Page 91 of O Goalie Night
She nods and gives me an unconvincing “Of course,” before pulling away. “I’d better get to work.”
Panic builds in my chest as I start to worry that I’m losing her.
“I’ve got practice with the team this afternoon, but we can talk more tonight, okay?”
More nodding. “Sure.”
I walk her to the door, more and more convinced that I’ve said the wrong thing as she takes off her ridiculous pompom slippers and slips on her winter boots. She putson her coat before pressing her lips to mine and I watch her go, praying it’s not the last time.
Practice is brutal.We’ve lost the last two games and morale is low. Coach heard about what happened at the bar in Chicago and has been particularly harsh on the four of us.
Beth has been quiet in our texts and I’m trying not to read too much into it. It’s the last week of school before Christmas break and I’m sure she’s run off her feet keeping the kids in line.
Still, when I pull into an empty driveway my heart sinks. She should have gotten home from school an hour ago.
My spirits lift as I hear a car pulling in behind me as I’m hopping out of my truck, but the moment is quickly gone.
Ben’s ostentatious sports car is driving towards me.
Perfect.
Shaking my head, I start for the door. It’s been a shitty day and I expect it’s about to get a lot worse. I pull my phone out to text Beth.
Foster: Hey. I just got home. Are you on your way?
I decide I had better give her a warning that we’re not alone.
Foster: Your brother is here.
Unlocking the door I walk into the quiet house. I sense Ben on my heels and fight the urge to close the door in his stubborn face.
The higher road sucks sometimes.
“I’m here to get Beth,” he says, standing imposingly in the doorway.
“Does she know that?”
He glares at me. “I texted her earlier to say I was picking her up.”
I extend my arms and look around my empty foyer. “Well, she’s clearly not here, so close the door. You’re letting out all the heat.”
“Where the fuck is she?” He steps in and slams the door shut.
“I don’t know, she probably–”
That’s when I notice that her fuzzy pompom slippers aren’t by the door where she left them this morning.
I try to remain calm as I take my phone out again and call Beth. It goes to voicemail.
Ben follows me into the house, lamenting about something, but I’m not listening. I’m looking for further signs to confirm my theory.
The thick paperback she’s been reading in the evenings is no longer on the coffee table.
Her navy Canada Games hoodie is missing from the back of the kitchen chair.
I drag myself down the hallway and look into her room, finding exactly what I was both expecting and dreading.
A neatly made bed and vacant room.
