Page 87 of Swept for Forever
“Get your shit together,” I cursed.
Going home wouldn’t mean comfort. I could let justice find her. But justice didn’t know what it was looking for.
So I did what I was trained to do and got rid of the mud.
Stick to the facts. Act like a lawyer.
No bias. No what-ifs. No bleeding heart.
I didn’t know where to restart. But if history had taught me anything, it was this: Not knowing was when I got sharp, and I was never sharper than when I ran.
So I laced up my runners and hit the pavement. In my head, I rewound everything. Every moment with her. Every detail.
Something about Idaho triggered a recollection. But not Boise. It was somewhere else. Or something else.
My phone.
She’d used my phone at the hospital. Afterward, I remembered seeing a map search I didn’t recognize, but I’d dismissed it at the time.
I stopped running, my breath jagged as I unlocked my phone. One swipe at my map app, then another. I pulled up the history. And there it was.
An address in Idaho Falls.
Before I could second-guess it, I was sprinting back to the motel and taking the quickest shower of my life. Then I grabbed my keys, wallet, and bag and was out the door.
The map app stayed open, whispering directions. Signs flew past, unread, and the sky recomposed, the light changing in patches. Somewhere along the way, I noticed I hadn’t blinked in miles.
But I reached the house in what felt like a blink anyway.
The house had fresh green siding, almost the moss green shade she’d once suggested. She’d meant it back then, even if I hadn’t realized just how much. Maybe this was the place she’d been picturing all along.
White trim, neat lawn, and sun spilling across the steps.
I climbed them and knocked.
Seconds dragged.
Then, I saw movement behind the door.
I straightened, my pulse threading tight.
She owed me more than silence.
She owed me the decency of looking me in the eye when she left.
And now that I was here, it wouldn’t be to scold her. It wouldn’t be to demand or punish.
It would be to see what was left after the lie.
24
AUTUMN
I was mid-stretch, with my arms extended in what was supposed to berestorative yoga in your pajamas. In reality, I was just lying flat on my rug while Lulu tugged at my sleeve, convinced it was playtime.
“Lulu, stop,” I groaned, attempting a deep inhale just as the instructor said.
Lulu pounced on my arm.
