And now she’s gone.
Where the hell would she go? Wherecouldshe go?
I grit my teeth, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
I should have been here. I should have made sure she was safe. But no, I had to deal with Vick and his bullshit. Ifsomething happens to my mother because of him, I swear to God I’ll put him six feet under myself.
Fucking hell, I don’t even know where to start. When we pulled up, I really thought we’d find her inside, sitting in her recliner, watching some mind-numbing daytime TV like always.
Now I have nothing. No clues. No fucking plan.
Do I waste time calling the authorities? Or do I just get out there and start looking? Where, the roads? The old trails? Where the hell do I even begin?
She’s out there. Alone. Somewhere. And if something’s happened to her?—
The door creaks open behind me. I hear the soft scuff of light steps, careful, hesitant.
Marlowe. I know it’s her before she even opens her mouth, but I don’t turn, don’t acknowledge her.
“I’m really sorry about your mom.” The words are like striking a match on dry wood.
I turn before I can stop myself, anger boiling over. “What do you care?”
She flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough. Good. Let her feel some of this rage. This is all her father’s fault.
Her mouth tightens. “Because I’m a fucking nice person, and someone with dementia who is lost might be scared and all alone. Idocare.”
I let out a low, humorless laugh. “Sure you do.”
She shifts her weight, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, I can maybe help you find her.”
My jaw clenches so tight it aches. “What?”
She exhales, long and slow. “I will help you find her,” she says, steadily, like she’s made up her mind.
I don’t want her pity. I don’t want her concern. I want to put my fist through something. But right now, I need to find mymom. Then I’ll deal with Marlowe, with Vick, with all of this shit I never asked for.
“What was her name?”
“Was?” The word slams into me like a fist to the throat. My gut twists, tight and sharp, like a blade’s been buried deep, twisting with every second that passes. Heat rises up my neck, raw and burning. My glare locks onto her, my hands clenching tighter at my sides. “Her nameisDelilah.” My voice is low, rough, barely holding back the storm inside me. My mother isn’tgone. She isn’t a fuckingwas. Not until I see otherwise.
Her face pales. “I’m sorry. I have no idea why I saidwas.” Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. Her fingers twitch at her neck, and for the first time since I met her, she actually looks like she’s telling the truth.
“Whatever.” I turn away. I can’t do this. I need to get inside, make calls, figure out a plan with my brothers. Splitting up is best; we’ll cover more ground that way.
“Don’t take this out on me,” she snaps. “I said I would help you.”
Is she still talking?
She moves in front of me before I can reach the door, her hand reaching for the handle, pulling it open.
I freeze, my body vibrating with frustration.
Why the fuck is she in my way?
Marlowe steps into the house first, and somehow,somehow, she takes control of the situation.
I don’t know how. I don’t even know why.
