“I don’t know,” I said in irritation, already reaching for the door again. “Bill just called. They don’t know where she is.”
I was already moving past him. I couldn’t stand still. I couldn’t explain. Until I saw Lily with my own eyes, that sinking, helpless feeling wasn’t going anywhere.
I stepped outside, the cold air hitting my face, and headed straight for my car.
Behind me, I heard the door open again.
“Claire,” Brandon called. “Wait.”
I clenched my jaw and kept walking.
He followed me down the front steps.
“What happened?” he asked. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
I unlocked the car with shaking fingers.
“I told you,” I said, trying not to sound as sharp as I felt. “They don’t know where Lily is.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said. “How does a kid just go missing?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated.
He reached out and took the hand that wasn’t holding my keys, stopping me mid-motion. His touch was gentle, familiar, and completely unwelcome.
“Claire,” he said, “have they called the police?”
The question irritated me instantly.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t ask.”
“Well, they should,” he continued. “If they haven’t, you should be calling them. You going over there isn’t going to help. You’re not going to find her just by showing up.”
Something hot flared in my chest.
“Let go,” I said.
He didn’t, not right away.
“I’m just saying,” he said calmly, like this was a discussion and not an emergency. “Think about it logically. If she’s really missing.”
“This isn’t about logic,” I snapped, pulling my hand free. “She’s a child.”
“And I get that,” he said, still trying to reason it out, “but panicking isn’t going to fix anything. You’re emotionally involved. They need people who can think clearly right now.”
That was the part of him that drove me absolutely crazy.
Not cruel, not intentionally heartless, just… distant. Like everything needed to pass through a filter of practicality before it could matter.
Selfish, sometimes. And not particularly empathetic.
I knew why. Or at least, I thought I did.
His mother was distant and aloof. He talked to her once a year, visited when obligation demanded it, not because he wanted to. It was normal to him. Acceptable.
I couldn’t imagine it.
If my mother were alive, I wouldn’t go a day without calling her. The idea of being satisfied with visiting my favorite person, once a year made my chest ache in a way I didn’t have words for.
