Jack
My work shift started early. I was in by 4:30 a.m. and if all went well, would be leaving twelve hours later. Which was perfect because I had a two hour appointment at five. Wouldn’t be home until after dinner.
When I called to tell Miranda not to wait dinner on me, she seemed upset. Didn’t say why, but I definitely heard something in her voice. It bothered me all day. Maybe she was having a hard time and missing Richard. Worry started to eat at me.
I’d brought street clothes and changed at the department after my shift, so I would be more comfortable for my appointment. I thought about canceling, but the guy had slipped me into the schedule kind of last minute.
Close to six, Miranda texted:Eta?
What in the world?
“Hey man, what time you think you’ll befinishing up?”
The guy didn’t look up. “Probably twenty minutes or so.”
I texted her back one-handed:6:45ish?
She sent a thumbs up.
As soon as I paid him, I jetted.
I thought about her the whole way home. Felt a little uneasy. Did the money come or something? I hadn’t checked my account. Were we about to have a sit-down? Miranda was usually very chill when I worked late.
I came in the front door with my duffle slung over my shoulder. Three things hit my brain at the same time—the smell, the sound, the sights. First of all, whatever Miranda had baked caused the entire house to smell like cinnamon. My mouth started watering and I realized how hungry I was. Next, soft music—the Lumineers—was playing. One of my favorites. Thought that was funny, because Miranda only listened to country music if she was alone. And finally, the lights were dim. There were two candles on the coffee table.
I called out, “Miranda?”
Nothing.
“Kacey?”
Nothing.
I hung my keys on the hook and kicked off my shoes. I figured Miranda must be in the backyard. Before I went that way, I opened my bedroom door to toss my duffle in.
A candle was lit on my dresser and the bedsheets were turned down.
Adrenaline raced through my veins, my breathing immediately going shallow.
I went to my bathroom and flicked on the light. Miranda’s sugar scrub was on the sink and there was a little tiny heart drawn with a marker on the mirror.
What in the…
Where was Miranda? I quickly exited my room, shutting the door behind me, feeling like I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to.
My heart beat was tangible, noticeable. I puffed a few breaths as I scanned the rest of the house for the woman, growing urgent.
“Miranda?”
I traveled so fast toward the back door, I almost missed a scrapbook propped open on the kitchen counter. I pulled to a stop when I realized the note card next to it had my name. Along with two words.
“Flip through.”
I glanced through the kitchen window, wishing it had a view of the garden.
This scrapbook was all black with the word “us” on the cover. I instantly recognized it. She started this scrapbook when we were dating. Tiny mementos portrayed all the fun we had over the years and the places we went. Each photo was dated and labeled in an artistic way I would’ve never been able to pull off myself.
I’d always told Miranda she should do craft shows or something. She had a way of making something as simple as paper look incredible.
