Forty-Seven—Mia
M
y ringing phone woke me out of a dead sleep, and I immediately thought I was late for something. Coming quickly alive, I grabbed my cell off its charger. The screen said, Ivy. “Hey…” I said, sitting up.
“Mia, did I wake you?”
“No. No. Are you in Savannah? Did you make it? How was your flight?”
“Long. But we just landed, now I’m waiting to disembark, and I thought I’d…you know.”
“I’m so glad you called. Are you going right to the hospital?”
“We are.”
“Well…how are you?”
“I’m bad, Mia. I’m having bad dreams and haven’t even been asleep.”
“Oh, Ivy…”
She sniffed. “I’d better go. I just wanted you to know I got here.”
“Good luck, Ivy. Give your mom our best. And…you know… stay in touch.”
“I will, Mia. Thank you. For everything.”
I disconnected and could only imagine the day she was facing. I honestly wished there was something—anything—I could do for her. I’d known Ivy Talbot for just a few weeks, but she’d become a dear friend, and I ached for her. And I missed her. As I lay there, coming awake, I pulled up the photos on my phone looking for one I remembered taking of the two us in Carmel. It was pre-haircut, and we’d been to an art gallery. We’d stopped at a bakery and were noshing in the sun and laughing with her mom and grandma, and I’d just snapped a selfie of us—mouths full, pulling faces. I found the pic and sent it to my email so I could print it out. Then I proceeded to scroll. I’d taken a few more shots of her and her family that afternoon—I’d promised to send them to Bree but hadn’t done it. As I was scrolling, I found a shot I’d snuck of Ivy without her knowledge, face to the sky, hair blown back, eyes closed, her skin reflecting light a thousand ways. I remembered Geneva saying, “Looks like she’s just waiting for a kiss from God, doesn’t it?”
I pulled the picture wide between my fingers. My iPhone camera was good, and for a change, my lens had been clean. Still, I could have kicked myself for not pulling out my Nikon. This was a great photo of Ivy.
7:40. I groaned. I was already behind for the day, but I pulled on my swimming suit anyway. Looks like I was back to doing laps by myself.
By nine I was showered and made up, with my damp hair wound through a gigantic scarf. For added drama, I was wearing hoop earrings the size of bangles that I’d stolen from Bo. Sadly, the rest of me was pretty boring: white tee and gray leggings—but no biggie, I only had one class today, and I might blow it off. I might be too busy fighting with my brother, I thought when I walked into the kitchen and found that he was still avoiding me. He had not left me any breakfast.
He hadn’t been here when I got home from the airport last night, and I hadn’t waited up to give him a hard time about not making it. I guess Mom could have been right—maybe goodbyes were just not his thing. He was Bo, after all. I tossed two pieces of nine-grain bread into the toaster and was about to pour myself some juice when the doorbell rang. I ignored it, thinking Bo would surely get it. When it rang again, I wondered where he was .
I opened the door to find a woman with big hair and big sunglasses wearing a red pantsuit that looked two sizes too small for her. She had an enormous chest. She looked at me and did not smile. So, I didn’t either.
I cocked my head and offered a look that said, What can I do for you ?
“Is Benjamin Sutton here?” she said with a slight edge. “We have an appointment. I’m Katrina Gearhart.”
“I’ll get him. Would you like to come in?”
She eyed me like I’d asked the dumbest question, which I guess I had. “Yes.”
I opened the door wider and told her to make herself comfortable, all the time planning how I was going to yell at my brother.
There was no way he was still in his room, but I checked anyway—not there. Bed Military crisp, absolutely nothing out of place, a particle of dust would not dare exist within these walls; he’d obviously been up for hours. So, I slipped downstairs to give him hell. But as I opened the door to his makeshift studio, I found it empty—and dark. “Bo?” I stepped in and turned on the lights. “Bo? Bo!” I didn’t know what was happening. Where was my brother? A tingle started at the base of my spine and spread up to my neck. Where was he?
I took the stairs two at a time, and when I’d reached the back door, I had convinced myself that he’d gone for a run and would be back any minute. But then I opened the door leading to the garage to find his car was missing. No, no, no, no .
I stopped. Breathed. Fought a rising panic.
There was no way to know if he’d come home last night and left again this morning, but I was suddenly, instinctively, certain that he hadn’t been home at all. “Boooo!” I screamed, slamming the door. “Where are you?” I hurried through the kitchen yelling his name as I grabbed my phone. I was just dialing my brother when the red- breasted pantsuit appeared in the doorway. She looked irritated. I had completely forgotten about her.
