A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

her face for signs of bruising. There are none. That said, she looks
washed-out. She wears no makeup. In the coffee shop, she had
makeup. Today she looks like she just rolled out of bed. I’m grateful
to see her alive and seemingly unharmed. I breathe a sigh of relief. I
never would have forgiven myself if something bad had happened.
“What are you doing here?” Shelby asks. She’s unable to hide the
surprise. I’m the last person in the world she expected to see. Her
voice is quiet. It’s little more than a whisper.
I’m relieved that there are no visible bruises. But I’ve heard that
abusive spouses can be masters at hiding their handiwork. There
may be bruises that I can’t see or, if her husband is abusing her, it
could be emotional rather than physical.
I’m not only worried for Shelby’s sake. I’m worried for her unborn
baby. A kick or a punch to her gut could easily end its life. I looked
up photos of Mr. Tebow online. He’s a large man. He looks mean.
I say, “You didn’t text back last night, Shelby. I was worried.”
Shelby looks vacant. Either she doesn’t know what to say, or she
doesn’t know what I mean. Her hair is mussed up, thrown into a
sloppy ponytail. Her roots are shades darker than the rest of her hair.
She says nothing apropos of what I’ve said.
Instead, “How did you know where I live?” It’s accusatory, almost.
As if she thinks I’ve crossed a line. As if she thinks I’m stalking her.
“It’s on the contract, Shelby,” I say. I can hear the patience in my
voice start to wane. “You wrote your address on the contract.”
“I did?” she asks.
“You did.”
“Oh,” she says. “Right. I did. I just didn’t think that you’d show up
at my door.”
I tell her, “I don’t usually show up at my clients’ homes. This is a
first for me. But I was worried,” I say again. “After your texts last
night, I came to make sure everything was fine.”
I hear a man’s voice in the background. It startles me. My insides
tighten. I see the shadow of him loom at the top of the stairs. I
swallow against a bulge in my throat. That must be him, her
husband, Jason. I hadn’t expected him to be home.
He calls for her, asks her to grab him a drink on her way up. The
gap in the door gets smaller. Shelby is inching the door closed,