Page 42 of Yes No Maybe

“Rowan, take a breath. How long has it been since you saw her?”

“Not since you were here. I was playing it cool, giving her space. She didn’t leave a note. She won’t respond to my texts or calls. What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop freaking out, for one thing. She’s fifteen. Not three. She’s not in danger. She’s just being an asshole.”

“How do youknowthat?”

“Rowan, it’s okay. She’s probably at the park or her house—that’s the downside of placing her in her neighborhood. She’s too close to home. I’ll reach out to her. Maybe she’ll answer my call.”

“If she doesn’t?”

“Let’s give her until nine… then, we’ll freak out and call the police.”

I don’t like this plan, but I trust Mira. “Fine. But I want her home address.”

Reluctantly, Mira gives it to me. Leaving the front door unlocked, I hop into my VW Bug and weave through a dozen neighborhood streets before arriving at Sara’s house. Her bike is propped against the stoop of a cluttered rancher with a neatly manicured lawn. There’s no garage, but a decrepit-looking carport limping on one side houses rusty bikes, a pile of hubcaps, and other random metal objects. An old green truck boasts an advertisement for Sweet’s Lawn Service on the door, and the trailer hitched to its back end holds an industrial mower and other lawn tools. I wonder what a three-month hiatus will do to Mr. Sweet’s business.

My first instinct is to pull into her driveway, storm up to the door, and demand she return home. But I don’t. Anger only makes everything worse. Besides, it’s enough to know where she is and that she’s not in danger. For now.

I text Mira with an update and wait for her at home.

Sara climbs into her bedroom window at 8:56. She finds me at the kitchen table with my phone, my hand neatly wrapped in gauze, and the uneaten enchiladas cold and unappetizing beside me.

She grunts at the sight of me and bypasses me for the fridge as if nothing’s happened.

I straighten my back and take a breath. “Look, I know this is tough. You don’t have to like me—”

“Good because I don’t.”

Her words burn a hole through me. “Fine. But here we are, like it or not. I want to make this as pleasant as possible for us both. For me, that means knowing you’re okay.”

“Well, for me, that means dealing with you as little as possible. This place is a shitty hotel to me.”

“This little house is friendly, comfortable, and safe—three things you may not have gotten elsewhere.” My words come out with surprising sternness, given how weak and disappointed I feel. “I promise to give you space as long as you tell me where you are… and you always come home by nine.”

“Whatever.” She snatches a banana from the fruit bowl and goes to her room.

After tidying the kitchen and putting the food away, I scoop up Edgar, my new Squishmallow Danielito, and go to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

Fourteen

Rowan

“Havetimeforme?”Jack says when I answer the door. He holds out a bottle of wine with an expression half-worried and half-pleading. His fuller bottom lip curls under his upper teeth, awaiting my response.

“I have nothing but time.” My answer drips with disappointment.

“It can’t be that bad.” He moves inside, shutting the door behind him. “Where’s your ward?”

A scoff blusters out. “My ward… that fits since she views me as her warden. She’s out. It’s been four days, and I’ve barely had a conversation with her. She hates me.”

“She’ll warm up.”

Doubting it, I eye Jack’s wine like it’s the Holy Grail—I need a wine night. I produce a corkscrew while he gets out two glasses.

Sara isn’t my only source of despair. Mom and Mira have been pushing me to stand up for myself with Dean—either give him an ultimatum (because thatalwaysgoes over well) or break up with him altogether. His silence makes it harder to argue.

Two days ago, Dean FaceTimed from a bar with his RV mates. He looked reddish and warm from alcohol but giddy. “Honey, there you are. I’ve been meaning to call. Just had the most amazing day—got to say a line. A real line!”

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