Chapter 35
Tate
I can’t see what it says on Summer’s phone but she jumps up, immediately making a call.
“Babe?” I run after her as she starts walking away.
“Hello? Dolly? What’s going on? Can you hear me?” I move with her, straining to hear what Dolly’s saying.
I can only make out some of it.
“…can’t find her but…”
Can’t find who? Tricia?
Shit.
“Put it on speaker,” I say, reaching for her hand.
She fumbles for the button as Dolly is talking.
“…she was really agitated this morning, but I had the meat delivery and couldn’t get away for a couple of hours. Then they called back and said they couldn’t find her. We searched the place, and she’s not there.”
“What do you mean she’s not there?” Summer demands. “Where could she be?”
“A visitor who’d just arrived said they saw someone who matches her description getting into a cab.”
“A cab? She doesn’t have any money or credit cards!”
“I know, sweetie. I’m on my way to your house because that’s the only place I can think of where she’d go.”
“The key is in the usual place,” Summer responds. “Call me back when you find her—I’m going to call the airline now to get on the next flight.”
“Sweetie, you don’t have to—”
“Call me when you get to my house!” Summer yells as she disconnects. She immediately turns to me. “How do I call the airline from here?”
“I think you just dial zero-zero first and then the number.”
She starts typing into the phone.
“Honey, slow down,” I say, reaching for her. “By the time you get someone on the line, they may have found her.”
“Yes, but if anything happens to her, it’s my fault.”
“How do you figure?” I ask gently.
She scowls. “What do you mean? If I was there, instead of halfway around the world partying with my rockstar boyfriend, I would have been able to go to her, soothe her before she found it necessary to run away!”
“Your rockstar boyfriend?” I have to admit that hurts my feelings a little.
She waves an impatient hand. “Well, it’s not like you’re really my husband. We both know this is just because of the baby.” Someone on the phone answers. “Yes, hello? I’m in Hiskale and have a family emergency. I need to change my flight…”
I stand there as she sits on the line with the airline customer service representative, who’s patiently trying to find her a seat on the first flight out in the morning.
“The flight is completely booked,” the woman says apologetically. “I can put you on standby.”
“Standby? But there’s only one flight a day.”
“Yes, but if you don’t get on that flight, you can book one to London, which has multiple flights to New York daily.”
“Oh my God.” Summer is pacing like a mad woman. “There’s nothing you can do? Please, my mother is missing…”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jeffries. The flight is completely sold out, but there are almost always no-shows. There’s a good chance you’ll get on the flight.”
“Okay, yes. Thank you.”
“Can I help?” Casey comes down the hallway worriedly. “Does she need to get home?”
“Her mom has Alzheimer’s,” I say quietly and then explain what we know.
“Erik is leaving for London in the morning. Summer can tag along and then he can send her directly to whatever airport she needs.”
Summer’s head snaps up. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be any trouble, but my mom…” Her eyes fill with tears.
“Family first. Always. No problem at all. Let me go talk to him.” She disappears back down the hall and Summer sticks her phone in her pocket.
“Babe?” I follow as she heads for the elevators. “Where are you going?”
“I have to pack.”
“Honey, it’s early—you won’t be leaving until morning. Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’m too upset to eat,” she says, stabbing the button multiple times.
“Hey. Calm down. Getting upset can’t be good for the baby.”
She pulls in a shaky breath. “I know you don’t like your mom, but I love mine! And I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”
I mentally count to ten, reminding myself that she’s upset and there are pregnancy hormones at play, but that feels like yet another copout.
“If something does happen, it isn’t your fault.”
“You don’t understand,” she says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as we step into the elevator.
I follow because I’m not sure what else to do.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
“A little. I don’t know.” She seems agitated, so even though I want to put my arms around her, I’m not sure that’s the best move.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask after a brief hesitation.
She rapidly shakes her head. “No. You have to be here.”
“This isn’t a paid gig. I’m sure Stu can cover for me so we can deal with this together.”
“You have responsibilities,” she says, continuing toward our suite. “Just like I do.”
“Babe, what’s going on? You’re acting like you’re going to get on a flight in ten minutes. It’s going to be at least nine or ten hours before you go anywhere.”
“I have to keep moving so I don’t freak out.”
