A thin curl of smoke rising #2
Elle nods, already launching into a rapid explanation of her book, her socks, Gus’s attempted theft—everything at once. I hang back a step, watching the way Remi listens, fully engaged with her as though every word matters.
“She’ll be good,” Remi says, glancing at me as she opens the back door for Elle. “We’ll keep her busy.”
“I know you will,” I reply, smiling.
She tips her chin at me. “And you get a break. Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t,” I promise, even though I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do with it yet.
Elle climbs into the backseat, already halfway through another story to Max, and I lean in long enough to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Have fun, bug.”
“Bye, Penny,” she says, distracted, but she leans into my hand for a second before pulling away.
The door shuts, the car pulls away from the curb, and just like that, the street is quiet again. I stand there a moment longer, watching until they turn the corner, then head back inside.
Gus pads around the house, his nails clicking softly on the floor. I move through it automatically at first, gathering the stray things she left behind, straightening the cushions and setting an abandoned book back on the coffee table. The small, ordinary tasks fill the space easily enough.
In the kitchen, I rinse out the mugs from earlier and set the coffee machine going again, more out of habit than anything. For the first time in a while, there’s nothing immediate to do, no one asking questions, and no small hands tugging at my sleeve.
I lean back against the counter, wrapping both hands around my coffee mug once it’s full, letting the warmth seep into my palms. The afternoon light filters in through the window, catching on the edge of the sink, and I take a moment to relish it.
My daydream is broken when my phone buzzes against the counter. The sound cuts sharp through the stillness, loud enough that it makes me flinch. I frown, setting the mug down as I reach for it, thinking it’s probably Evan sending me a filthy reminder about what he plans to do to me later.
But when I swipe it, the screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown: I’ve got Elle.
For a second, I don’t understand what I’m reading. The words sit there flatly, like they’ve been dropped into place out of thin air. My brain tries to catch up, to slot them into something that makes sense, but there’s nothing for them to land on.
Then my pulse misfires. Heat rushes up the back of my neck so fast it makes me dizzy, my grip tightening hard enough around the phone that my fingers ache.
No.
No, that doesn’t—she’s with Remi. She only left an hour or so ago.
My thumb fumbles toward Remi’s contact, but another call cuts across the screen before it connects, and I bring it to my ear.
“Hello, Penny.”
The voice on the other end is familiar in a way that prods at something raw inside me, and everything in me goes cold.
“Stacey,” I breathe, the name scraping out of me.
A small, humorless laugh crackles down the line. “Yeah.”
“Where is she?” I demand, already moving, already snatching my keys off the counter without fully registering it. “What are you talking about?”
“I picked her up early,” Stacey says, too casually. “She thought I’d cleared it with Evan.”
That doesn’t track. It doesn’t—Remi would’ve called, she would’ve said something. And if not her, Evan sure as shit would’ve.
“Put her on the phone,” I cut in, sharper now. “Let me talk to her.”
There’s a pause, long enough for the inside of my skull to start roaring.
“She’s fine,” Stacey says. “But if you want to keep it that way, you’re gonna listen to me.”
My hand braces against the counter because suddenly standing upright feels harder than it should. “Don’t—don’t do this. Just tell me where she is.”
“Maple Hill,” she says. “The old water tower. You know it?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“Bring cash,” she continues. “As much as you can—I know you have plenty from selling your Daddy’s company.”
“What—why—”
“Because if you don’t,” she cuts over me, her voice going flat, “Evan will never see her again.”
My vision blurs, and every instinct screams at me to call Evan anyway.
“And don’t be stupid enough to tell anyone,” she adds, like she’s bored. “Not Evan or Remi. No one.”
For one horrible second, I can’t hear anything except the sound of my own breathing.
“You bring the money,” she says, “and you come alone, or I disappear with Elle, and you can spend the rest of your life apologizing to Evan for not acting fast enough.”
A strangled sound catches in my throat. “Please—”
“Maple Hill Tower. One hour,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I stand there at the front door, my phone still pressed to my ear, the silence on the other end stretching out until it roars.
Then everything snaps into motion.
I grab my bag. Keys. My card. There’s only one thought left, cutting clean through the panic and the static in my head.
Get Elle back.
That’s it. That’s the only instruction my body seems capable of holding.