“Is he not here?” she said daring me to say no.
I swallowed. “No. Apparently not.”
She pushed out an irritated breath. “But we had an appointment. I drove in from San Francisco to meet with him.” She glared at me like it was my fault.
I narrowed my eyes at her, not caring at all where she’d come from. “What exactly are you here for? Maybe I can help you,” I said, trying to keep my tone in check.
She gathered herself, took me in, and with dramatic patience stated, “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Oh, cut the crap, sister!” I snarked, losing it. “I’m in a bit of crisis right now, and I’m not in the mood. Now you are welcome to come downstairs and look around for whatever it is Bo’s been working on for you. I’ll even help you if you can be nice about it. Or you can leave. It makes absolutely no difference to me.”
She looked at me like I’d thrown scalding oil in her face. I just stared at her. If I couldn’t yell at Bo, this helped. A bit. “Are you the snake lady, by chance?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is he making a snake for you. A choker…a necklace?”
“Yes. Yes.” A modicum of relief colored her features.
“I think it’s downstairs. Come with me.”
She followed me, slowly. Big women in tight clothes wearing open-toed stilettos apparently use extreme caution when descending stairs—sideways. But that gave me time to get down there and look around a little before she arrived. The gleaming snake choker with the emerald eyes was coiled on Bo’s workbench. It was arranged on a piece of red velvet because I had taken some shots of it the other day for his website.
When Ms. Gearhart finally made it all the way into his workroom, she seemed honestly impressed with Bo’s setup and stopped to admire a set of earrings made of coral and sapphires. “ What an unusual combination—lovely. Oh! Is that…That’s it!” she said of the choker I was holding. She touched her ample chest. “Look at that! It’s stunning.” She took it from me and studied it from all angles. I want to see it on. May I?”
I thought she was going to put it on herself, but she placed the snake around my neck. Then she stood back and oooed and awwwed. “That is exactly what I wanted. His sketches did not do this justice.”
“He does good work,” I agreed. For a man M.I.A.
She looked at me. “He’s a bit eccentric, your brother.”
“Ya think?”
She eyed me. “But…absolutely worth it.”
“Are you taking this with you today?”
“Yes. It’s paid for.”
“Okay.” I looked around for a box. I had no idea how Bo wanted this baby packaged up, but I knew that was a major part of his brand—the packaging. I opened a few drawers, checked a couple of shelves, and finally located a gray padded case, hinged, and lined with fanciness. It was inside a box that was embossed with the gold letters of Bo’s insignia— Sutton . It looked the right size, but when I turned to arrange the snake inside, I found that Katrina Gearhart had placed it around her neck. “I’ll take the box, but I’m wearing this.” She grinned and posed, and evidently, we were now friends.
She made her way back up the stairs, again slowly, again sideways, and left not exactly expressing appreciation but thanking me all the same.
I shut the door and grabbed my phone. When Bo didn’t pick up, I nearly screamed. Where are you?
“You’ve reached Benjamin Sutton. Sorry I missed you. Please call back. Or leave a message if you absolutely have to. I’ll get back to you within 24 hours.”
“Bo! This isn’t funny anymore. I need to know you’re okay. I don’t have to know where you are if you don’t want me to, but I have to know you’re okay. I’m not kidding. I haven’t seen you since yesterday at, what? 4:30? It’s a quarter to ten—the next day! If you don’t call me, I’m calling the police. You don’t do this. You never do this! You don’t blow off appointments. What was I supposed to do with your snake lady? Yeah! She just showed up, and we had to plow through your workroom for her choker. I hope it was okay that she took it. Bo! Call me!”
I ended the call and threw my phone onto the couch. Then I screamed. I did not know what else to do. Should I call Mom? The last thing she knew was that he was fine—according to the text she shared with me. What was that about? He must have been okay last night. Was he okay last night? Why would he text Mom and not me? Was he over at Mom’s? Had he ended up over there? Did I dare call and find out? If he wasn’t, then they’d freak out…like I was freaking out. I bent over and groaned. “Bo…what are you doing?”
My phone rang, and I dove onto the couch for it.
Finally! I wanted to cry. “Bo! Bo, are you there?”
“Mia!”
“Bo! Where are you? I’ve been so, so worried. Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer, and I thought I’d lost him. “Bo!”
“Mia! I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“What does that mean? What have you done? Tell me where you are.” Was he crying? “Bo? Talk to me. Where are you?”
