Chapter 4
Charlotte’s hands were trembling as she pulled over to the side of the road again.
She needed to think clearly, and that was impossible while driving.
Principal Winters had promised to have the school resource officer look into Sophia’s whereabouts, but that could take time.
She needed to try her mother again. Evelyn always had her phone with her, even at book club.
She dialed her mother’s number, each ring stretching her nerves tighter.
“Charlotte? I’m just leaving book club. Is everything all right?”
“Mom, Sophia’s not at school. The principal just called, she’s not answering her phone, and I don’t know where she is.”
“Charlotte, calm down. Sophia’s fine. She’s at home.”
“What? At home? I called the house?—”
“She’s probably in the shower or has her music turned up. You know how she gets lost in those playlists. Didn’t you get my message? I called the school about thirty minutes ago to excuse her absence.”
Relief flooded through Charlotte so intensely that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Sophia was safe and home. There was a simple, reasonable explanation.
“No,” she managed. “No message. Just the automated call saying she was absent.”
“Oh, honey,” Evelyn said. “I’m sorry. I should have texted you, too. It was just such a rushed morning. Sophia came downstairs looking absolutely exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. She said she hadn’t slept at all…been up studying for that big chemistry test.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself. She’d known about the test. Sophia had been stressing over it for days and staying up later each night with her textbooks spread across the dining room table.
“She was practically in tears,” Evelyn continued. “She said she couldn’t face school today, that she needed a break. So, I told her to go back to bed, and I’d call her in. One mental health day won’t ruin her college chances.”
“Of course not,” Charlotte said. “I just…when the school called and she wasn’t answering her phone?—”
“You thought the worst. I understand. It’s what mothers do. Especially after…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. After Jacob. After losing him so suddenly, so senselessly. After learning that the world could take everything from her in the space of a single heartbeat.
“I should have called you first,” Charlotte admitted. “I just panicked.”
“Any parent would have. I’m heading home now. Do you want me to check on her?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll call the house again. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll swing by on my lunch break.”
“All right. Charlotte? Try not to be too hard on yourself. You’re doing the best you can.”
After they said their goodbyes, Charlotte sat for a moment, phone in her lap, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. The relief was still washing through her in waves, each one leaving her slightly weaker than the last. She called the house again, and after four rings, Sophia answered.
“Mom? What’s up?” Sophia said.
“Just checking in. Grandma said you weren’t feeling well this morning?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I should have texted you. I was just really tired, and that chem test… Grandma said it was okay if I took the day.”
“It’s okay,” Charlotte replied. “Get some rest. We can talk about it when I get home.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Soph.”
The call ended, and Charlotte sat for another moment, allowing herself to fully absorb the fact that her daughter was safe, was home, and exactly where she was supposed to be.
The knot in her stomach began to loosen, though it didn’t disappear entirely.
As she pulled back onto her route, her thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Jacob.
He would have known exactly what to do. He’d always been the calm one, the steady presence who could find humor in even the most stressful situations.
When Sophia was three and had wandered off in the supermarket, it had been Jacob who’d methodically checked each aisle while Charlotte had stood frozen with panic.
When the basement had flooded during a storm, it was Jacob who organized the cleanup with military precision while Charlotte fretted over what might have been lost.
“Jacob would have handled this better,” she murmured.
That wasn’t entirely fair, she realized.
It wasn’t fair to herself, and it wasn’t fair to Jacob’s memory.
He hadn’t been perfect. There had been plenty of times when she’d been the one keeping things together while he fell apart.
The difference was that they’d always had each other to lean on.
The weight of parenthood, of life itself, had been shared between them.
One year into the strange, unwanted solo journey, and she was still learning how to carry it all alone.
She thought about Jacob as she made her next few deliveries.
She thought about his hands, steady and capable as they fixed the kitchen sink or helped Sophia with her math homework.
She thought about his voice, warm with laughter as he recounted his day over dinner.
She thought about the way he’d look at her sometimes, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.
The grief came in its familiar pattern. It began as a sudden physical ache in her chest, radiating outward, followed by a wave of memories so vivid they momentarily displaced reality.
She’d be standing on a stranger’s porch, handing over their mail, and suddenly she’d be back in their bedroom, watching Jacob shrug into his uniform shirt and complain about the early shift.
It happened less frequently than it had in those first terrible months, but it still happened.
The doctors at the grief support group had told her it was normal, and the brain processed trauma in its own time.
One year wasn’t very long in the grand scheme of things.
She had, they assured her, the rest of her life to learn to live with the hole Jacob had left behind.
Charlotte delivered the last of the mail on Crestview Street and returned to her truck to check the time.
It was almost eleven-thirty. She was still ahead of schedule despite the delays.
If she maintained her pace, she could finish her route by two and be home before three.
That would give her time to check on Sophia properly and maybe even start dinner.
As she drove to her next stop, she found herself talking to Jacob in her head, the way she often did when things got difficult.
There was no answer, of course. There never was.
The habit of including him, of imagining his response, was one she couldn’t seem to break.
Perhaps she didn’t want to. In a world where Jacob no longer existed in any tangible way, the one-sided conversations were the closest she could get to having him back.