Just This Once, page 24
An unidentifiable emotion flickered across my father’s face—was it fear? Regret? Or something far darker?
He recovered quickly as his hand smoothed down his suit jacket, and a practiced smile played on his lips.
The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with unsaid words and the acrid scent of mistrust. My father’s eyes, once calculating, held a glint of discomfort. The weight of my subtle accusation hung in the air, a shadow creeping over the polished surfaces of his carefully curated life.
“Son, you’re overthinking things,” he said, his voice attempting to regain its authoritative edge. “Your mother’s choices were her own. We couldn’t control that.”
I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “What choices, Dad?”
An unsteady pause settled in the airy workshop. The lines on my father’s face deepened, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of vulnerability—an unfamiliar crack in the facade of the all-powerful Russell King.
He cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding mine and looking around my shop. “Your mother had her reasons, Whip. You were just a child, too young to understand.”
I stepped closer, the distance between us closing like a vise. “Try me, Dad. I’m not a child anymore.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, a subtle acknowledgment that perhaps, in this moment, he couldn’t control the narrative as he always had.
“Your mother was . . . troubled,” he finally admitted, choosing his words carefully. “She felt trapped in this small town, in this life. It was her choice to leave and pursue something more fulfilling.”
The words were a hollow echo in the workshop, and my unease deepened. Something about his explanation felt rehearsed, as if he had recited this story many times to himself before.
I thought back to the smiling, happy face on her driver’s license.
My eyes narrowed. I was determined to get answers. “Where did she go, Dad?”
His jaw shifted as his hands tucked into his suit pants. “Back home to Detroit, I assume.”
“Why? Why would she leave her children behind? What am I missing?” Desperation leaked into my voice.
An impassive stare and deep sigh were the only answers my father was willing to give.
“When someone feels trapped, they find a way to break free,” I pressed. “But what if she didn’t leave by choice, Dad? What if something happened to her?”
His eyes darted, searching for something before a dismissive laugh huffed from his chest. “Whip, you’re letting your imagination run wild. There’s nothing more to the story. Focus on the future, on your career. Not women who don’t matter.”
I took a step back, the suspicion growing within me. I knew he was the last person to give a straight answer, and talking to him was like arguing with a brick wall. I shook my head. “Of course, Dad. I’ll stay focused.”
But I wouldn’t forget about Mom. I was going to find out what really happened.
A sinister edge entered his gaze, a warning that I chose to ignore. “That’s what I want to hear. Just remember, some stones are better left unturned, son.”
As my father exited the workshop, leaving me alone with the weight of unanswered questions, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the legacy he spoke of carried darker secrets than I had ever imagined. My determination to uncover the truth about my mother and protect my relationship with Emily burned brighter, fueled by a growing sense of unease and suspicion toward the man who was supposed to be my father.
THIRTY-FOUR
EMILY
Still no job.
And let me tell you . . . trusting that this is somehow going to actually work out is getting really fucking old.
Subject: Not Quite the Right Fit
Miss Ward,
Thanks for applying, but we’re after a teacher who can break free from the monotony. Your style doesn’t quite cut it.
Principal Jennings
Subject: Thank You for Applying
Dear Miss Ward,
After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that your application doesn’t align with our vision for an innovative educator. We’re seeking someone with a more dynamic approach to teaching. Wishing you success in finding a better match.
Sincerely,
Douglas Educational Committee
Subject: A Polite Pass on Your Teaching Talents
Dear Miss Ward,
I trust this email finds you in the midst of wrangling the intriguing minds of your students. Our prestigious private school recently had the pleasure of reviewing your application, and I must say, your qualifications sparkled.
However, after much contemplation, we’ve decided to embark on a journey with someone whose approach to teaching aligns more with interpretive dance and less with traditional lesson plans. We believe it’s time to let our students embrace their inner dance prodigies.
Please don’t consider this a rejection, but rather an invitation to explore the world of teaching through the art of movement. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover the hidden dancer within!
Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors,
Principal Dandecaff
The bruise from banging my head against the desk was starting to feel permanent.
Sigh.
