A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

KATE
11 YEARS BEFORE
May
The rest of the way home, we’re on the lookout for the car. Both Bea
and I are circumspect, though I start to second-guess myself,
wondering if the car was following us at all, or if it was just another
car having as much difficulty navigating the roads as I was. I may
never know.
By the time we reach our neighborhood, the rain has let up. Still,
everything is gray and nondescript. The streets are empty. The trees
hang heavy with rainwater, their branches, what’s left of them,
anyway, reaching down to touch the ground. The weaker of the twigs
have fallen, unable to sustain the weight of the water or the force of
the wind. Hail remains, melting on lawns.
I slip down the alley behind our house. Most of the homes in the
neighborhood have alleys to provide rear access, because it keeps
things uniform and aesthetically pleasing from the street. The alley is
narrow. It’s wide enough that two cars, going in opposite directions,
can just eke through.
I pull down the alley going slowly. About a hundred feet ahead,
Josh returns from wherever he’s been. I pull into our driveway and
park, and Bea and I get out, making our way to him. He stands by
his car, waiting. No one is allowed in the Dickeys’ garage because
it’s been deemed a potential crime scene. Yellow caution tape
surrounds the door. I see Bea’s eyes go to it, and then move away.
It’s hard to believe something bad may have happened there.
“I was out searching for Meredith and Delilah,” Josh says before
we can even think to ask. He wears a button-down shirt, and only
half of the shirt is still tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He isn’t
wearing a belt, and his jeans slip. He grabs ahold of the waistband
and hikes them back into place. His eyes are fat.