A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

Later, early in the evening, we watch as Josh’s car pulls down the
street. He parks in front of the house. He stays there, not getting out,
while the rest of us watch on, expectantly. We hold our collective
breath, wondering what Josh knows that we don’t. Is Meredith dead?
I see him through the windshield. He sits in the car awhile, bent
over the steering wheel. Is he crying? Or is he just collecting his
breath? I think about approaching, of going to the car, knocking on
the window and getting his attention. But Josh deserves this second
of peace. He’s been gone for hours. It’s nearing five o’clock. For the
last few hours, the rest of us have been gathered on his lawn,
holding a near-silent vigil. Everyone stayed. Even with the weather
as it is, no one left. No one would leave until they knew what was
happening down there by the river.
When he steps from the car, Josh’s body sags. He trips over the
curb, stumbling like he’s been drinking. But Josh isn’t drunk. His
shoulders round forward, his head dropped so far his chin practically
touches his chest. He has been crying. Though his tears are dry
now, the evidence is written all over his face: the redness and the
swollen eyes. He looks a decade older than he did this morning, and
entirely spent. There’s dirt on his hands and on the knees of his
pants.
He makes his way to us. But partway across the lawn he stops. He
leans heavily against a tree, burying his face into his hands as if he
can’t go on. There he sobs, his whole body convulsing, and, twenty
feet away, Bea wraps her arms around me, steadying me so I, too,
don’t collapse.
The worst has happened. Meredith is dead.
No one goes to him. We all stand by and let him have this cry.
Many among us begin to cry, too. My hand goes to my mouth,
expecting all the emotion that’s welled up inside me to come flooding
out. But it doesn’t. I hold it inside, focusing instead on what needs to
be done. We need to find Delilah. The search for her needs to be
amped up. We can’t stand around and mourn Meredith’s loss when
we have Delilah to find.
Behind me, Bea quietly cries. We’ve switched roles. Usually I’m
the more emotional, Bea the logical, the one orchestrating plans. But
Bea and Meredith were close. Bea and Delilah were close.