Peering out of the kitchen window, I stood on my tiptoes, craning my neck to get a clear view of the spot on the corner where Jack always parked the ancient, faded silver F-150 he’d persuaded Sam, his landlord, to let him use. Apparently Sam hadn’t argued, saying as long as Jack stayed in the apartment and made rent on time, paid for the vehicle’s upkeep and rock-bottom insurance premiums, he could use it until he’d saved enough cash to buy himself a different truck. Sam’s generosity had surprised me until I’d met him and I’d realized the gesture was the epitome of his personality.

I pushed myself up onto the counter, toes no longer touching the linoleum floor as my eyes swept the area outside again. No matter how hard I stared, the parking space remained empty, save for a lake-sized puddle from the incessant rain. An uncomfortable sensation sneaked its way down into my belly, refusing to be quietened by my silent words of reassurance Jack was running late, and there was nothing to worry about.

Over an hour later the rain hadn’t let up. Neither had the feelings about something being wrong. If anything, they’d both increased in intensity, churning my breakfast so I could feel it in the back of my throat. I called Patti’s Pancakes.

“Haven’t seen him all morning, darlin’,” Patti said after I explained I was looking for Jack, and I imagined her wide brown eyes, her giant silver hoop earrings swinging left to right as she shook her head.

“Are you sure?” I asked, already knowing there was no way Patti would have missed him. We were regulars, and she always made time for a chat, never failing to comment on Jack’s “ridiculously gorgeous” accent that reminded her of her long-deceased grandfather, another real gentleman, and one she remembered fondly. There was no doubt if Jack had been at the restaurant this morning, she’d know.

After I hung up, I phoned the place where he worked. No answer. My brow furrowed again as I tried Jack’s cell once more, listening to the standard factory voice-mail message he’d never bothered to personalize. We weren’t the kind of couple to live in each other’s pockets. Both of us gave one another, and ourselves, enough space to breathe while enjoying every moment we spent together, but I knew Jack. Something was wrong.

I couldn’t hang around in my apartment any longer. At the risk of him making fun of my paranoia, I grabbed my jacket, keys and bag, and dashed outside. With a cough and splutter, the on-the-verge-of-death engine of my old Chevrolet gained a little more self-confidence when I backed out of the driveway and headed toward the center of town.