But finally, after searching school websites, cold emailing principals, and attending countless virtual and in-person interviews, my heart stopped when I read the newest subject line.
Subject: Congratulations! Welcome to the Team!
Dear Ms. Ward,
It is with great excitement that we extend our warmest congratulations! Among many worthy candidates, your interview stood out, and we are thrilled to invite you to join Stella Baines Middle School as our newest educator.
Your passion for teaching and dedication to fostering an engaging learning environment align perfectly with our vision. We believe your unique approach will bring a breath of fresh air to our classrooms.
Welcome aboard, Emily! We look forward to embarking on an educational journey filled with inspiration, laughter, and countless moments of growth for our students.
Best regards,
Principal Sipling
My heart raced as I read, and reread, the email. I got a freaking job offer! Sure, I still had to work out details like pay, start date, and the stacks of HR paperwork, but the offer was there, in black and white.
I should have been elated. Instead, all I could think about was the fact that the middle school was clear across the state of Michigan in a suburb of Ann Arbor. Desperation had driven me to even apply, but now? A sick sinking feeling settled into my stomach.
What the hell was I going to do?
THIRTY-FIVE
WHIP
The next day at work, irritation still dogged me. Emily had spent the majority of the day with her mom and looking for local teaching jobs. She had returned, quiet and with sadness lurking around her edges, but we both ignored it.
I hated that I couldn’t make things right for her.
At the station, the click of the door drew my attention. My eyes whipped up to see Lee saunter into the break room. Over his shoulder, I watched as Chief entered the station and walked down the hall toward his office with our battalion chief. His expression was unreadable, the duo deep in conversation. My stomach somersaulted as I straightened. I still needed to clear the air with him about everything that had happened. HR had confirmed that the lieutenant position was mine, but the chief still hadn’t spoken to me about it.
As they walked, Chief glanced at me, offering only a small nod of acknowledgment, but relief washed over me. At least for the moment, he wasn’t throwing me out on my ass and giving me what I undoubtedly deserved.
Lee sidled up beside me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Dodged a bullet there. Chief didn’t look too happy this morning, but he’s too busy to chew your ass.”
A growing knot of worry tightened in my chest. What if Chief hadn’t been as understanding as Emily had made it seem? Would he want me to stop seeing her now that I would be stepping into the lieutenant’s role? What if my recklessness had cost me the one thing that finally felt right in my life?
I could feel myself spiraling, but Lee’s low whistle caught my attention. “Man.” He chuckled and shook his head as he grabbed a clean coffee mug from the cabinet. “The boss’s daughter . . . you’ve got brass balls, Bill.”
My jaw flexed. “Not today, Sullivan.”
I wanted to punch the cocky smirk off his face, but the station was one place we’d drawn the line—it was an unspoken expectation that we left the rivalry outside its walls.
Lee’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and mocking. “You should know, people are talking.”
I glared at him, my patience hanging by a thread. “Talking about what?”
His jaw flexed. “Word is you have a hard-on for the boss’s daughter, but that you’re only using her.”
Instinct took over and I pushed him against the counter. “The fuck did you say to me? Are you running your mouth?”
Lee shoved me hard in the chest, moving me back a few inches, and glared at me. Lee leaned in, his tone low but sincere. “I’m just trying to help you out, asshole. They’re saying you’re only with her because she’s the chief’s daughter. Rumor is that you were trying to get some special treatment in your bid for lieutenant. I thought you should know.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. Fury surged through my veins, a red-hot rage that threatened to consume me. I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my composure. “It’s not like that. Don’t twist it.”
He laughed, a grating sound that fueled the fire within me, and raised his hands. “I’m not twisting anything. All I am telling you is that’s what people are saying. I was giving you a heads-up. You just better hope Chief doesn’t find out.”
A flicker of doubt mingled with my anger. “He already knows about us.”
What if Emily had heard the rumors? What if she believed them?
The need to set things straight overpowered my instinct to keep a low profile. I couldn’t let these lies poison what we had, especially when it already felt like we were on shaky ground.
Anger crept in at the edges of my vision, and Lee was the only person around to catch my wrath. I stepped forward with a finger in his face, fury blazing in my eyes. “You listen to me, Sullivan. My relationship with Emily is none of your damn business. You spread these lies, and I swear, I’ll make you regret it.”
