Page 104 of Calling the Shots

I guess we’ve moved onto the stiffer drinks now.

“I should try to find her.” I sidestep my mother and go into the house. The clattering of pots and pans sounds from the kitchen as the chef and staff put the finishing touches on Thanksgiving dinner. A few people move through the hallway, carrying dishes for the feast.

No sign of Gracelyn anywhere.

I walk down the hallway, checking each room I pass. They’re all empty. Room after room, each one quiet and unoccupied. I peer into the library and spot two empty champagne flutes on one of the round side tables.

Stepping into the space, I quickly glance around. Nothing but empty sofas, unread books, and a bunch of stupid trophies my parents insist on displaying to impress their friends.

So embarrassing.

Where the hell’s Gracelyn?

I’m worried now. The last time I saw her was over forty-five minutes ago at least. My dad yammered on and on about some kid I vaguely remember from school who started practicing law down in Florida and made a fortune chasing big pharma. Like I give a shit.

Maybe Gracelyn’s in the bathroom.

I hustle down the hall, knocking on the powder room door. No response. I open the door to check she’s not passed out or something.

Empty.

After checking every bathroom on the main floor, panic sets in.Where could she be?

I pull out my cell and shoot her a quick text.

Mack: Where are you? Worried

I stare at the screen, willing her to respond. No dots pop up and swirl, the message only marked as Delivered.

Hurrying out of the main house, I jog down the path to the guest house. It’s the only spot I haven’t checked outside of the upstairs and she has no reason to go up there.

I knock on the guest house door and wait. She doesn’t answer, so I turn the knob and push inside. The house is still and quiet, and no lights are on.

“Gracelyn?” I call her name, striding through the house in search of her. “You here, babe?”

My voice booms in the emptiness.

“Gracelyn?” I call for her again as I enter the kitchen, a hint of panic edging my voice. I spot a note on the table and grab the paper with a shaky hand.

Mack,

I’m sorry to leave like this, but I couldn’t stay. After a lot of thinking, it’s best if we spend some time apart and reassess our relationship. I think we may be too different after all. We’ll talk about it later—I don’t want to ruin your family holiday.

Please pass my regrets to your family, along with a thank you for their hospitality.

Happy Thanksgiving and again, I’m sorry.

Love,

G.

P.S—I took your truck because I couldn’t get an Uber. I’ll come pick you up this weekend. Maybe Bobby can drop you in town and I’ll meet you there?

I toss the note back on the table, slamming my fist down hard.

“Dammit!”

Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I mash Gracelyn’s number and wait. I get sent straight to voicemail. I call again and leave a message.

---