He backed out of the footwell, sitting upright on the door sill with his feet on the asphalt. He ran his hand through his hair again, his face pale under the yellow glare of the dome light. The cool night air did not seem to soothe him.
“We need to find it tonight,” he said.
“We can call the gym and ask the front desk to check the locker room,” I suggested, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Marcus is usually there until closing, and he knows us well enough to take a look.”
He flinched slightly at my touch, his muscles corded and tense beneath his wool coat. He looked down at his shoes, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as if to keep his hands from shaking.
“They do not keep the locker rooms open past six on Thursdays,” he said, staring at the gravel between his shoes. “The staff leaves early to clean the pool area.”
“Since when?” I asked, the question hanging in the quiet air between us. I had gone to the gym on a Thursday evening only two months ago, and the facility had been fully open until nine.
“They changed the hours last month,” he said, closing the car door with a sharp metallic click.
The sound of the door shutting seemed to seal the conversation, leaving me standing in the driveway with more questions than answers. The silence that followed was heavy and cold, stretching between the two of us like an unbridgeable gulf.
Julian began walking back toward the porch, his shoulders hunched against the cool breeze. He did not wait for me, leaving me to follow his shadow up the wooden steps.
I followed him, the flashlight beam bouncing off his heels, noting how his usual steady stride had turned into a hurried, uneven march. My silver wedding band felt cold against my skin as I gripped the banister.
Back inside, the kitchen was quiet save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Julian sat at the cedar table, his silver laptop already open, the screen casting a pale blue glow over his tense forehead. The smell of cedar oil still lingered, but it no longer felt comforting.
