Chapter 2
Cora
I don't want to fucking talk to you. Isn't that obvious?
The first time I heard my sister's voicemail memo, I cringed. She should know better than to have such a vulgar recorded message.
Now that I've been hearing it automatically when I call her phone for weeks now, it makes me want to cry.
"Still no answer?"
I dash away the tears forming on my lower lashes before turning around to face the youngest Preston of four.
I pull in a deep breath as I offer him a kind smile. "She's probably still mad at me."
"She's stubborn," he says, probably something he's heard nearly every day of his nineteen-year-old life.
Sadie, the second youngest, has been causing problems for longer than she hasn't, it seems, and, at twenty-three, she has the ability to do it with absolutely no oversight. She never saw our late father's political career as a reason to act right and behave like us other three kids. If anything, she saw it as something to destroy. She spent a lot of time doing just that up until his death five years ago, but it didn't stop there. William, the oldest male child, also has political aspirations and Sadie seems determined to continue to ruin the family name.
That was until a couple of weeks ago when a dose of very tough love, the first administered by me, left her leaving here and cutting all ties.
At least that's what I want to believe, although my head has conjured up all sorts of scenarios as to why she hasn't called or come by the house, either to beg for money or steal something she can trade for drugs.
Sadie was seventeen when our father, Senator William Preston Sr. washed his hands of her after her shenanigans, including video proof of just how wild she is, went viral. That didn't stop me from helping her every chance I got. She's family, and although my dad was done with her, I knew I couldn't be.
She was young and immature. She just needed to grow up. I was grown when our mother died, although it was still hard at twenty-five. Sadie was only eleven when she suffered that blow, and although she was already acting out some before our mother's death, it really ramped up after. She was fifteen the first time she took off and was gone for five days.
So, although it isn't unlike her to be gone without a word, I can't help but think I've seen my sister for the last time after being so hard on her.
"She'll be back," Chris says as he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island. "She always comes back."
I dip my head in agreement, not wanting to worry him any more than I have to. He's in college, and I don't want his grades to suffer because our sister can't get her life together. She's caused enough damage to our family, something I reminded her of the last time I saw her.
Chris squeezes my hand before leaving the kitchen. He's the kindest of us all. I think that him being only seven when our mother passed, after losing a brief battle with cancer, made it a little easier for the void of her loss to be filled in.
At that time, I'd already moved back home, even though I was still working on my master's degree, to help my mother and father. After her death, I never left again. When our father passed away from a heart attack, I just sort of took over.
As the oldest, I felt like there needed to be someone for the others to come home to. I couldn't see selling the house we all grew up in. After the loss of both parents, it felt too big of a thing to give up.
I feel every one of my thirty-seven years as I leave the kitchen and go to the home office. It was my father's, and I can recall many closed-door meetings that took place in here while he was at the height of his numerous campaign runs for the United States Senate.
William Jr. got an earlier start in politics than our father did, and now, at thirty, he's on his way to becoming a great leader. Someone the great state of South Carolina can be proud of.
I don't know if it was guilt or some sixth sense, but after eight days of not hearing back from Sadie, although I've left numerous messages, I reached out to a friend of my father, retired senator, Robert Dyer.
I've been waiting for a return email since I hit send on the one I sent to him, and luckily, I've got my response.
The email doesn't provide as much relief as I hoped it would, but at least he provides me with the name of an organization I can call.
It reads…
I have a friend who runs an organization out of New Mexico that is very good with locating missing persons. They don't normally work domestic cases, but I can call in a favor.
I respond back, letting him know that I appreciate his response and would be very grateful for any help he could offer in this matter. I realize when I hit send on the second email just how formal it all sounds.
I could be trying to buy a used car or signing up for online coupons rather than being concerned about my sister's whereabouts and safety.
But that's how things are done in my world. We're meant to operate with as little emotion as possible. We keep our heads high and make decisions based on facts rather than gut instincts and chance.
I stare at the long list of unread emails, but I can't seem to open any of them.
Technically, with it being Sunday, responding to any of them isn't expected. Although politicians are always running for office no matter how long their terms are, they don't tend to work on the weekends or hell, even after three on any given day. But the emails in my inbox have been ignored for a while. I just can't seem to find the same motivation that I've always had, and I know it has more to do with life in general than just Sadie not answering her phone.
The altercation with my little sister came at the end of a very hectic and frustrating day, and I took my anger out on her. I've regretted the harsh words ever since, although they were probably things she needed to hear. Hell, they were all things that she had heard from others. I have no idea why mine had such an impact when she never listened to any of us.
I fight the urge to call William and tell him what's going on because he, more than any of us, has voiced his opinion about Sadie's uselessness, and I know a lot of that are words that were echoed by my father.
William Preston Sr. wasn't a harsh man. He was a loving father, but Sadie tested that love every chance she got. Everything she thought Dad did wrong was a personal slight to her, and she worked very hard to make him pay for it until he cut her off. Drug treatments didn't work, and I don't know that she's been inside of one since Dad died. She was in treatment when he passed, and although in our day-to-day lives, it seemed she hated the man, she was filled with regret and remorse after his passing. Only she treated that pain with prescription pills, alcohol, and illicit drugs.
The last five years have been brutal for all of us, but it seemed Sadie was hellbent on destroying herself more than anything else. That, of course, still had a certain level of backlash on our entire family just because of her last name.
No, reaching out to William Jr. now wouldn't be a good idea. He'd find some way to talk me out of it, tell me that getting anyone else involved in our family matters is a bad call, and my guilt won't let me give up on Sadie, despite what I told her the last time she was home.
Part of me thinks this is another way for her to punish us, to see how far we'll take things. Her disappearance could be just another manipulation, a bid to see what we're willing to do to get her to come back home. Now that makes me want to reject Senator Dyer's offer of help, because, honestly, no favor is free, and there's no telling when the man will call in what's owed to him.
It would be like Sadie to start a shitstorm, only to sit back silently and watch the destruction play out.
It's this anger that I hold on to as I try and attempt to tackle my overflowing inbox, but I lose steam at the third request for an internship.
I took over my mother's non-profit after her death and, unlike many non-profits, we legitimately want to help people. My mother always thought that literacy was more important than a lot of other causes. We can't expect people to be able to help themselves if they can't read a simple job application or instructions on how to operate basic machinery. Helping as many people as we can means keeping our overhead to a minimum. We work long hours, coming home exhausted at the end of the day to keep costs down. Years ago, people would volunteer their time, if only because their involvement with our organization looked good on a résumé. These days, people no longer want to volunteer for the greater good. They not only expect to be paid for their help, but their list of demands now includes major medical, paid vacations, and a retirement plan.
I totally get where they're coming from, but, at the same time, what about earning your stripes first?
Thinking of the younger generation as separate from myself makes me feel even older, and that's the last damn thing I want.
I close out of my email and stand from the desk, not letting my eyes drift out the window. It's still too early in the year to worry about the flower garden, but knowing spring will be here before long gives me a little hope that it won't stay sad and dreary forever.
Now, if I could only get Sadie to answer her phone before spending a ton of money looking for her, that would be great.