"There the sun burns crimson bright . . . there the moon-bird rests from his flight . . ."
Chapter 2 – Edward
It was raining the day she disappeared.
Nothing unusual, of course, for Washington. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that it changed my entire life.
It was almost three years ago. We'd moved to Forks, my hometown, a few months earlier. She got a job working on the reservation an hour away. I got a job as an accountant.
She loved to run, especially in the rain. Even after we found out she was pregnant. The doctor said that since she'd been a strong runner all of her life, running wasn't a problem during pregnancy. In fact, it would help keep her body healthy, help her stay in shape.
I was at work. It was her day off—she only worked four days a week—and she sent me a text saying she was going for a run. It wasn't a question, she was telling me. I decided not to push it. I sent back a smiley face, told her to have a nice jog. She sent me a heart back. It made me smile.
When I got home four hours later, she wasn't there. I called her cell phone—it went straight to voicemail. I called my brother; sometimes, she paid him visits in the afternoon instead of staying home alone while I was at work.
He said he hadn't heard from her since yesterday.
I called my mom. She had no idea where my wife was, either.
I called her friend, Angela. Same response.
Then I began to panic.
I waited an hour. When she still didn't come home, I called the police.
They said there was nothing they could do. A person isn't considered missing unless they've been gone for twenty three hours. She'd only been gone for five.
I called Charlie.
"What do you mean, she didn't come home?" he asked. Panic. It was all I felt. It was what he was feeling, too.
"She went on a run, and she never came home. I was at work. Her sneakers aren't here. She's not home. She never came home. The police say—they say they can't do anything about it, not until it's been twenty four hours."
"My pregnant daughter, my twenty one year old daughter, is missing?" I could hear his quick breathing through the phone. My father-in-law, an ex-cop, was losing it. I was losing it.
He showed up on my front porch two hours later carrying flashlights. He handed me one. We followed her normal running trail in silence. Went a few feet into the woods, found nothing. Shouted her name, nothing.
We didn't find her.
Charlie called the police himself. They said they couldn't help us, not until it had been twenty three hours. I thought Charlie was going to put his fist through the living room wall.
The next day, they said they could do something.
But it was too late.
She was already gone.
And now this is my life. I wake up. I stare at my feet to avoid looking at the photos that cover the walls. I feed the rabbits. I tell them nice things, because I know they need to hear them. I go to work. I work. I come home. I try to sleep, but normally can't. And then it restarts.
It's been almost three years. Three years since I heard my wife's laughter, saw her smile. Three years since I knew, without doubt, that I was the luckiest man alive. Three years since I felt my unborn child kick. Three years since I knew I had a family. Three years.
The rabbits still wait in the living room for her—before bed, she would always take them with her onto the couch, feed them fresh greens, give them kisses. They watch me walk into the bedroom, shut the door, turn out the lights. They're still there when I wake up in the morning.
I tell her things throughout the day. It's pitiful, but it makes me feel better.
The rabbits are chewing the sofa legs. You'd be so angry if you saw.
I haven't smoked a cigarette since I quit in college. I bought a pack the day after you went missing, and I still have that pack.
I miss you more than usual today. It's one of those days.
I can't let myself imagine where she is. If she is anywhere at all. If I have a child somewhere, out there. A child with my wife's eyes and smile.
No matter how hard I try, I can't help it.
That's why I can't sleep.
I forgot to shut the bedroom door last night, honey. The rabbits were in bed with me when I woke up. I smiled, really smiled, for the first time in weeks.
I don't have dinner because I don't know how to cook dinner foods. All I know how to make is breakfast. She would make dinner, I would make breakfast. That was always how it was.
I fixed the paint chip in the hallway. It's been three years since I heard you complain about it.
I wonder if I had a son. Or did I have a daughter?
I wonder if I'll ever know.
On days when I almost feel okay, my eyes are more drawn to the photos around the bedroom. I don't know what it is, why I torture myself. It's only on the days that I can hardly get out of bed that I can manage to get out of the room before my eyes begin to wander.
She designed the house herself. When we bought it, it hadn't been redone in over twenty years. All of the rooms have different colored walls. The wooden floor is dark. The furniture is all from antique and resale shops. The kitchen cabinets, which she painted yellow, all have mismatched knobs. The living room sofa is covered by a quilt that she made of old shirts. Our bed doesn't have a frame; instead, it's a mattress on stacked wooden boxes. She filled mason jars with decorations for every holiday. Ones with fake snow and little green trees. Ones with cupid and hearts. They're all in the garage. We both had our own birthday banners, which she decorated herself. And the baby—the baby's room is only half finished. Only two of the walls painted. Only half of the furniture bought. A door that hasn't been opened in three years. A room in which my three year old son our daughter should be living.
A room that only gave me nightmares.
I almost went into the baby's room today, my love. I didn't even realize what I was doing, but as soon as my hand was on the knob, I started to cry. I miss you.
The rabbits brought me some solace—their little faces remind me of her, and the way that she'd rub her nose on theirs, and give them kisses. The way that they used to lick her cheeks.
They still run around the house doing their happy dances, but I know they miss her, too.
All rabbits have happy dances, also known as "binkies". If you google it, I'm sure you'll find some videos. It's absolutely hilarious.
