A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

The coffee shop is new to me. It has scuffed wood floors, tin
ceilings and tables the size of postage stamps. I spot my prospective
client when I arrive. She’s easy to see. She’s the anxious,
uncomfortable-looking one with a belly the size of a basketball. She
waits at a table, alone. I go to her and shake her hand.
“Meredith Dickey,” I say, smiling.
“Shelby Tebow,” she says, shaking mine. “You want some coffee?”
she asks. I do. The fatigue is taking over. Without caffeine, I don’t
know how much longer I can last on my feet.
We drift in the direction of the counter. We order our coffees. Mrs.
Tebow offers to buy mine. I don’t object. She asks if I want
something to eat. I get a cinnamon scone because, on top of tired,
I’m famished. I can’t remember the last time I ate, or if I even ate this
morning. I remember feeding the kids and doing their dishes. I don’t
remember having anything myself.
Mrs. Tebow gets nothing. “You’re not having something to eat?” I
ask, feeling guilty all of a sudden. I take the scone from the barista.
She shakes her head. She harrumphs. “Look at me,” Mrs. Tebow
says, showing off her very pregnant self. “I’m fat. The last thing I
need is a pastry.”
“You’re not fat,” I scold. “You’re pregnant.”
We take our coffee to a table and sit. The coffee shop is quiet,
small. There are only a handful of people here, professionals on
laptops mostly. These meetings are as much about me trying to
impress potential clients, as they are the other way around. If we like
each other at the end of it, a contract gets signed.
“My husband says I’m never going to lose all this weight. I’ve
gained thirty pounds,” she says. She says it like it’s grotesque, but
thirty pounds is average. I gained at least that with each of my kids.
“Is your husband on his way?” I ask. I didn’t have time to change
after class. I wear my yoga clothes, with a sweater on top. My eyes
are heavy, the lost hours of sleep catching up with me.
Shelby fiddles with a ring on her finger. “He’s not coming,” she
says uneasily.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He couldn’t make it?”
Husbands don’t always make it. Sometimes they’re at work, or on
a business trip, and sometimes they’re uninvolved. It’s okay.