His hands went up as he rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. “I told you as a friend, dipshit. This town is well meaning, but damn if they don’t stick their noses in everyone’s business. If I hear the rumors, I’ll set it straight, but you might want to watch your back.”
With that, he grabbed his coffee and sauntered out of the break room, leaving me seething with frustration and feeling like a total dick. The station’s familiar camaraderie now felt like a facade, a thin veil covering the hostility simmering beneath the surface. Lee hadn’t deserved my anger but had taken the brunt end of its force.
As Lee walked away, I took a deep breath and tried to regain control of my temper. Chief was too busy at the moment to interrupt with my meaningless excuses and half-hearted apologies. I needed to find Emily and set things right before these rumors spread beyond repair.
The drive home felt longer than usual, the weight of Chief’s impending conversation and Lee’s goading pressing on my shoulders. As I stepped into my house, I half expected to find Emily waiting for me, ready to talk and ease my troubled mind. But the living room was empty, the air heavy with an absence that sent annoyance running down my spine.
“Prim?” I called out, my voice echoing through the quiet house. No response. Anxiety churned in my gut as I checked the kitchen, the bedroom, each room a reminder of her absence.
I reached for my phone, fingers fumbling like a teenager as I dialed her number. The call went straight to voicemail, and frustration simmered beneath my skin. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come home?
The feeble excuse she gave through a text only added to my unease.
Emily
Hey, sorry. Something came up at home. Can’t make it tonight. Rain check?
Something about her message felt off, the tone too vague, too distant. I typed a quick response, my worry bleeding into the words.
Sure, no problem. Is everything okay? Let me know if you need anything.
Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an agonizing eternity. The phone remained silent, Emily’s reply elusive. I paced the living room, the tension building with each unanswered text.
Just as my frustration reached its peak, my phone buzzed. I eagerly grabbed it, hoping for an explanation. Emily’s response, however, only deepened the knot in my stomach.
Emily
Thanks, Whip. It’s just some family and job search stuff. Nothing at all to worry about. Let’s talk tomorrow.
The vague reassurance did little to ease my concerns. Family stuff? Job search? What could be so pressing that she couldn’t confide in me? Doubt gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, a growing fear that something heavier lurked beneath the surface.
Just as I debated whether to push for more information, my phone rang, and Abel’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, a mix of frustration and curiosity in my voice. “What’s up, Abel?”
His voice, usually gruff and impatient, held an unusual stillness. “Hey, we need to talk. It’s about Mom.”
My breath caught in my throat, the mention of our mother stirring up memories better left buried. “What about her?”
“You might want to sit down,” Abel urged, and I sank into a chair. “I got in touch with a private investigator, courtesy of my parole officer. The guy did some digging, and there’s nothing—no record, no trace of Mom after she left all those years ago. None. She’s a ghost.”
The words hung in the air, a heavy silence settling between us. My mind raced, grappling with the implications of what Abel was saying. Our mother had vanished without a trace. The uncertainty, the mystery surrounding her absence, sent a chill down my spine.
“Are you saying she’s . . . dead?” The word caught in my throat, a bitter taste on my tongue.
Abel sighed, the weight of the revelation evident in his voice. “Honestly, we don’t know. The odd thing is, the investigator couldn’t find a death record either. She’s just . . . gone. He’s going to look into whether or not she could have changed her name or anything like that. He plans to keep digging, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but thought you should know.”
A heavy silence enveloped the conversation, the implications sinking in. The revelation about our mother, coupled with the unspoken tension with Emily, created a riot of emotions within me. The ground beneath my feet felt unsteady, and the shadows of the past cast long, haunting tendrils into the present.
As I absorbed the shocking news, Abel’s stern voice broke through the haze. “We’ll figure this out. We can’t keep living in the dark. We’ll talk more later.”
The call ended, leaving me in a state of turmoil. This newfound information about my mother weighed heavily on my shoulders. The air in the room felt charged with an unsettling energy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers I sought were just beyond reach.