I slide into the driver’s seat and slam the door, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet street.
My hands fumble against the ignition before the engine finally roars to life, and I reverse too fast, tires skidding slightly against the curb before I correct.
Maple Hill. Bring cash. Be alone, and don’t tell anyone. The words loop relentlessly.
Remi would’ve said something.
The thought flashes again briefly, because I know Remi would never just hand Elle over. She would call. She would text.
My phone is in my lap before I consciously decide to reach for it, and I hit Remi’s name with shaking fingers and lift it to my ear, eyes fixed on the road. It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Pick up,” I whisper, my voice thin. “Pick up, pick up—”
“Hey, you’ve reached Remi. If it’s important, leave me a message. If it’s Colt, I’m still not apologizing for what happened to your hockey jersey.”
The beep shrieks through the car, and I hang up and immediately call again. This time it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck!”
I end the call and hit Evan’s name next, praying he’s not on a callout and able to answer. It rings once. Twice. Then his voicemail cuts in too, and a fresh wave of panic crashes through me.
He’s busy. Remi, too. Surely she’s just with the kids, and her phone’s buried in her bag or something. That’s all.
But what if Stacey is telling the truth? What if she really did pick her up early?
I stab at the Maplewood Fire station number next, because Evan told me once that if I couldn’t reach his cell, someone there would usually answer.
It rings until my whole body is vibrating with it. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
“Fuck,” I choke, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.
I can’t just wait around for someone to answer. I can’t just drive around debating whether this makes sense. Because if I’m wrong, if this isn’t some twisted bluff and I waste time trying to untangle it, then Elle is at risk.
One hour. That’s all she gave me. My foot presses harder on the accelerator, and the bank comes into view fast. I pull in crooked, barely checking for cars before I’m out of the vehicle and moving toward the doors.
Inside, it’s cool and fluorescent and absurdly normal. A woman in front of me is discussing mortgage rates, and someone else is filling out a deposit slip. I step up to the counter when it’s my turn, sliding my card and ID across with fingers that won’t stop trembling.
“I need to withdraw cash,” I say, and my voice sounds far away. “Full balance, if possible.”
The teller glances at the screen. “From which account?”
“My personal savings.”
Her fingers pause on her keyboard, eyes flicking up to my face for a second, then to my ID, and I realize I probably look unhinged. My hair’s still messy from bed. I’m wearing Evan’s FD T-shirt under a jacket I don’t remember grabbing.
“For an amount this large, we’d usually need notice,” she says carefully. “I can’t release the full balance in cash today.”
My stomach drops. “How much can you give me?”
She hesitates, then lowers her voice. “I’ll need my manager to approve it.”
“Please.” The word scrapes out of me.
Something in my face must convince her not to argue, because she stands and disappears through a door behind the counter. By the time she comes back with a manager, my skin feels too tight for my body.
They ask for another form of ID. They ask me to confirm the account. They ask if anyone is forcing me to withdraw the money, and my heart kicks so hard I almost choke on it.
“No,” I lie, because the truth is sitting somewhere near Maple Hill Tower with a five-year-old girl who might be scared and waiting.
The manager studies me for a second too long, then nods to the teller.
“We can release this much today,” he says, writing a number on a slip of paper.
It isn’t everything. It probably isn’t enough. But it’s all I can get.
“Yes,” I say, sharper than I mean to. I swallow and try again. “Yes. Please.”
The manager nods, and the teller’s fingers move over the keyboard again. The seconds stretch, and my heart is beating so hard the room keeps slipping in and out of focus while my thoughts spiral uselessly.
This is my fault.
I should’ve known something like this could happen. I should’ve seen the signs. Been more prepared. But this is what I do. I ignore the cracks until they split something wide open. If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t inserted myself into their lives. If I hadn’t—
“Ma’am?”
I blink. The teller slides three envelopes across the counter, thick enough to make my stomach turn. Too much and not enough for what it’s for. I gather them up, shoving them into my bag without counting.
“Thank you,” I murmur, already turning away.
Back in the car, I lock the doors immediately and dump the bag onto the passenger seat, then turn to start the engine. My hands shake as I grip the wheel, and I inhale sharply. She’s fine.
She’s fine.
“She’s fine,” I whisper again, pulling out of the parking lot too fast, tires squealing slightly before catching.