A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

confession just in case. You can never be too careful about these
things.
The wind has picked up in the last few hours. I turn on a light in
the backyard, flicker it a few times. Outside the branches of trees
sway, scratching against the side and the back of our house. It’s
horrible to listen to, the stuff of nightmares, the rasp of tree limbs like
claws against the wood siding, scraping to get in. Outside, trees lose
their leaves in the storm, getting blown about. Power is out in parts
of town, due to downed lines. Thankfully we still have ours, though
there’s no telling how long that will last. We stocked up on candles,
flashlight batteries, just in case. By now, they’re impossible to find in
stores.
This morning there were fallen trees in the street, casualties of last
night’s violent storm. In the middle of the night, the tornado sirens
howled. Bea and I sat crouched in the first-floor bathroom with Zeus
in our arms, waiting for the storm to pass. Zeus hates to be held
almost as much as he hates thunder. There are marks on my arms
because of him.
I continue to flicker the backyard light, but Bea doesn’t notice
because the door to the garage is closed. The only window is in the
attic portion of the garage, where Bea doesn’t go.
It comes again then, the same insistent battering on the heavy
wood. My teeth clench; my shoulders tense. I tell myself that it’s
nothing to worry about. Bea is the more bold of us. If she were here,
she’d answer the door unflinchingly. But without Bea, I force myself
to be an adult, to go to the front door and open it up. Zeus is on the
bottom step when I come into the hall. He runs upstairs at the sound
of another knock to hide, an incompetent guard cat.
The front door is edged by windows. I turn the porch light on and
have a look out the window before opening up the door. A man
stands there in the glow of the porch light. He’s dripping wet. At first
my heart starts, but then I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it
isn’t some stranger showing up unsolicited at this time of night.
My body physically relaxes at seeing him, the tension I was
carrying in my shoulders melting away. Josh is our neighbor. He lives
next door with his wife, Meredith, and their two kids.