Shakily he pushed out, “I’m sitting in a parking lot in Flagstaff, Arizona.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes. I am, and I need your help.”
“Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny. What are you doing? Do you know what you’ve put me through? This isn’t funny! I can’t believe—”
“Mia! Listen to me,” he panted. “Shut up! I need your help! Stop talking!”
I heard the panic—the panic beyond his regular panic—and my heart stopped. “Bo, what’s happened? Are you in trouble? ”
“Yes! I need…I need to pee!” he said in a shaky voice. “And I need your help…And I’m in hell about needing your help.”
I swallowed. He wasn’t kidding. “What? What do you need?”
“Mia…” he cried.
“Okay. Okay,” I said gently. “Take a breath, Bo. Where are you, exactly? What do you need me to do?”
He blew into the phone, shakily. “I…I…I’m sitting in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven wannabe that, I kid you not, looks like it has never seen a fresh coat of paint, let alone a health inspector.”
“And…. You can’t go in?”
“I’ve tried. A dozen times. I’m shaking…You should see this place…”
I shook my head, clearing it. “Okay. Okay. Get out of the car.”
“I can’t. I’ve been trying to for almost an hour.”
“Bo. Yes, you can. Get out of the car. Just open the door, get out the car, and walk in the store.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Just open the door.”
“Don’t hang up, Mia.”
“I won’t. Just get out of the car.” I heard the car door open and not close for a full minute—then nothing but hyperventilating in my ear. “Bo, deep, slow breaths.”
“Right. Right. Okay, I’m out.”
“Okay. Now walk into the store.” An eternity later, he informed me he was inside. “It’s a convenience store, right?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Find the hand sanitizer, or Clorox wipes, something like that.”
“Yeah. Good. Okay,” he breathed. “This place is disgusting, Mia,” he squeaked as if in pain. “Okay, okay…I think…Okay, I found them.”
“How’s your bladder?”
“I can literally taste my pee.”
“Okay. Well, thanks for that. Is there a line to pay? ”
“Yes. And I’m dying. Three people. One has kids trying to decide what they want. I’ll be here all day! I’ll die here…in a pool of pee.”
“Find the restroom, Bo. Pay for the wipes later.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Go!”
“I don’t know—”
“Go.”
A few deep breaths later, I heard him groan.
“What?”
“The door is painted green and says Amigos in magic marker…. Kill me now.”
“Oh, dear…”
“And the doorknob—is alive with…” He groaned again, this time louder. “I just know it’s been handled by the entire western hemisphere.”
“I’m sure it has,” I said, with phenomenal patience. “Open it with a wipe.”
“Really?” his voice was an eyeroll. “You think that’s going to protect me?”
“No. The wipes are for when you pee down your leg! Open it with three wipes if you need to. Just get yourself into the bathroom.”
“Right, right. Sorry. I’m putting the phone in my pocket.”
I heard a series of machinations and more groans, a squeaky door opening and closing, then locking. Then I heard a whimper and what sounded like a prayer, then the line went dead.
I sighed. I guess although there was an outside chance that my brother had met with malice behind the dirty green door of the public restroom at the 7-Eleven wannabe a state away, it seemed more likely that he’d simply opted for privacy. Bo did guard his dignity when he could, and I was actually grateful. I walked to the other side of the living room and back, twice. Then I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. I gave him almost three minutes, then I called him again. No answer .
I paced some more and Googled Flagstaff, Arizona. It was 700 miles from Monterey. I nearly dropped the phone. What was he doing? Had my brother had a stroke? I mapped it on Google maps. Bo had driven 700 miles. Had he even slept? What was he thinking? I pushed redial. No answer.
Should I call Mom? I should call my parents. I couldn’t keep this from them, could I?
Finally, my phone rang, and my lunatic brother was calling me back. “Bo! What the—”
“Mia! You let Katrina Gearhart downstairs?”
“What?”
“You let that woman into my workspace? What were you thinking?”
“What are you…? Ugh, shut up!”
“Don’t deny it! I listened to your message!” he shouted. “I can’t believe you!”
“You. Can’t believe me ?” My blood was suddenly boiling as he ranted about his perceived ruination and my unbelievable lack of regard for his rules and boundaries and that the final polish had not been done on the snake—none of which was my fault. “You. Can’t believe me?” I bellowed again. “That’s rich coming from you, Bo, considering that without me, your bladder would have exploded all over the ceiling of your car!”
I hung up on him and didn’t even feel bad. And I didn’t answer when he called me back two seconds later. Or the next ten times in three minutes.