I couldn’t see that the crowd had thinned much, but then I didn’t know these people.
“He wouldn’t go without telling me,” Sunny insisted. Her purse lay on the floor beside her stool and she picked it up, took out a cell phone, and began punching numbers.
A young man came up to her. “I checked out by the cars, Sunny. He’s not there.”
“He’s not answering his cell phone either,” said Sunny. She hit a speed-dial number. “Nellie? It’s me. Has Mr. Osborne come home? … Well, if he does, tell him to call me at once.”
“Try Billy Ed,” said Joyce. “He lives up your way, and I saw him leave over a half-hour ago.”
Sunny shook her head, but she called the number Joyce gave her.
“Billy Ed? Sunny Osborne. Did you give Norman a ride home just now? … Well, did you see him when you were leaving?”
Clearly the answers were no, and when Sunny had hung up, Joyce asked, “Did you check all five bedrooms? Maybe he had too much to drink and decided to lie down for a minute.”
“I looked, but you come with me and we’ll look again.”
Puzzled by Sunny’s agitation, Joyce put out her hand. “He’s not sick, is he, Sunny? Is it his heart?”
“Of course not!” the other woman snapped. “He’s never been sick a day in his life, not even a bad cold, and everything was fine his last physical. But this isn’t like him. Are you coming or not?”
The two women went off together and I was left with my own problem. I must have been frowning because Lucius Burke said, “What’s wrong?”
“I just realized I don’t know how I’m getting back to Cedar Gap. Billy Ed brought me up and now he’s gone.”
“Oh, didn’t Joyce tell you? I’m your designated driver. Your condo’s on my way home.” His eyes seemed to get greener with every sip of my margarita. “Did you want to go right now?”
(
(
“I didn’t hear Bobby sing ‘Amazing Grace’ yet,” I said demurely.
The search for Norman Osborne was unsuccessful, even though we all had a go at it. It reminded me of playing sardines at some of the big weekend house parties my mother used to throw when I was a child, with people bumping into one another coming and going, jostling pictures, opening closet doors, nudging chairs out of the way. I found myself smoothing down a coverlet in a guest-room where someone ahead of me had rucked it up to look under the bed. In the family room, three or four of the many iron candlesticks had been knocked over and I paused to right them. There was one fat candle left over, and I stood it in the back, then passed through to look around the terrace. Others were there before me, with flashlights that they aimed down into the ravine in case he’d somehow taken a tumble.
The moon was bright but cast dark shadows under the trees and amid the granite outcroppings.
When it appeared that he was nowhere in the house, several of the men brought flashlights from their cars and patrolled as much of the grounds as they could, considering the sharp dropoff behind the house. Others drove all the way up to the Osborne house and back down again, shining their lights in both ditches. On the whole, though, I got the impression that they were merely humoring Sunny.
Nevertheless, her anxiety affected everyone else and the party broke up early.
“Ol’ Norman’s probably sitting in a lounge somewhere, closing a million-dollar deal,” said Lucius Burke as we drove back down the mountain. I was pleased to see that his car was a Chevy Blazer and that he wasn’t a lead foot on the accelerator.
“He’s done this before?” I was surprised. “Then why was Sunny so stressed by his disappearance?”
“You won’t take this the wrong way?”
“Take what the wrong way?”
“If I say that some wives get more dependent on their husbands when they’re going through the change?”
I laughed. “And how would you know that?”
“Actually, Sunny told it on herself. At least that’s what I’ve heard. She was always playing tennis or volunteering at the hospital, but ever since she started the change, she says it’s like she doesn’t want to let Norman out of her sight. He’s pretty patient with her, but even though he’s his own boss, he still works. They say he’s glad to get a breather. I guess even a good marriage can get a little claustrophobic.”
“You been there?” I asked.
“In a good marriage? Nope. You?”
“Me neither,” I said. “Fortunately it didn’t last long enough to get claustrophobic.”
“Didn’t turn you off from trying again, though, did it? How long you been wearing that ring?”
“About a week.”
“Didn’t think it’d been long.”
“What do you mean?”
He just smiled and I wondered if I’d given off vibes. Unattached woman vibes.
“Good guy?”
“Very.”
