Page 30 of Snowed In With the PUCK

Jessica

Isit at mydesk, staring at my computer screen, and I can’t focus. My mind keeps drifting back to Eric. Last night, after he opened up about the photo of his mom, my guilt about Jason expecting me to spy on him ratcheted up ten notches. He’s searching for answers, for closure, and I want to help him. But as I sit here now, I wonder if helping him is too personal for our arrangement.

I should be working, but I find myself on social media, scrolling through profiles of people who knew Eric’s grandparents. I don’t know why, but I feel this urge to dig deeper into his past. Maybe it’s because I care about him more than I should, more than I thought I would. Or maybe it’s because I can’t shake that damn guilt of the arrangement I made with Jason to watch Eric, to spy on him. Not that I’ve actually done any of that. Jason asked me about it once, and I brushed it off, telling him there was nothing to report. And there isn’t.

But now, here I am, doing exactly what I swore I wouldn’t—digging into Eric’s personal life. I tell myself it’s different, though. I’m not doing this for Jason or for Kip. I’m doing this for Eric. At least, that’s what I want to believe.

Finally, after what feels like hours of searching, I come across a name that seems to be a promising lead—Nancy. Her profile says she’s a retired nurse who still lives in the same neighborhood where Eric’s grandparents lived. My heart skips a beat as I click on the message button and type out a quick note, asking if she remembers them.

To my surprise, she replies within minutes, agreeing to chat. My fingers tremble as I dial her number, and she picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?” a warm, kind voice answers.

“Hi, is this Nancy? My name is Jessica… I’m a friend of Eric Warren’s.”

“Oh my goodness, Eric!” Nancy’s voice brightens at once. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he doing? Such a nice boy, always polite, even when he was going through tough times years after his parents…”

She trails off, and I don’t push her to finish the sentence. Instead, I smile to myself. The image of Eric as a teenager, polite and kind despite the loss he went through, warms me. It’s exactly how I imagined him—strong, resilient, even when the world around him crumbled.

“He’s doing well,” I say softly. “He’s actually looking into some things from his past, and I was wondering if you could help. Do you remember anything about his mom?”

Nancy is silent for a moment, and I can almost hear her thinking on the other end of the line. “I remember vaguely hearing about her,” she finally says. “She wasn’t around much from what I know, but I never met her or anything like that. I lived next door to his grandparents, right in this very house years before they took Eric in, you know. Eric’s grandparents raised him. His mom… well, she had her own problems.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to pry too much, but needing to know more. “Do you know what happened to her? Where she went?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Nancy replies, her voice tinged with sadness. “She just disappeared from all conversations and was never brought up again. Eric’s grandparents never spoke about a lot of things, though. They were private people, you know? But they loved that boy. They did everything they could for him.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Thank you, Nancy. I appreciate your time.”

“Of course, dear. And tell Eric I said hello, would you?”

“I will,” I promise before hanging up the phone.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the computer screen again. Nancy didn’t know anything about Eric’s mom, but I’m not giving up. I pull up public records, searching for a deathcertificate or any kind of announcement about his mother’s demise. Nothing comes up. It’s like she just vanished off the face of the earth.

But then, something catches my eye. A death certificate for Eric’s father. I stare at the screen, my heart pounding in my chest. His father died, but there’s no mention of his mother. It’s like she’s a ghost, a mystery that’s been hidden from him his whole life.

I keep digging, pulling up every record I can find. Finally, I come across an address—a rehab facility in Las Vegas. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I dial the number, my stomach twisting in knots. What if she’s still alive? What if everything Eric believes is a lie?

The phone rings twice before a woman answers, her voice calm and professional. “Sunrise Rehabilitation Center, how can I help you?”

I clear my throat, my palms sweaty. “Hi, I’m calling about a former patient… or possibly a staff member. Her name is Linda Warren?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I hold my breath, waiting.

“Yes, Linda works here,” the woman says finally. “She’s been with us for decades, helping others with their recovery. She’s one of our success stories.”

My heart drops. Linda is alive. Eric’s mother isalive, and she’s been living in Las Vegas this whole time. I blink rapidly. She’s a success story, so that means… she was once struggling with addiction? My heart goes out to her and I feel a sudden surge of pride knowing she is working at the very place that helped her get clean. What a wonderful woman she must be. So, why stay away from her son?

I thank the woman and hang up, my mind racing.

How am I supposed to tell Eric this? He’s been searching for answers, but is he ready for the truth—the truth as convoluted as this? And what if this reality of his mother only brings him more pain?

I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to approach the subject. I can’t keep this from him. He deserves to know. But I’m terrified of how he’ll react.

When I finally get home that evening, Eric is sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV. He glances up when I walk in, giving me a small smile.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “Long day?”

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