I forced myself out of my house and walked toward my workshop. Maybe a few grueling hours creating something would ease the gnawing dread in my stomach.
I had loved my mother. She had loved us too. Of all the things I had forgotten, that I remembered.
I glanced up. Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon as I strode toward the barn and grappled with the shadows of my past that were seeping into my present. I may have been only a child when she disappeared, but in her wake she’d left the most important lesson I’d ever learned: no matter how much I loved someone, I wasn’t worth sticking around for.
THIRTY-SIX
EMILY
Stress was eating me alive.
I couldn’t help the impending sense of dread that pooled in my stomach. I felt off and not at all like myself. Plus, I still hadn’t made a decision or told Whip about the job offer. He had been acting weird for days, and despite our public outing, the whispers behind our backs only seemed to intensify. It was a startling realization that the pressures of small-town life were no joke. In the span of days I’d gone from feeling on top of the world to floundering in daunting silence.
Whip didn’t have work in the morning, so in an effort to find some kind of normalcy, I’d asked him to take me out. By the time we reached the Grudge, nearly every table was full, and the band was deep into a set of country classics. The dance floor was packed, and we skirted the crowd to find somewhere to sit on the King side.
When there wasn’t a single seat, I squeezed his arm. “There’s a few over there.” I bounced my chin toward the opposite side of the bar. “Maybe one night doesn’t matter.”
His face crinkled. “Of course it matters. We’re not sitting over there.”
“Okay . . .” Annoyed at his clipped tone, I kept searching. “What about in the middle? Maybe we can be like Sylvie and Duke.”
A dismissive grunt was his only response. When minutes ticked by and the crowd got only thicker, Whip grabbed my hand. “You know what? Fuck this. Let’s go.”
Taken aback by his abruptness, I allowed Whip to lead me toward the exit and out into the warm summer evening. Without stopping, he continued down the main sidewalk toward the beachfront.
“Hey, slow down.” I dug my heels in and slowed us to a stop. Annoyance rippled over Whip’s features. I hated that I didn’t understand why. There was still so much about the man in front of me that I didn’t fully understand. When we dove in headfirst, we’d been temporary, at best. Then before I knew it, he’d become the center of my world.
He recovered quickly as his hand smoothed down his suit jacket, and a practiced smile played on his lips.
The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with unsaid words and the acrid scent of mistrust. My father’s eyes, once calculating, held a glint of discomfort. The weight of my subtle accusation hung in the air, a shadow creeping over the polished surfaces of his carefully curated life.
“Son, you’re overthinking things,” he said, his voice attempting to regain its authoritative edge. “Your mother’s choices were her own. We couldn’t control that.”
I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “What choices, Dad?”
An unsteady pause settled in the airy workshop. The lines on my father’s face deepened, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of vulnerability—an unfamiliar crack in the facade of the all-powerful Russell King.
He cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding mine and looking around my shop. “Your mother had her reasons, Whip. You were just a child, too young to understand.”
I stepped closer, the distance between us closing like a vise. “Try me, Dad. I’m not a child anymore.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, a subtle acknowledgment that perhaps, in this moment, he couldn’t control the narrative as he always had.
“Your mother was . . . troubled,” he finally admitted, choosing his words carefully. “She felt trapped in this small town, in this life. It was her choice to leave and pursue something more fulfilling.”
The words were a hollow echo in the workshop, and my unease deepened. Something about his explanation felt rehearsed, as if he had recited this story many times to himself before.
I thought back to the smiling, happy face on her driver’s license.
My eyes narrowed. I was determined to get answers. “Where did she go, Dad?”
His jaw shifted as his hands tucked into his suit pants. “Back home to Detroit, I assume.”
“Why? Why would she leave her children behind? What am I missing?” Desperation leaked into my voice.
An impassive stare and deep sigh were the only answers my father was willing to give.
“When someone feels trapped, they find a way to break free,” I pressed. “But what if she didn’t leave by choice, Dad? What if something happened to her?”
His eyes darted, searching for something before a dismissive laugh huffed from his chest. “Whip, you’re letting your imagination run wild. There’s nothing more to the story. Focus on the future, on your career. Not women who don’t matter.”
