“Hi, I’m in need of a tow truck,” I say and then proceed to give the mechanic on the other end of the line my address and information. Unless I’m mistaken, his eyes narrow when I spell out my last name, and a part of me wonders if he actually thought I was lying about my identity.
“They said it’ll be an hour tops,” I tell him when the call’s done and pass back the phone. He doesn’t seem at all happy about this information and glances at his watch again. “Don’t suppose I could use your bathroom in the meantime?”
He studies me again, dark eyes trying to determine my level of threat. In my cutoff shorts, sneakers, and Accident Prone band t-shirt, I’d consider my threat level minimal—these shorts are way too tight to stash any weapons, let’s be real—but who knows? Maybe he finds the band offensive.
“Fine,” he says.
My eyes widen in surprise.
Fine.
“Oh, great. Wow. Thank you so much,” I say in a rush, trying to convey my gratefulness before he changes his mind.
He doesn’t even acknowledge my gratitude. Just leads me down the driveway, into the mansion where my sister may or may not live. I debate grilling him about that little detail but decide to relieve myself first and ask questions later.
I do my business and wash up, splashing water over my face and brushing through my tawny brown hair with my fingers as best I can. I find mouthwash in the medicine cabinet, so I do a quick swish and hastily spit in the sink, not wanting to take too long.
My not-so-gracious host doesn’t glance up as I emerge from the bathroom, into the impressive foyer. His tall frame is leaning against the front door, fingers furiously texting away, and I wonder if he’s talking to Mel. When a minute passes and he still hasn’t looked up, I shift, glancing around the interior.
“Your house is so beautiful,” I try. In all honesty, I’m not used to being so blatantly ignored, and I’m not entirely sure how to respond to it. “Like, stunning.”
Giving no indication that he heard my compliment at all, he finally points to the couch in the room off the entryway. “You can sit in there until the truck arrives.”
“Oh, great. Thanks.”
He watches me sit, levels me with a look that saysdon’t you dare move an inch,and disappears deeper into the house before I can ask to borrow a phone charger.
With nothing better to do, I stare out the window, watching the quiet street and wondering what time it is. It’s hard to tell with the somewhat cloudy sky, but I’d guess 7:30 a.m. at the latest, especially since my host is dressed in a button-down and slacks, not his pajamas. I briefly wonder what he does for a living that requires such professional attire.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, a perfectly well-behaved guest, when I spot a cherry red convertible turning onto the road. I expect it to zip straight past my lifeless car, but instead, it pulls into the driveway, stopping just beyond the window’s visibility. The house rumbles, the sound of the garage door opening, and my heart breaks into a sprint. I didn’t get a good glimpse of the driver, but who else would it be besides Mel?
The alarm system beeps as the door to the garage opens, and I creep quietly out of the room, my ears straining at the sound of footsteps.
“Something you forgot to tell me?” comes the deep, male voice I recognize, no more welcoming than in his interactions with me.
“Wow, Landon,” responds a female voice. It’s different than I remember, colder, and I inch out of the room, moving closer to the conversation. “I can’t even get ahey, how are youafter being gone for a week?”
“Hey,” Landon says flatly. “How are you.”
“Nice.”
“So, you didn’t read any of my messages then?”
“My phone’s been on silent.”
“All night?”
“I was on a red-eye. I don’t know, Landon. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I press myself flat against the wall, peeking around the doorway.
My breathing stops, and suddenly all those years of wishing, planning, and hoping were worth it.
She’shere. Mel. My sister.
Ifoundher.
“Mel?”
