Page 114 of Loud Unspoken Memories

Quinn T: Can you be at White Plains airport in an hour? I found a team to fly you, but they want to be home by midnight. It’s a three-hour flight. Drop off only. They’ll turn around immediately and fly back.

I check the time. Perfect. I’ll be in Orlando by seven.

Me: On my way. I owe you.

Quinn T: No man, but you’ll owe them. A fucking lot.

Me: Not a problem. Thanks. And Merry Christmas.

Quinn T: To you as well. Hope you find what you’re looking for.

I don’t answer, but I sure as hell hope so too.

~ ~ ~

After putting a small dent in my bank account and renting one of the few remaining—and ridiculously overpriced—cars at the Orlando airport, I’m well on my way to Marti’s apartment.

Traffic is horrendous. Not New York City bad, but terrible all the same. Don’t these people have somewhere to be, like with their families?

Family. The word hangs in my head, bouncing around as I try it on for size. Am I really ready for this? Honestly, I don’t know. But if I don’t at least try, I think it’s something I might regret for the rest of my life.

“Your destination is ahead,” the car announces, causing my heart rate to skyrocket.

What if she doesn’t want this? What if Martina Alexandra Carver is one of those women who moves on quickly—out of sight, out of mind and all that?

What if I just spent sixty grand for nothing? Not including all the other shit I bought earlier.

I’m a bit surprised, but not unhappy that she lives in a gated community. At least I know she’s safe living on her own. Not wanting to alert her I’m coming, I hug the bumper of the car in front of me to get through the front gate. Then I park in front of her apartment building. It’s nice. I look around at the other cars. Most of them are far nicer than Betsy. I wonder if she’s gotten anew one yet. If not, that can be my Christmas gift to her. I mean, I have a gift already—sort of—but a car would be therealone.

I squint at the numbers on the apartments, surmising hers is on the second floor. I get out, retrieving one of the gift bags from the back. No way can I carry in everything I brought with me. I’ll just come back for the rest.

Taking a deep breath, because I truly have no idea if I’m an idiot or a saint for doing what I’m doing, I climb the stairs and knock on the door to apartment 502C.

There’s no answer. I knock again. Then I step to the right and look through the front window.

It’s dark inside. I came all this way and she’s not even here.

Asher’s.Of course she would be at Asher’s place. She said they always spend holidays together. Maybe that means Christmas Eve as well as Christmas.

Even more nervous now that I have to do this in front of her older brother, I make my way back down to the car and do some stealth googling until I find the address. I actually find the addresses of a few Asher Andersons in the Orlando area, but I narrow it down to the closest one to my location, figuring she wouldn’t live too far from her brother.

In ten minutes, I’m standing in front of another door, scared shitless at what might transpire over the next few minutes.Grow some fucking balls,Montana, I tell myself.

I ring the bell, and seconds later, a girl with blue hair opens the door. She looks down at my hands. “Delivery?” she asks, excited by the large decorative bag.

“You must be Bug.”

She side-eyes me, closing the door just a little and wedging her foot behind it. “Do I know you, or are you some creepy lonely old guy who stalks girls on the internet and tracks them down on holidays?”

Yup. Definitely Bug. I’d recognize that snarky attitude anywhere. She must’ve gotten it from her aunt.

“I’m looking for your aunt. Is Marti here?”

“No. She flew up to New York City to go to some hick place. Conway Creek or something.” She turns. “Dad! Where did Aunt Marti go?”

Asher comes up behind his daughter, stunned to see me. “Dallas. You’re… here.” He doubles over, laughing.

“Wait.” I drop the bag on the threshold. “Shewent to seeme?And… she got on aplane?”

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