Page 65 of Back to Me

I watch her until she reaches the entryway to the exhibit. Within seconds, she disappears, swallowed up by the growing and passing crowds.

I don’t wait another second and run out of the museum, headed for my car. My feet stomp against the pavement, the bottom of my dress shoes scuffing against the asphalt. When I reach the parking lot, Em and my father are gone. Breathlessly, I pull out my phone and type a message to my sister.

Graham: Is it okay if I stay with you and Cam tonight?

Em: Of course. I’ll send you the address to our hotel. Did you find out why Sara’s name was missing?

Graham: Not yet, but I have a feeling something isn’t right. I’ll explain when I get there.

Closing out the thread of texts with my sister, I scroll through my contacts, finding Mr. Price’s number. My fingers shake, and my thumb hovers over his name. I don’t know why I hesitate. Maybe it’s fear of what the conversation may hold. Maybe it’s fear of unveiling some large, hidden secret.

Leaning against my car, I tilt my head up to the stars. I close my eyes, breathing in the heavy, cool night air. Behind my eyes, I see Sara. I can feel her skin grazing mine. I can feel the way I stood behind her tonight, clasping her necklace around her delicate neck. The way her golden eyeshadow reflected against the lights in my bedroom, lighting her green eyes on fire.

The rock resting at the bottom of my stomach twists, bringing on a new surge of pain. Pain for what I’ve lost so far. Then fear rests on top of the pain. Fear for the possibility of losing Sara completely. A desire to fight for Sara rages inside me, pushing the fear aside.

I reopen my eyes and destroy that growing fear by sliding my finger across Mr. Price’s name. I lift the phone to my ear and hold my breath, waiting for him to answer.

My pulse quickens, listening to the dial tone traveling through my ear. I count them--eight rings before it goes to voicemail. After I hang up, I hold my phone between clenched fingers before sliding my finger across the screen again and press the phone to my ear. When he doesn’t answer the second time, I leave him a message, urging him to call me back. When I hang up, I don’t wait before calling him a third time. Just as before, he doesn’t answer. I call him a fourth time. And then a fifth. For good measure, I text him, refusing to surrender so easily.

An hour later, all my phone calls and texts are left unanswered. The sickening feeling takes over, and suddenly, I feel all last bits of hope I had left vanish into the thin night air.

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