Starbucks soon comes into view as I round the corner near a small playground. In the distance, I can make out two taller buildings towards the line of leave-less trees near the banks of the river.

Fortunately, this location has a drive-through, so I'm able to buy a coffee from the comfort of my car. Then I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store across the way to check the transaction. But it doesn't match.

What if this theory is a bust? What then? And even if I manage to find the Starbucks where she bought her food, there's no guarantee she was staying at one of the hotels near it...but there's nothing else to go off of; this is it. But what if Angela doesn't want to be found?

That thought leaves me feeling hollow inside.

No. That's not Angela. If she didn't want to be with me anymore, she'd tell me—something else is going on, but I don't know what. Either way, she needs me; I can feel it. I have to see this through. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try to find her.

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.

Okay, time to head across the river.

But before I can leave, my phone buzzes. I look down and see a text from Landon. My thumb quickly swipes up, and I click the notification to open the app.

Hey man, just checking to see how you're doing. You don't need to fill me in on all the details—a simple "I'm okay" is more than enough. And like I said before if you need anything just give me a call, and when you're ready to hang out, you know where I live, or I can come over if you'd prefer.

I smile and reply, Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.

Anytime. Take care, Green.

I slide the phone into my pocket and wipe away the rogue tears rolling down my face before exhaling.

I'll come see you at some point, bro. But right now, I need to find my wife.

***

As I'm crossing the bridge, heading north, the clouds overhead continue to block out the sun. They seem to be growing in size and darkness, threatening to release another heavy haze of snow at any moment. I can't help feeling there's something sinister about their burned appearance; clouds this black shouldn't exist.

The gloom overhead has bled into the river, transforming the waters into flowing, liquid sorrow. And while the clock on the screen in front of me is saying 11:50 AM, it feels more like the twilight before an endless, frozen night consumes the world. 

Tall, glass-covered office buildings sit on the far bank of the river. I've always found myself admiring the golden glow they reflect on sunny summer evenings. But today, they've absorbed the shadowy tint of the scorched sky, making them seem like looming headstones for mass graves. An icy chill creeps through my fingers and into my bones, filling my soul with an emptiness every bit as dark as the storm clouds haunting the morning sky.

I turn the music up and try to focus on finding Angela—on seeing her face, hearing her laugh, feeling her head on my shoulder.

Please...please wait for me. I swear on my life, I'll find you.

The bridge ends, and I turn into Centennial Drive, which takes me along the banks of the winding river to my left, and the changing neighbourhoods on my right. Eventually, I come to within a few blocks from the football stadium that becomes packed with spectators during the warmer months of the year. The road breaks left and then right again before a Starbucks sign becomes visible further down the street.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that this location is blessed with a drive-through. And just like back in Pine Creek, I pull up, order a few things and pay with my card. At the window, the guy handing me my coffee and muffin pauses when he notices the collection of Starbucks items in the passenger seat. His wide eyes are filled with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

I put on my friendliest smile and shrug. "I just really, really like Starbucks."

He nods slowly and says, "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too," I reply before driving away to find a place to check my phone.

The parking lot in the shopping complex behind Starbucks is mostly empty, so I park in front of a flower shop and open up my banking app. For a moment, I can hardly believe my eyes; it's a match. Angela was here this morning.

A flood of excitement and anticipation washes over me like spring rain. This is the closest I've felt to her since that morning she kissed me goodbye. Immediately, I take out the piece of paper with the hotel information and look up the four that are nearby. Without further hesitation, I call the first hotel.

"Good afternoon," I begin, "would you be able to put me through to Angela Marq—Summers," I correct myself, remembering the phone call and texts. "Angela Summers."

"Sure thing, sir," the receptionist replies. "May I have her room number and your name, please?"

"I'm sorry, I can't remember what room she's staying in. And unfortunately, I'm not at home right now, so I can't check the note I wrote it down—"

"That's okay, sir," she cut in. "Just give me one second to look her up."

"Thank you."

"It's no trouble at all," she says in a happy tone.

I can hear her fingers typing away on the keyboard, accompanied by the occasional mouse clicks.

"I'm so sorry, sir," she says, "but no one by that name appears to be checked in at this time."

My heart sinks. "That's alright; maybe I dialled the wrong number—sorry for the inconvenience."

"That's okay, sir. It was no trouble at all," she says warmly. "Thank you for calling the Lookout Hotel. I hope you have a lovely day."

"Thank you—you as well."

Disappointed, but still determined, I call two more hotels and get the same response: there's no one here by that name. And once again, my stomach starts turning into knots.

Maybe I was wrong about this whole hotel thing. Maybe the guy on the phone wasn't talking about a hotel room. But there's one more hotel to try, so I might as well cover all my bases.

I punch in the number for the Riverbend Hotel and hold my breath as the phone starts to ring. When the receptionist answers, I give my now well-rehearsed speech about meeting Angela.

Once again, I listen as the woman on the other end types away while I wait. Then the typing stops abruptly, and she sounds like she was about to speak, but another voice interrupted her.

"One moment, sir," she says. "I just need to put you on hold for a minute."

"I understand," I reply, holding back a sigh.

The hold music rings in my ear what feels like forever, and just when I'm about to hang up to call again, the reception's voice ends the unbearable song.

"I'm very sorry about the wait, sir," she begins, "but I can't give—I mean I wasn't able to find any Angela Summers in our system. However, if you leave your name and number, I can tell her to give you a call back."

That's odd. If she's not in your system, why would she call me back?

"That's okay," I smile, "just tell her Green called; she has my number."

"Will do. Thank you very much, Mr. Green. Bye now," she adds before hanging up.

No. Thank you.

I push the ignition button and set a course for the Riverbend Hotel.