Page 266 of Mountain Grump
I start striding back toward the hall, wondering if I somehow missed her, but then I see the towels on the floor.
My pulse thuds in my ears as my first thought is that maybe she hurt herself. Slipped in the water and fell.
But she would be here.
Lying on the floor.
And she’s not.
What if she really hurt herself? Broke a bone.
I shake my head.
She would’ve yelled for me. Or waited for me. She wouldn’t just drive herself to the hospital without a word, when I’d be out in ten minutes.
I’d drive with shampoo dripping into my eyes if I needed to.
She wouldn’t drive herself.
Gritting my teeth, I stride to the front door and rip it open.
Tilda wouldn’t drive herself to the hospital but…
Her truck is gone.
I step outside in just my underwear.
The driveway is empty.
I fight against panic as I stare at the empty spot where her truck had been parked.
My mind reels with possibilities, each as unlikely as the next, as I step back inside and cut to the door that leads into the garage.
I pull it open. But it’s just my trucks. There’s no room for a third vehicle.
My panic increases.
She wouldn’t drive herself to the hospital.
She doesn’t have anyone in her life who would call her with an emergency.
Something twists inside my chest.
Tilda doesn’t have anyone in her life who would call her with an emergency.
Tilda only has me.
A bad feeling mixes with my panic.
It’s that same feeling I had when I answered the phone twenty years ago. Before the stranger told me what happened to my parents, I already knew it was going to be bad.
I could sense that my life was going to change.
And this…
I slowly turn, looking in every corner.
This empty house feels a lot like that phone call.
