Hannah: Have you heard from Dad?
Me: No.
Hannah: Are you home?
Me: Yes.
Less than a minute later, there’s a knock at my door.
I type: Is that you?
“Yes, you ding-dong!” Otty yells. “Open the damn door!”
I trudge over, unlock it, and before I’ve gotten it all the way open, my sisters are shoving their way inside. “Let’s go,” says Hannah in her bossy mom voice.
“What? Where?”
“Dad’s.” From the way Otty sinks onto the world’s smallest sofa, I can tell she’s been drinking.
“Get up, Otty! No lazing around!” Hannah turns to me. “She’s had three edibles. I can’t make her worry about this, and we need to be worried.”
“About what?” I am, of course, immediately worried.
“Shoes on. Grab the key to Dad’s. I’ll explain while we drive.”
I throw pants, shoes, and a coat on over mySweeney ToddT-shirt, grab Otty by the arm, and follow Hannah out the door.
“I went by the house,” she tells me as we take off down the quiet street. Otty, as usual, has piled into the back. I’m in front, and let me tell you, the minivan is nasty. Every seat is crusted with some kind of crumb. I’m hoping it’s Cheerios.
“Is that throw-up?” I point to a stain on the dashboard.
“Of course not.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, Rae, do I? Let’s solve one mystery at a time, okay?”
“Fine.” Annoyed now, I turn to look out the window.
“So, Dad was home. Or at least his car was there. Lights on.”
I check the time. It’s only 9:30 p.m.
“Mystery car was there.”
“Running lines, then?”
“Maybe, but he didn’t answer when I knocked.”
Annoyance gives way to my first real niggle of worry. I check the vitals app.
“Why didn’t you go in? His heart rate’s up. He could be on the floor.”
“Fallen and he can’t get up!” yells Otty from the back.
“Exactly!”
“I lost my key.” Hannah’s driving fast, taking corners like the F1 racer she once dreamed of being. “That’s why we needed yours.”
