Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
ZOEY
I roll over in my bed and run my hand around the cool, wrinkled sheets. One second passes, then two, then… “Quinn?” I bolt upright and blink into the darkness. Oh no… I click on the lamp and glance around the room.
“Quinn?” I call out a little louder, but silence meets me.
She wouldn’t have… right? I hop out of the bed and shove my glasses on my face. My footsteps are heavy against the hardwood floors as I rush from room to room. In the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, I’m met with nothing.
It’s 6:30 a.m. but feels much earlier. In the living room, I open the blinds and look at the alley. Truck Norris is gone. My stomach twists. Quinn is gone. What time did she bolt from here? I didn’t even feel her leave the bed.
Granted, we were both exhausted. After prepping all of the pies, the storm was so loud and fierce last night that it took a bit for us to fall asleep. It rattled the windows and shook the building for hours, before it finally stopped. Thankfully, it was quick, if relentless.
I rush back to the bedroom. Where did she go?
Obviously, something is wrong. I could sense it last night.
Sure, at some point the sex has to slow down, but Quinn only gave me one small kiss, then rolled over to snuggle a pillow instead of me.
Did I push things with her too quickly? No.
Maybe? I don’t know. Or is this about me chatting with her again last night before bed about how dangerous driving in these conditions can be?
When Quinn stepped into my bakery and said that she’d tried to go to the farm, I almost choked.
She’s lived in New York for all these years, without a car.
Does she remember about black ice? How to prevent skidding?
What the heck would she have done if she actually made it to an unplowed county road?
I grab my phone to call her. The call goes directly to voicemail.
I send a text, but it shows undelivered.
Oh no… I push my palm into my head. I want to go after her, but that would be ridiculous.
What am I supposed to do? Drive out to her farm, which is where I’m assuming she went, and check if she’s okay?
I can’t. Even if I want to, I can’t. I have almost two hundred people coming in today to pick up orders, and only Luna is on staff.
I try one more text message and it goes undelivered. She didn’t block me, right? Wait, no. I’m not doing this. Now is not the time to be overbearing or insecure. Something most likely happened with the cell towers.
After getting ready, I brew a large pot of coffee, fill a Thermos, and go to the shop.
Yes, of course I’m worried about Quinn, but she’s an adult and if she wanted to leave, that’s her choice.
The MnDOT folks around here are spectacular.
The streets are already plowed, there is no wind, and besides massive snowbanks filling the holding spots, no one would know we had a storm last night.
I tuck my hair into a bun and get to work.
Today is going to be a long day. The shop itself is closed except for the half-priced goods left over from yesterday, and folks coming in to get their orders for Thursday.
I check my phone one last time. No new messages.
I push out a quick breath, then stuff it back in my pocket.
Time will probably fly by quickly with the revolving door of folks coming into my shop, but I cannot shake this dark, icky feeling churning in my gut.
Where is the line between caring and overbearing?
I do not want to overstep and turn into my mother, and yet, if something happens to Quinn, and I’m the only one who knows she’s not answering her calls, I’ll never forgive myself.
Forget it. I’d rather be overbearing than regretful. I dial Frankie, who answers with a groggy voice. “Hey, it’s Zoey,” I say. I feel like I’m the student barging to the teacher to tattle. “Have you heard from Quinn?”
“No… I thought she was with you,” Frankie says.
I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “She was, but when I woke up this morning, she was already gone. And I’m probably being paranoid, but she’s not answering any of my calls and I’m worried.”
“Did you guys have a fight?” Frankie asks.
Did we? No, not really? But something was definitely, definitely off. The energy of the entire evening was gloomy, and the fact that she didn’t wake me up this morning shows that there’s clearly an unresolved issue. “No. I don’t know. I mean, nothing big or dramatic or anything.”
Whispers and shuffling sound in the background.
I hear Frankie tell Morgan what I’ve just said to her.
“Okay, Morgan said the cell service is spotty right now, and unless Quinn’s on Wi-Fi, she probably won’t get messages or calls.
So, let’s just give it a bit. If you don’t hear from her in an hour, let me know, and Morgan and I will head out to the farm and see if she’s just busy with cleanup or something. ”
My shoulders relax. I thank her and get back to work but am distracted. Thankfully, Luna is handling ringing up the customers, so I don’t have to fake a smile, and I’m in the kitchen packaging. The minutes that should be rushing by are slogging.
Something is wrong. I can feel it. I pause packaging and pull up the Department of Transportation website and scour for anything on accidents.
I check the news, social media, and our community website, and nothing.
No reports of any accidents. But this feeling is not going away.
What if Quinn is in a ditch? What if she hit her head and is trapped in a car and will freeze to death?
Everything in me claws at my skin. Should I call the sheriff?
Have him do some sort of welfare check? Is that unreasonable?
My face turns hot, and a ring starts in my ears.
I can feel this to the deepest part of my bones. Something is very, very wrong.
Another five minutes pass, and I can’t take it.
I text my mom to see if I can borrow her Jeep.
The road conditions might be terrible out in the country and I’m taking no chances with my little sedan.
How am I going to figure out a time to go out there with hundreds of people coming into my shop today?
Maybe my mom can help package while I do a safety check.
I package up an order when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I nearly drop the box to grab it, and my heart leaps into my throat at Quinn’s name splashed across my screen.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I ask when I answer.
“Zoey…” Quinn’s shaky voice sounds through the receiver. Raw, gut-wrenching sobs boom through the phone, and my heart breaks at the noise. Her breathing is quick and choppy, and I freeze, waiting for her to speak. “Everything is destroyed.”