9
Gone
As I’d expected, the next morning Connor tried calling Marie again, still with no response. He set his phone down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area and let out a brief gust of breath. “Okay, that’s it,” he announced. “We’re going over there.”
I put down my cup of green tea. Even though I’d been trying to avoid coffee anyway, over the weekend I seemed to have developed a sudden aversion to its smell. Poor Connor had tried to make himself some French roast, and I nearly vomited at the aroma. Strange, because otherwise I really wasn’t experiencing any morning sickness. But now — at least for the time being — if he wanted to get his caffeine fix, he’d have to go to the coffee house down the street and drink his venti before he came home.
“Do you think th
