Page 52 of Diem

“Um,” I rasp, swallowing. This isn’t a weird thing to ask but I’m making it really fucking awkward. “I was just wondering where Uncle Frank is?”

Dad’s head shoots up and he stares at me before saying, “He’s around, Mae.”

“Oh.” Shifting uneasily, I summon a weak smile and murmur, “It’s just, you know, he hasn’t been around, and I know how close you are.”

“Close?”

The weird inflection sends a shiver down my spine, but I can’t exactly back down now. Some crazy part of me wants to be able to blame this on something else…or someone else.

“Yeah, I mean, you grew up with him.”

He sighs and sets his phone on his knees, “Well, yeah. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Right, in the um, foster home?”

“What’s with the strange questions?” he asks, cocking his head.

Shrugging, I pick a piece of imaginary lint from my shirt. “Nothing. I was just curious.”

“Hm,” he says. “Yeah, I was placed in his home when my parents died.”

“Oh.”

I’m trying to picture Uncle Frank’s parents, who I’ve never met but can’t imagine based on his personality, were kind or loving people, taking in a stray.

Truthfully, Frank has always given me a creepy vibe although I’ve ignored it in favor of my dad’s friendship with the man.

“So, he’s almost like a brother?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, and I roll my eyes. I’d get so much shit for ignoring him over my phone and now he can’t surface long enough to answer a damn question.

“Have you seen him lately?” I ask, grabbing the banister.

“No, sweetie,” he murmurs but did I just see his shoulders tense?

“Okay. I’m going to go study.”

“Oh good,” I hear him say as I speed walk up the steps and close my bedroom door.

Now what?

Pulling out my phone, I type out a text and sit on the floor while I wait for my brother to answer.

When are you coming home?

∞∞∞

There’s no word from my brother and I tamp down my annoyance as I sit in my seat in the back for History. His complete disregard for me is beyond old but he’s so fucking distant anymore, I’m not sure he’d care if I told him so.

Somewhere along the way, he blinked out and the Ollie from before disappeared. Sort of like Diem.

At the thought, I glance at him sideways. He’s leaning back in his chair, with his arms over the back. Occasionally, he dips his head. Is he falling asleep?

No. He’s texting on his phone. Douche.

Suddenly, I desperately want to know if it’s Ollie. I need to speak to him. I need for him to tell me everything is going to be okay.

As surreptitiously as possible, I pull my phone free and send Ollie a text.

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