building. There’s still no sign of Becca, but I know I saw her. I know she was there.
Inside, I’m a tangle of fear, worry, excitement, and a dozen other emotions swirling too fast to name, all fighting for dominance and threatening to pull me under. I push them away and focus on moving.
“Come on, come on,” I say as I wait for the light to change, shaking out my fingers. As soon as the walk symbol illuminates, I’m moving again, the fabric of my pants whisking between my thighs, my gaze darting back and forth from road to café, café to road. My shoe pinches the baby toe of my left foot and I’m gasping for air, but I slow only when I draw close enough to touch the brick. Through the plate-glass windows, I see the employees in their matching green polos and a few customers. Catch a flash of pale hair in the far corner, but as I crane my neck, the patron turns her head to reveal wrinkles and sagging jowls.
She isn’t in the parking lot either. I start scanning the windows of the cars. How could she disappear? It didn’t take me that long to cross the street, but even as the thought resolves, I know it was time enough to get in a car and drive away. And if she left via the exit in the back, I wouldn’t have been able to see her go. I wring my hands. Why wouldn’t she stay?
I run into the café and go up and down the aisles between the tables, checking every seat. No blonde hair. No Becca. At the counter, I clear my throat. “Did anyone see a woman, short with blonde hair, a few minutes ago?”
Heads shake, shoulders shrug.
“Please, it’s important!” My words are sharp with panic.
“No, I didn’t see anyone,” the woman behind the counter says. She looks at her coworker, then back to me. “Is everything okay? Should we call 911?”
I smooth my palms together. “No, no, it’s nothing like that, sorry,” I say. “I had someone leave my office upset. I thought they came here. Thank you.” I say, exiting before she can say anything else.
I run back to my office, ignoring Ellie’s “Is everything all right?” With the door locked, I pace back and forth. Becca. Alive. Why didn’t she stay? Why didn’t she want to talk? Was she even here? I choke down nervous laughter. I know who I saw and my eyes aren’t liars. Becca’s alive. She’s been alive the entire time. How? How did she get out of the basement? Where did she go? Did someone help her? I need to talk to someone.