Page 117 of That Reunited Feeling

Where the hell is this place anyway?

I go back to the map.

Fucking hell, I’m already on the right street.

I check the number and have to grip the counter because my head’s swimming, and it’s nothing to do with Uncle Jim’s scotch. The address is literally three doors down from where I already am. One more click and I’m there, looking at an empty lot where Rachel’s house must now be.

With exactly the view from the photo Hannah showed me.

My heart stops and, as if acting of its own free will, my hand reaches out and my fingers brush against the screen.

Christ, I was so close to her. And didn’t even know.

35

TOM

“C

ould you just wait a couple minutes, in case no one’s home?” I ask the cab driver as we pull up outside the big gray security gates at Rachel’s new house.

“Well, I don’t know abou?—”

I hand him another twenty.

“Sure. I can do that, Yeah, sure.”

But I hope to fuck I haven’t come all this way to find an empty house.

The thought of having to go book a hotel and come back later is excruciating. I’m here now, and I want to see Hannahnow.

With my duffel bag over my shoulder, I jump out of the car into the warm sunshine. Slightly different from the freezing temperature I left behind.

To the right of the gates is a number pad with a speaker and a big white button. Guess I press the button.

Presumably the buzzer rings in only the main house and Hannah won’t hear it in the guesthouse. So I hope like hellRachel’s home. But maybe it’s not likely since it’s four o’clock on a Monday afternoon.

Damn.

I press the buzzer again.

It makes no sound on my end, so I just have to trust it’s making a sound inside. Or on Rachel’s phone. How do these things even work?

Or maybe I didn’t press it hard enough.

I give it a few more jabs, but still nothing.

“No one home, huh?” the cabbie helpfully calls through his window.

“Let’s give them a minute. It’s a big house. They could be miles from the intercom. Or not have their phones with them. Or whatever the hell this thing is connected to.”

I press my face to the tiny gap between the gates, searching for any hint of life—two cars are in the drive, but there’s no sign of movement anywhere.

I punch the buzzer a few more times.

Still nothing.

But if anyone had picked up, their voice would be drowned out by the sudden screech of tires on asphalt as a car hurtles around the corner behind me.

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