Page 85 of It's Always Sonny

My heart squeezes. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. It’s down.

In all the time we dated, she never wore it loose. It was always—and I mean always—in a high ponytail, a low ponytail, or a braid. I used to tease her about how her hair had power to control men’s hearts and she only kept it up to limit its power.

I could almost believe her hair created this polar vortex. The storm in my head and heart seeing her like this is more powerful than any weather anomaly.

PJ cracks the window just enough to talk through. “What are you doing?”

“Harry’s missing.”

“What?” PJ closes the blinds. I walk back to the front of the cabin, and a moment later, Parker has thrown open the door. The lights are off, so I can’t see what the place looks like. The warmth inside makes me shiver.

“I’m throwing on some extra clothes. Do you need anything?”

“You don’t have anything that would fit me.” A minute later, she comes out layered to the hilt and is even wearing boots.

“Sonny,” she frowns as she jams gloves on her hands, “your clothes aren’t thick enough for this weather.”

“It’s all I’ve got. Let’s go.”

“At least let’s stop at your tent—”

“There’s no time! I’ll be fine, he won’t,” I insist.

She reluctantly closes the door, and soon, we’re past the cabins and tents and are looking in the woods. We’re both on the phone with workers and family members, respectively, and calling Harry’s name every few steps. We see other lanterns and phone lights, and we faintly hear other voices, but no Harry. The shrill, icy wind picks up, rushing in our ears and blocking almost any sound. Even talking on the phone is difficult. Also, miraculous.

“How do we have cell service in this?” I ask through chattering teeth.

“Tripp couldn’t get a hold of Jane when he thought she was leaving him, so he spent a fortune getting some military grade WiFi that covers every inch of the farm.”

“I’ll thank him later.”

“Rusty’s putting up a few heavy duty tents around the site in case Harry wanders toward one. But everyone else is looking. We’ll find him.”

After twenty minutes, our voices are getting hoarse from calling Harry’s name. It’s so cold that I’ve lost feeling in my toes, and my fingers are stiff and tingling with pain.

Man, the NFL will not be happy if I get frostbite and lose some digits.

The thought makes me laugh.

PJ looks at me funny. “Are you okay?”

“Just thinking about how frostbite is expressly forbidden in my contract,” I say.

She keeps her eyes on me for a beat longer but then returns to searching the woods.

“I think we’re getting close to the reservoir,” she says. “It’s about a half mile south of the homestead area.”

“Is there any chance he went to Tripp’s house?”

She shakes her head. “They’ve checked. Tripp is lending out farm trucks and UTVs so everyone can search. Would he have gone to the reservoir?”

“If he thought it would make him look cool to his cousins, maybe,” I say, feeling sick. “What was Noah thinking, taking kids out in this storm for a dumb game?” PJ doesn’t answer, and her silence is an answer of its own. “He wanted to impress us, didn’t he?”

Her mouth pulls into a grimace.

“Not us. Me.” My sickness is a full body flu. “This is my fault. He was trying to recreate what he saw as the Luciano magic, and now, Harry’s stuck in this storm.” Fear closes my throat.

“It’s not your fault. Noah is sixteen. His frontal lobe is a decade from being fully formed. Even if you guys had played canasta all last night instead of capture the flag, he still would have wanted to do something dumb.”

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