Page 94 of Just This Once

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,thatI 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 feltoffand 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 fordays, 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.

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