I took a step back, the suspicion growing within me. I knew he was the last person to give a straight answer, and talking to him was like arguing with a brick wall. I shook my head. “Of course, Dad. I’ll stay focused.”
But I wouldn’t forget about Mom. I was going to find out what really happened.
A sinister edge entered his gaze, a warning that I chose to ignore. “That’s what I want to hear. Just remember, some stones are better left unturned, son.”
As my father exited the workshop, leaving me alone with the weight of unanswered questions, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the legacy he spoke of carried darker secrets than I had ever imagined. My determination to uncover the truth about my mother and protect my relationship with Emily burned brighter, fueled by a growing sense of unease and suspicion toward the man who was supposed to be my father.
THIRTY-FOUR
EMILY
Still no job.
And let me tell you . . . trusting that this is somehow going to actually work out is getting really fucking old.
Subject: Not Quite the Right Fit
Miss Ward,
Thanks for applying, but we’re after a teacher who can break free from the monotony. Your style doesn’t quite cut it.
Principal Jennings
Subject: Thank You for Applying
Dear Miss Ward,
After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that your application doesn’t align with our vision for an innovative educator. We’re seeking someone with a more dynamic approach to teaching. Wishing you success in finding a better match.
Sincerely,
Douglas Educational Committee
Subject: A Polite Pass on Your Teaching Talents
Dear Miss Ward,
I trust this email finds you in the midst of wrangling the intriguing minds of your students. Our prestigious private school recently had the pleasure of reviewing your application, and I must say, your qualifications sparkled.
However, after much contemplation, we’ve decided to embark on a journey with someone whose approach to teaching aligns more with interpretive dance and less with traditional lesson plans. We believe it’s time to let our students embrace their inner dance prodigies.
Please don’t consider this a rejection, but rather an invitation to explore the world of teaching through the art of movement. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover the hidden dancer within!
Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors,
Principal Dandecaff
The bruise from banging my head against the desk was starting to feel permanent.
Sigh.
But finally, after searching school websites, cold emailing principals, and attending countless virtual and in-person interviews, my heart stopped when I read the newest subject line.
Subject: Congratulations! Welcome to the Team!
Dear Ms. Ward,
It is with great excitement that we extend our warmest congratulations! Among many worthy candidates, your interview stood out, and we are thrilled to invite you to join Stella Baines Middle School as our newest educator.
Your passion for teaching and dedication to fostering an engaging learning environment align perfectly with our vision. We believe your unique approach will bring a breath of fresh air to our classrooms.
Welcome aboard, Emily! We look forward to embarking on an educational journey filled with inspiration, laughter, and countless moments of growth for our students.
Best regards,
Principal Sipling
My heart raced as I read, and reread, the email. I got a freaking job offer! Sure, I still had to work out details like pay, start date, and the stacks of HR paperwork, but the offer was there, in black and white.
I should have been elated. Instead, all I could think about was the fact that the middle school was clear across the state of Michigan in a suburb of Ann Arbor. Desperation had driven me to even apply, but now? A sick sinking feeling settled into my stomach.
What the hell was I going to do?
THIRTY-FIVE
WHIP
The next day at work, irritation still dogged me. Emily had spent the majority of the day with her mom and looking for local teaching jobs. She had returned, quiet and with sadness lurking around her edges, but we both ignored it.
I hated that I couldn’t make things right for her.
At the station, the click of the door drew my attention. My eyes whipped up to see Lee saunter into the break room. Over his shoulder, I watched as Chief entered the station and walked down the hall toward his office with our battalion chief. His expression was unreadable, the duo deep in conversation. My stomach somersaulted as I straightened. I still needed to clear the air with him about everything that had happened. HR had confirmed that the lieutenant position was mine, but the chief still hadn’t spoken to me about it.
As they walked, Chief glanced at me, offering only a small nod of acknowledgment, but relief washed over me. At least for the moment, he wasn’t throwing me out on my ass and giving me what I undoubtedly deserved.
Lee sidled up beside me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Dodged a bullet there. Chief didn’t look too happy this morning, but he’s too busy to chew your ass.”