“I just want to help,” I say finally. “Why won’t you let me?”
”My mom is missing,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Fuck. I knew this was going to happen if I left for too long. Dammit!”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Of course, it’s my fault. And the nursing home’s fault, but mostly mine for not being there.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand, starting to lose my patience. “This could have happened when you were in New York just as easily as it’s happening now.”
“It wouldn’t have happened because I would’ve gone to the home the moment they said she was having a bad day!
I wouldn’t have waited hours like Dolly did.
And frankly, the nursing home is going to hear about this because they should have been watching her.
This didn’t happen overnight when they have a skeleton crew—this was smack dab in the middle of the day. Which pisses me off.”
“We can move her somewhere safer and—”
She shakes her head, cutting me off. “Look, I can’t think about any of that now. I have to get home and make sure she’s safe. That’s the only thing that matters.”
She spins around once we’re in our suite, yanking clothes off the hangers and throwing them haphazardly into her suitcase.
“Honey, let me—”
“Tate. I can’t think about anything except my mom right now. I’m sorry.” She opens one of the bureau drawers and yanks out all her underthings, leaving a trail of them as she rushes to her open suitcase.
I pick up what she’s dropped and follow her quietly, trying to figure out what to do to help. If I can get her to take a breath and listen to me for a second.
She hurries into the bathroom and I watch from the doorway as she starts gathering all her toiletries. Her brush and makeup. Shampoo and conditioner. The bag she usually stores everything in so neatly. Now it’s just a jumble in her arms and I notice that her hands are shaking.
“Honey, please take a breath.”
“I can’t.” She’s almost manic in her movements, and it’s painful to watch—I’ve never seen her this out of sorts.
I’ve seen her cry. I’ve seen her manage a diner full of rowdy truckers. I’ve seen her gently coax her mom out of whatever mood she’s in. I’ve even been lucky enough to see her laugh and crack jokes.
Tonight, she’s none of those.
“Fuck. I can’t breathe,” she mutters, suddenly pausing and leaning on the bed for support.
This can’t be good for her or the baby.
“Summer, sit for a minute, would you?” I manage to guide her onto the edge of the mattress and realize she’s white as a ghost.
“I think…I’m having… a panic…attack,” she whispers.
“I’m right here. Slow, steady breaths. Come on, can you count with me?” I read about this once, where you breathe in slowly for eight seconds, then hold it for eight, and breathe out for eight. I explain it to her and she manages to nod, like she understands.
And we do it together.
“One-two-three-four…”
At some point in the process, her color starts to come back.
“You’re okay,” I say, rubbing her back. “Just keep breathing.”
“This is all my fault,” she says, her voice filled with anguish.
I don’t want to argue with her but it’s hard to stay quiet when she says stuff like that. “Honey, you know it’s not black and white like that.”
“But it is!” she protests, her eyes wide as she looks at me.
“Look what happened. I went away for nearly two weeks and—this is the result. She could be dead, lying in a ditch somewhere because I decided to go on vacation. I’m a terrible daughter!
And what kind of example am I going to set for my baby if I can’t even be good to my own mother? ”
There doesn’t appear to be anything for me to say to that, so I watch in silence as she gets to her feet and turns to stare out the window, her thoughts obviously a million miles away.
“This was all a mistake,” she murmurs, almost like it’s an afterthought.
Like I’m an afterthought.
“Babe? What part of this was a mistake?” I ask after a moment.
Instead of answering my question, she says, “I need to try to get some sleep, but you should go finish dinner.”
Her hands shake a little as she stuffs her toiletries into her suitcase and all I can do is stand here, somewhat shellshocked.
This was all a mistake.
All of it?
Everything between us has been a mistake?
I guess I know where I stand.
I just didn’t know it would hurt this much.
“That’s it?” I ask quietly. “That’s all you have to say?”
She looks up guiltily. “I’ll keep you updated about Mom when I get home, and you know, what I find out at the ultrasound next week.”
The ultrasound she promised to FaceTime me for? I guess she’s changed her mind.
About everything.
And I don’t know what to say.
Normally, I would try to talk this out, but there are no words to adequately describe what I’m feeling. So instead of saying something that might upset her or send her into another panic attack, I merely say, “have a safe flight, babe.”
Then I turn and walk out of the room.