”“I can’t imagine her playing second fiddle to anyone,” Trent said.“Exactly.”“Are we going to play cards or gossip like a bunch of women?” Clayton asked.“Play cards!” came the chorus in response.June 2, 1996, Chicago, Illinois“Happy birthday, Foo!” I said on Sunday morning when Eduardo brought Elyse and her kids home.“Thanks, Dad! Did Mom tell you what Eduardo arranged?”“What?”“He arranged for us to meet a Formula One driver! Jos Verstappen.”“Cool! Where are your seats?”“They’re by the second turn,” Eduardo said. “We’ll be able to see the cars coming from the starting grid almost directly at us.”“Who’s the driver? I haven’t heard his name.”“He’s a Dutchman, and he’s a friend of our managing partner in Amsterdam.”“Very cool.”“Do you have a minute to talk?”“Sure. Let’s go to my study.”We went to my study and I shut the door.“What’s up?” I asked.“Actually, it’s work-related. We’re looking at a new database system for the firm and our managing partner, Kai, wondered if you might consult. Except, that is, for Sandra's absence. God, we missed her. What had they done to her? We couldn't help but dwell on the likelihood that Sandra had somehow been done in by going to great lengths to help us. Had we received even the slightest indication that she was alive and able to be rescued, we would have done everything in our power to help her out – even if it meant risking our own lives. No such indications ever popped up. Still, we kept our ears open for any news about her, although our isolation was such that word from the outside world rarely passed our way. Even the grapevine at the warehouse – where several of Wendy's co-workers knew Sandra – failed to turn up anything. Then again, everyone knew the consequences of talking in public about forbidden subjects. Any speculation that might have been out there was suppressed out of fear.Despite the huge hole in our lives, Wendy and I still had each other to lean on. One night, less than a week prior to the two-year anniversary of.
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