Vanishing Dan

"Vanishing Dan," that's what Cindy called him. She always tried to sound upbeat about it, like it wasn't the single most humiliating and infuriating experience of her life. Now here it was, almost ten years later, and she was driving through the slanting rain to pick him up at the airport.

He had telephoned out of the blue. Cindy had just arrived home-their home in happier days. Well, maybe they weren't really "happier" days. Earlier days. She dropped her briefcase and sprinted to the ringing phone, expecting it to be her mother. Tuesday night was Scrabble night, after all. But it wasn't her mother's voice in her ear, reminding her to pick up some wine on the way over. It was his. Ten years, but she knew Dan's voice immediately.

"Hey, Cindy." Her jaw dropped open, and her hand instinctively flew up to brush back her hair self-consciously. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, no," she replied automatically, then added, a bit defensively, "But I am getting ready to go out." She paused, then asked warily, "What do you want, Dan?"

"Oh, so you do recognize my voice," he chuckled. He was trying to sound like it was all just some funny incident in the past, like he had stood her up for a movie date or something. He didn't sound at all like Cindy wanted him to sound. Remorseful. Ashamed. Humble. Nope. None of it was there. Just the same old jovial Dan, apparently oblivious to the incredible impertinence of this phone call to the woman he had abandoned after seven years of marriage. What a bastard.

When she didn't reply, he cleared his throat and continued. "Uh, listen, Cin, I'm calling because...well, my dad died."