Chapter 12
Guy
The bed is cold beside me.
Frowning, I reach out and pat the empty space until Fox nibbles my fingers. I open my eyes and sit up, but I’m alone, only the faint smell of cherries left behind.
“Lina?”
Silence.
I listen for the sounds of the shower, or the tub being filled, but there’s only quiet. Getting up, I pull on my sweats and head downstairs. The house is empty, the lights out. The coffee machine isn’t on, and she isn’t lounging on the sofa waiting for me. Still, I call her name again.
It only hits me when I let Fox into the yard.
Strawberries.
She’s probably gone to the store for strawberries.
I laugh, the knot of worry in my stomach immediately easing.
“Come on, Fox.”
The dog scrambles back inside, skidding across the kitchen floor to leap up onto the couch. I flick on the coffee, and as it brews, search through my phone for RVs.
A cross-country trip sounds good. I did some traveling with Ella when she was a kid, but not much.
I’m willing to bet seeing the sights with Lina will be an experience, for sure.
We can end the trip in Canada and look for some land and horses together.
I smile at the thought of it and save some listings.
Then I send the email off about retirement. It’s been sat in my drafts for months, but I need to bite the bullet and move on. It’s time for my next chapter.
With Lina.
Another twenty minutes pass, but Lina doesn’t show. I go to the window and peek out, and sure enough, her car isn’t there. I scratch Fox’s head.
“Where is she, boy?”
He whines, nose pressed to the glass, like he’s waiting for her, too.
An hour passes.
And then I really start to worry.
I still don’t have her number, so I can’t call.
I pace, I convince myself I’m overreacting, then I pace some more.
What if someone took her? What if she went to the store and someone from that gang found her?
Fuck.
She could be in trouble.
She could be dead.
Maybe her number is somewhere in her things.
I take the stairs three at a time and go to her room. It’s only when I’ve searched through the empty nightstands that I realize her suitcases are gone.
And there’s a note on the bureau.
My heart hammers as I approach it, picking up the paper.
I’m sorry.
Two words.
I read them over and over, but they don’t register, and neither does the meaning behind them, because she can’t have said all she did and not meant it. No one is that good of a liar, not even her.
I’m downstairs again, sitting on the couch, the note resting on my lap.
And I wait.
I wait for the door to open, for her sing-song voice apologizing for taking so long at the store.
The sunlight moves across the far wall, and night falls.
But Lina doesn’t come back.