Page 14 of All For You Duet

“Did I hear right?” She fills my cup. “That Redix Dean is home again? He’s staying over at his mama’s place?”

“I guess.” Ah, Ms. Ryan’s serving gossip too. Usually, I love it. Not this time. “I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know? You and Redix Dean were thick as thieves. And your mamas are best friends. I know all my spark plugs aren’t firing, but even I remember as much.”

Shit, playing dumb won’t work.

Funny how memory serves at the worst time.

“We haven’t spoken since he left,” I explain. “We had a falling out of sorts.”

A falling out? No.

More like we plummeted to our deaths off the rim of the Grand Canyon of love.

“Well, you, him, and my Pamela, y’all used to tear through here on your bikes and eat me out of house and home and all the candy on this island.”

That last part was me.

Pamela had loved Oreos. I remember that about her. And that her favorite color was yellow. She wore it all the time.

“Yes, ma’am, we sure did.” The mention of Pamela urges me to stand. “And you were so kind to put up with us.”

“You make her proud, you know.” She cups my cheek. “My Pamela may be an angel now, but she’s smiling down, as proud of you as I am.”

The sudden lump in my throat burns; the tablespoon of salt I swallowed doesn’t help.

Pamela Ryan has been missing for eight years. Presumed dead is the only peace we’ve found.

Pamela went to the College of Charleston while I went to Clemson University. Our sophomore year, she came home for spring break, took her roommates out on the town one night, and then disappeared.

She was last seen at a bar, and poof! She was gone.

I came home for the search parties, combing through every pond and pile of pine needles on this island.

Finding Pamela would’ve been easier.

Forgetting Pamela, I never could.

My friend’s disappearance is the second reason why I became a cop. I can’t replace Ms. Ryan’s daughter, but I’ll be here as much as possible, keeping Pamela’s spirit alive.

And eating salted lemon pound cake with a puckered smile.

The boards on Ms. Ryan’s dock are almost all new. I’ve been replacing them over the years.

She stays inside, avoiding the mosquitoes that never bother me. Guess my blood isn’t sweet enough for their bite.

Being here brings it all back.

How I lost my best friends in two years—Redix and Pamela.

I wasn’t the same after that.

But if I think my grief is bad, it’s nothing compared to what Ms. Ryan has survived.

It’s not that her spark plugs aren’t firing, as she jokes. The woman is losing her mind to the hell of not knowing what happened to her daughter. She hasn’t moved since, hoping Pamela will show up one day at her front door.

I’m guilty of the same.

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