The Day of,

"I never liked that girl, Desi."

I expected this. Those very words. But expecting them and hearing them are two different things.

"After what Amy did to you..."

I put down my fork, appetite now completely gone

"Mother, that's not a very charitable thing to say about a missing woman. Besides that was years ago."

My mother has never liked Amy Elliott, now Dunne, who has just been reported missing. It's the day of her fifth anniversary, and so far, rumor has it that it looks like she was either killed or kidnapped.

"Of course, this whole thing is a tragedy," she amends. "That poor girl."

She's not too convincing, but maybe she does realize that I really don't want to talk about Amy. At least not right now.

As we're leaving the restaurant, I overhear a couple at the bar discussing that very topic.

"Can you imagine...on your anniversary..."

And that's the moment where it really sinks in. Amy is gone. Up until now, I haven't really processed it, I guess, but now it hits me. She's either dead or in danger. I'm almost not sure which is worse to believe.

"You look pale, Desi," she says, as we cross the parking lot. "Was there something wrong with your meal?"

"Maybe," I say. "I do feel kind of queasy."

We both pretend this isn't about Amy.

We're good at pretending.

Somehow I get through the rest of the day. It's not every day, your ex-girlfriend goes missing. There's nothing I can do to help. Sometimes I manage to forget for a little while, and then it comes back and I feel sick. I go online, which I know ahead of time is a huge mistake, but it doesn't stop me from staying on and sifting through the latest news anyway.

Around quarter of nine that night, the phone rings. It's Mother. Dreading what's coming, I answer anyway.

"So apparently, Amy's still missing," she says in lieu of hello.

"I know, I saw the news."

"If you ask me, it's the husband who did it. It seems he did a very sloppy job of cleaning up after himself."

"That seems to be the public's verdict. I just hope the police can find whoever's responsible."

"Where were you last night?"

"Home. Why?" You know my schedule as well as I do. Probably better.

"You're going to need an alibi."

"That's ridiculous."

But she goes on. "If anyone asks, tell them that you were with me. I'll tell them the same, of course. We need to get our story straight."

"But why? I haven't done anything wrong. The last time I saw her, I was eighteen."

"Of course, but I was thinking, what if they talk to Amy's parents and they paint you as some kind of disturbed stalker?"

"That was years ago. Besides, we were kids. It was all just a misunderstanding."

"She had you wrapped around her little finger. I never did understand that."

As if that's a crime.

My head is swirling and my patience starting to fray. Any more of this, and I'll say something I'll regret and have to deal with the fallout tomorrow.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I've had a very difficult day, and right now I'm exhausted. I think I'll start getting ready for bed."

"But Desi..."

"Goodnight, Mother."

I put the phone down and stare into the fireplace. Everything about this day so far seems surreal. Since I heard the news, I feel like I'm in a dream. (Of course, that's nothing compared to the nightmare Amy must be going through.)

I realize how little I actually know about the law. Like a lot of people, my main knowledge is gleaned from how it's portrayed in pop culture. In shows like "Law and Order," suspects act one of three ways. Either they are incredibly hostile and tight-lipped, or they go the opposite route and are overly helpful. Or they lawyer up, which is always a neon sign that they are hiding something.

But that's TV. In real life, it's just smart.

So the question is - Do I need a lawyer?

Is that the kind of thing only someone who's guilty would think?

Right now, I can't decide what to do and what to say to who, if I'm asked about such-and-such.

I should at least write everything down, just in case I need it for future reference. Especially, if the law gets involved. Even the innocent can be made to appear guilty. The truth can so easily be twisted.

Amy taught me that...

What about the letters?

No, she told me that she never showed them to Nick. She told me that he was obsessive and controlling and wouldn't be happy if he knew.

But there's nothing = incriminating in them, if the police should find them. I think. Did I ever hint that she should get a divorce? I don't think so. Not that I wasn't tempted. She never said anything to me about leaving Nick. Maybe she had other friends she confided in.

I should just go to sleep and deal with all this in the morning. It's not like staying up and agonizing is going to help. So I go upstairs, find an old Xanax prescription and take two. Still I worry that I'm destined for a sleepless night, full of agonizing about Amy, visions of her battered and tied up, or worse, dead, endlessly revolving in my head.

It does the trick, though.