A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

spoken to Bea, except that if Josh didn’t know I was at a birth, he
wouldn’t have called Bea. Unless Bea called him for something, I
think, hoping the kids are all right.
“The app,” he says. “I see that you’re at the hospital.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right.” His words leave me feeling exposed, like
someone is watching me, because he is. I picture Josh looking at the
app on his phone. I picture the little thumbnail image of my own face
on the map. I imagine it moving as I leave the parking garage and
pull out onto the street, Josh all the while watching.
I ask Josh about the baseball game and what time he’ll be home.
He’ll be there sooner than me. He’ll get the kids from Bea. We say
our goodbyes, and Josh tells me, “Drive carefully.” I end the call.
I’m driving through the intersection when my phone pings the
arrival of a new text. I shouldn’t look when I’m driving, but I do. It’s
from the same 630 number that’s been sending me threatening
texts. Just seeing the number strikes terror into me. I pull over, into
the parking lot of a golf course. My hands are shaking too much to
drive. But also, I want to read the text without distraction. For a
second I think of Josh. I picture him staring at the app on his phone,
wondering why I’ve pulled off the road and into the parking lot. Does
the app show enough detail for that?
I take a deep breath. I warily read the text.
I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. Because I haven’t
forgotten about you.
The emoji this time is the face screaming in fear.