“Amy? Honey? Where are you?” Freddy woke up with a start, finding himself alone in his bed. Amy had been with him when he fell asleep last night, and as she hated sleeping by herself, he couldn’t imagine she had gone home in the middle of the night. Freddy sat up in bed and glanced at his clock. Six in the morning, Saturday. Amy was most definitely not a morning person, so where the hell was she? Freddy got out of bed and slid on his boxers. He usually slept with them on, but after a night of lovemaking, he was more apt to leave them off. Freddy padded from room to room, softly calling Amy’s name. He would pause each time, silently begging her to answer him. Nothing.
“Damn it, Amy, where are you?” Freddy went back to his bedroom to pick up his cell so he could call Amy. It rolled over to voicemail, so Freddy left a message imploring Amy to call him back as soon as possible. Feeling helpless, he went to start the coffee perking.
The hours dragged. He tried to read the news online, but his eyes kept straying to his cell. He tried not to stare at it, but he couldn’t help it. No matter how much he glared at his phone, however, it remained silent. Periodically, Freddy checked to make sure it was still fully charged—it was. Freddy had planned on running a few errands including stopping at the grocery store. His pantry was low, and Amy loved it when he cooked for her. She said it made her feel pampered because neither her father nor her mother had cooked much when Amy was a little girl. They had had a housekeeper and a cook, but it wasn’t the same. Freddy had grown up in a middleclass family, and he couldn’t fathom having hired help in the house. Both his parents had worked as professors, and then they came home and did the housework together. Ever since he was two, Freddy had been expected to help out around the house. Amy, on the other hand, didn’t even know how to sew a button onto a shirt.