A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

think of anything I’ve done to upset someone enough that they’d
want me dead.
I grab the wet washcloth draped over the edge of the tub. I try
handing it to Leo, so that he can press it to his own eyes. But my
hands shake as I do. I wind up dropping the washcloth into the bath.
The tepid water rises up and splashes him in the eyes. This time he
cries.
“Oh, buddy,” I say, “I’m so sorry, it slipped.”
But as I try again to grab it from the water and hand it to him, I
drop the washcloth for a second time. I leave it where it is, letting
Leo fish it out of the water and wipe his eyes for himself. Meanwhile
Josh stands two feet behind, watching.
My phone pings again. Josh says, “Someone is really dying to talk
to you.”
Dying. It’s all that I hear.
My back is to Josh, thank God. He can’t see the look on my face
when he says it.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Your client,” Josh says. I turn to him. He motions to my phone
jutting out of my back pocket. “She really needs you. You should
take it, Mer,” he says softly, accommodatingly, and only then do I
think about my client in labor and feel guilty. What if it is her? What if
her contractions are coming more quickly now and she does need
me?
Josh says, “I can finish up with Leo while you get ready to go,” and
I acquiesce, because I need to get out of here. I need to know if the
texts coming to my phone are from my client or if they’re coming
from someone else.
I rise up from the floor. I scoot past Josh in the door, brushing
against him. His hand closes around my upper arm as I do, and he
draws me in for a hug. “Everything okay?” he asks, and I say yes,
fine, sounding too chipper even to my own ears. Everything is not
okay.
“I’m just thinking about my client,” I say. “She’s had a stillbirth
before, at thirty-two weeks. She never thought she’d get this far. Can
you imagine that? Losing a baby at thirty-two weeks?”