Page 29 of Absolution

I set Jemma down. “What?”

Iris doesn’t even turn. Just says, in a small voice, “She yelled.”

“Stay inside,” I tell the kids, already heading toward the front door. “Don’t open it for anyone, alright?”

Levi nods seriously. Iris just grabs Jemma’s hand and pulls her toward the couch.

Stepping out onto the porch, I scan the yard ignoring the trash bins I was supposed to pull in.

Jogging around the house, I call softly, “Jackie?”

Nothing. Not behind the garage. Not near the oak where she sometimes sits with her coffee. I check the side gate, it’s still latched. No sign of her.

Her car is parked in the driveway. Which means… she didn’t drive anywhere.

Panic scratches at the edge of my throat.

I hurry back inside, calling her name. The kids stay glued to the couch, eyes wide.

“Jackie?”

Nothing. Grabbing my phone, I call her. It rings on the kitchen counter, right where she always leaves it.

Great.

Upstairs, the bedroom’s empty. So is the bathroom. The kids’ rooms, too. Even the closets, the balcony, the laundry room, nothing. Maybe she just went for a walk. To cool off. Needed air. That happens. I've done it. Maybe she needed to be alone.

Or maybe she needed to be away from me.

Sitting at the foot of our bed, I watch the time crawl by. Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty. I head downstairs, leave the kids infront of the TV, and retreat to my office. Thirty minutes in, I’m shuffling through Milani case files when my phone buzzes.

Deposition reminder. No time to reschedule. I swipe to answer, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

“Mr. Greyson,” the assistant chirps, “we’re just waiting on opposing counsel, but you can begin with-”

A loud crash echoes from the living room, followed immediately by high-pitched crying. My heart shoots up into my throat.

“I’ll call you back,” I mutter, already moving. I hang up without waiting for a reply.

The phone hits the desk as I bolt out, slamming the door behind me.

How the hell am I supposed to contain three kids while working? Fuck, I get needing time away, but she can’t just leave. Not today. Not when she knows I have a deposition, deadlines, Judge Miller breathing down my neck.

I find Jemma wailing next to the overturned laundry basket. Iris is trying to pick socks off the floor. Levi stands in the hallway, wide-eyed.

I kneel down and check Jemma’s knee. It’s just a scrape.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re okay, baby.”

She nods into my shirt, still crying.

We settle into the couch after that, a cartoon playing low on the TV. I bring down a few pillows, make a sloppy fort out of the cushions.

Time drags.

No Jackie. No texts. No footsteps. Nothing.

Lunch rolls around. I make grilled cheese, adding apples and baby carrots like that’ll make it healthier. Levi reminds me to check his meds and I damn near cry with relief that he remembers on his own. He’s growing up.

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