A growing knot of worry tightened in my chest. What if Chief hadn’t been as understanding as Emily had made it seem? Would he want me to stop seeing her now that I would be stepping into the lieutenant’s role? What if my recklessness had cost me the one thing that finally felt right in my life?
I could feel myself spiraling, but Lee’s low whistle caught my attention. “Man.” He chuckled and shook his head as he grabbed a clean coffee mug from the cabinet. “The boss’s daughter . . . you’ve got brass balls, Bill.”
My jaw flexed. “Not today, Sullivan.”
I wanted to punch the cocky smirk off his face, but the station was one place we’d drawn the line—it was an unspoken expectation that we left the rivalry outside its walls.
Lee’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and mocking. “You should know, people are talking.”
I glared at him, my patience hanging by a thread. “Talking about what?”
His jaw flexed. “Word is you have a hard-on for the boss’s daughter, but that you’re only using her.”
Instinct took over and I pushed him against the counter. “The fuck did you say to me? Are you running your mouth?”
Lee shoved me hard in the chest, moving me back a few inches, and glared at me. Lee leaned in, his tone low but sincere. “I’m just trying to help you out, asshole. They’re saying you’re only with her because she’s the chief’s daughter. Rumor is that you were trying to get some special treatment in your bid for lieutenant. I thought you should know.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. Fury surged through my veins, a red-hot rage that threatened to consume me. I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my composure. “It’s not like that. Don’t twist it.”
He laughed, a grating sound that fueled the fire within me, and raised his hands. “I’m not twisting anything. All I am telling you is that’s what people are saying. I was giving you a heads-up. You just better hope Chief doesn’t find out.”
A flicker of doubt mingled with my anger. “He already knows about us.”
What if Emily had heard the rumors? What if she believed them?
The need to set things straight overpowered my instinct to keep a low profile. I couldn’t let these lies poison what we had, especially when it already felt like we were on shaky ground.
Anger crept in at the edges of my vision, and Lee was the only person around to catch my wrath. I stepped forward with a finger in his face, fury blazing in my eyes. “You listen to me, Sullivan. My relationship with Emily is none of your damn business. You spread these lies, and I swear, I’ll make you regret it.”
His hands went up as he rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. “I told you as a friend, dipshit. This town is well meaning, but damn if they don’t stick their noses in everyone’s business. If I hear the rumors, I’ll set it straight, but you might want to watch your back.”
With that, he grabbed his coffee and sauntered out of the break room, leaving me seething with frustration and feeling like a total dick. The station’s familiar camaraderie now felt like a facade, a thin veil covering the hostility simmering beneath the surface. Lee hadn’t deserved my anger but had taken the brunt end of its force.
As Lee walked away, I took a deep breath and tried to regain control of my temper. Chief was too busy at the moment to interrupt with my meaningless excuses and half-hearted apologies. I needed to find Emily and set things right before these rumors spread beyond repair.
The drive home felt longer than usual, the weight of Chief’s impending conversation and Lee’s goading pressing on my shoulders. As I stepped into my house, I half expected to find Emily waiting for me, ready to talk and ease my troubled mind. But the living room was empty, the air heavy with an absence that sent annoyance running down my spine.
“Prim?” I called out, my voice echoing through the quiet house. No response. Anxiety churned in my gut as I checked the kitchen, the bedroom, each room a reminder of her absence.
I reached for my phone, fingers fumbling like a teenager as I dialed her number. The call went straight to voicemail, and frustration simmered beneath my skin. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come home?
The feeble excuse she gave through a text only added to my unease.
Emily
Hey, sorry. Something came up at home. Can’t make it tonight. Rain check?
Something about her message felt off, the tone too vague, too distant. I typed a quick response, my worry bleeding into the words.
Sure, no problem. Is everything okay? Let me know if you need anything.
Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an agonizing eternity. The phone remained silent, Emily’s reply elusive. I paced the living room, the tension building with each unanswered text.
Just as my frustration reached its peak, my phone buzzed. I eagerly grabbed it, hoping for an explanation. Emily’s response, however, only deepened the knot in my stomach.
Emily
Thanks, Whip. It’s just some family and job search stuff. Nothing at all to worry about. Let’s talk tomorrow.
