A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

The kids and I still stand outside, on the stoop, freezing cold. No one
has invited us in.
“Yes,” Cassandra says to Marty. “I have a few more stops to make.
It’s not like I can easily do this during the week with the kids, and
you’re never home.”
In this way she’s able to dodge my question altogether. It would be
wrong of me to ask her to run her errands another day. She knows
I’m not that forward.
But she also knows I wouldn’t leave my kids with Marty. Marty
doesn’t know them and vice versa. Cassandra thinks I don’t know
Marty, that our encounters are limited to the rare barbecues and
progressive dinners our street throws. She’s wrong.
It wasn’t my decision not to tell Josh and Cassandra about our
past. It just happened. Josh and Cassandra were right there when
we first saw each other after all those years. It was last summer.
Someone in the neighborhood had thrown a barbecue. Josh met
them first, then brought them over to meet me. Marty thrust out a
hand. He introduced himself as if he was someone I’d never met. I
went along with it. I don’t know why we did it that way. But we
couldn’t take it back after the fact.
“What’s Josh up to today?” Cassandra asks.
I say, “Cubs game.”
“Must be nice,” she says. “You and the kids didn’t go?”
“It was for work,” I say.
“He should bring you and the kids along on his fun outings,” she
says.
“I don’t know how fun they are,” I say. It’s a lie. Josh always enjoys
himself at events like this, though they’re chock-full of schmoozing
clients. It would be a terrible place for the kids. “He’s working when
he’s there,” I remind her. “Trying to get to know prospective clients.”
Trying to convince prospective clients to trust him with their millions
of dollars.
“Of course,” she says. “You didn’t say why you stopped by,”
Cassandra remembers.
“Oh,” I say, feeling awkward. It’s not like I can ask her or Marty
now to watch the kids, not after their little row. Neither of them wants
to be home with their own kids. They want to be out, doing things. I