Page 18 of You Know Why

Come on. Be rational.

Okay. So while it’s not entirely impossible, I’m veering into true crime land now. Second families and affairs and body doubles? Living a life that’s a lie?

Trey isn’t cheating. He loves me, loves our family, loves his life. There has been absolutely nothing to indicate otherwise. Nothing has been unusual at all recently except this sudden trip. And of course, his viscerally adverse reaction to traveling through Atlanta.

And then we bump into someone who claims to be from his past, and he freaks out and bolts? It is, admittedly, super weird.

I did get that funky email last night . . . I struggle to remember the exact wording. Something about knowing what you did, bring the money or they will end things.

What if that was meant for Trey? Oh, babe. What have you done?

It strikes me—in the video, he had his backpack. He may have ditched his phone, but his laptop is still with him. The trackers we use are in everything that holds valuables—cars, luggage, backpacks, purses.

I open the Find My app. Under Items, I see the list and deflate. I have all of my trackers listed, but Trey’s are not. Maybe they are on his phone, attached to his account. We have separate Apple accounts to allow for our very differing tastes in music; it’s one of the rare things we don’t have in common. I prefer classical. I played violin in the orchestra in school and once thought of going professional with it. Then my parents gave me a camera, and that was that. Trey likes screamy heavy metal that sounds like the singers’ vocal cords will shred and burst at any moment.

Damn it, I need to get into his phone.

This line of thought exhausted, I do the only logical thing. I call my sister, still watching the doors hopefully as if I can conjure Trey to appear.

Wtf

Margot answers on the first ring, the ever-present laugh in the back of her throat. She is a happy girl, my sister. I’m about to ruin her day.

“That didn’t take long. I thought you’d be sound asleep over the Atlantic by now.”

“Margot, listen to me. I’m in Atlanta. The airline rerouted us, and as we were getting on the connection to Milan, Trey went to the bathroom and never came back.”

“What?”

“He disappeared. Walked right out of the airport. Got into what looked like a rideshare and drove away.”

“And left you and the kids behind? What the actual fuck, Brook?”

“My thoughts exactly.” My composure starts to slip. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve already faced the inquisition, and the airport police have decided he bailed on me. At first, they acted like he was some sort of terrorist, then about-faced and said, ‘Oh well, sorry your husband left you,’ and sent me on my way. It was bizarre. They had an unbelievable amount of security, but once they saw he’d left the premises? It’s no longer their problem, I guess. Oh, and he threw away his phone. They found it in the trash. The passcode and Face ID were changed. I can’t get in.”

A scoff. “He has a brain tumor. Surely. This is not like him at all.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Have you talked to Uncle Bob?”

“He’s my next call. He’s the one who set up this whole trip. He and Aunt Pat had to go to Dubai on short notice yesterday.”

“They did? They didn’t tell me that. Okay. Where are the kids?”

“This is the weird thing. There was a woman on the plane who knew Trey. But she called him Andrew and said they went to high school together. He swore to me he didn’t know her, but then he took off. Anyway, she works for the airline and is kindly hanging around, keeping an eye on them while I figure out what to do.”

“That’s . . . odd.”

“Everything about today is odd. He wigged out on me when we had to divert to Atlanta, and it’s all gone downhill since.”

“Can you fly back?”

“You think I should? I mean, he’s here in Atlanta somewhere. Shouldn’t I stay in case the police find him?”

“Are they looking for him?”

“Technically, no. Maybe they’re looking for the car he got in? I don’t know, Margot. I’m freaking out here. They said I have to wait a day before I can report him missing.”