The vague reassurance did little to ease my concerns. Family stuff? Job search? What could be so pressing that she couldn’t confide in me? Doubt gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, a growing fear that something heavier lurked beneath the surface.
Just as I debated whether to push for more information, my phone rang, and Abel’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, a mix of frustration and curiosity in my voice. “What’s up, Abel?”
His voice, usually gruff and impatient, held an unusual stillness. “Hey, we need to talk. It’s about Mom.”
My breath caught in my throat, the mention of our mother stirring up memories better left buried. “What about her?”
“You might want to sit down,” Abel urged, and I sank into a chair. “I got in touch with a private investigator, courtesy of my parole officer. The guy did some digging, and there’s nothing—no record, no trace of Mom after she left all those years ago. None. She’s a ghost.”
The words hung in the air, a heavy silence settling between us. My mind raced, grappling with the implications of what Abel was saying. Our mother had vanished without a trace. The uncertainty, the mystery surrounding her absence, sent a chill down my spine.
“Are you saying she’s . . . dead?” The word caught in my throat, a bitter taste on my tongue.
Abel sighed, the weight of the revelation evident in his voice. “Honestly, we don’t know. The odd thing is, the investigator couldn’t find a death record either. She’s just . . . gone. He’s going to look into whether or not she could have changed her name or anything like that. He plans to keep digging, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but thought you should know.”
A heavy silence enveloped the conversation, the implications sinking in. The revelation about our mother, coupled with the unspoken tension with Emily, created a riot of emotions within me. The ground beneath my feet felt unsteady, and the shadows of the past cast long, haunting tendrils into the present.
As I absorbed the shocking news, Abel’s stern voice broke through the haze. “We’ll figure this out. We can’t keep living in the dark. We’ll talk more later.”
The call ended, leaving me in a state of turmoil. This newfound information about my mother weighed heavily on my shoulders. The air in the room felt charged with an unsettling energy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers I sought were just beyond reach.
I forced myself out of my house and walked toward my workshop. Maybe a few grueling hours creating something would ease the gnawing dread in my stomach.
I had loved my mother. She had loved us too. Of all the things I had forgotten, that I remembered.
I glanced up. Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon as I strode toward the barn and grappled with the shadows of my past that were seeping into my present. I may have been only a child when she disappeared, but in her wake she’d left the most important lesson I’d ever learned: no matter how much I loved someone, I wasn’t worth sticking around for.
THIRTY-SIX
EMILY
Stress was eating me alive.
I couldn’t help the impending sense of dread that pooled in my stomach. I felt off and not at all like myself. Plus, I still hadn’t made a decision or told Whip about the job offer. He had been acting weird for days, and despite our public outing, the whispers behind our backs only seemed to intensify. It was a startling realization that the pressures of small-town life were no joke. In the span of days I’d gone from feeling on top of the world to floundering in daunting silence.
Whip didn’t have work in the morning, so in an effort to find some kind of normalcy, I’d asked him to take me out. By the time we reached the Grudge, nearly every table was full, and the band was deep into a set of country classics. The dance floor was packed, and we skirted the crowd to find somewhere to sit on the King side.
When there wasn’t a single seat, I squeezed his arm. “There’s a few over there.” I bounced my chin toward the opposite side of the bar. “Maybe one night doesn’t matter.”
His face crinkled. “Of course it matters. We’re not sitting over there.”
“Okay . . .” Annoyed at his clipped tone, I kept searching. “What about in the middle? Maybe we can be like Sylvie and Duke.”
A dismissive grunt was his only response. When minutes ticked by and the crowd got only thicker, Whip grabbed my hand. “You know what? Fuck this. Let’s go.”
Taken aback by his abruptness, I allowed Whip to lead me toward the exit and out into the warm summer evening. Without stopping, he continued down the main sidewalk toward the beachfront.
“Hey, slow down.” I dug my heels in and slowed us to a stop. Annoyance rippled over Whip’s features. I hated that I didn’t understand why. There was still so much about the man in front of me that I didn’t fully understand. When we dove in headfirst, we’d been temporary, at best. Then before I knew it, he’d become the center of my world.
