That turned out to be a terrible idea. Everyone wanted to ask me twenty-one questions, and I couldn't answer any of them. Then, I drove through town, looking for my truck. Again, nothing.
It's why I'm here now, standing in the pouring rain at midnight in front of the last door I want to knock on. My last stop and my last hope. I walked. I left her car at the barn and followed the gravel path that cuts through the back of the property because I needed the time. I needed to stretch out these last minutes of believing she'd be here. Every step down that dark path, gravel crunching under my boots, rain turning the road to mud, bought me more time to hope. The longer it took to arrive, the longer I could hold onto a possibility. The longer I could tell myself that when I finally knocked on this door, she'd answer.
My clothes are plastered to my skin, and my boots are caked with mud, and somewhere between the barn and his front door, I stopped feeling the cold. Stopped feeling anything except the desperate need to find her.
I bang on the front door again, hard enough that my fist aches. "Please be here." I send up one last prayer.
The door swings open.
"What the hell—" Warrick's words die when he sees me soaked to the bone on his doorstep.
"I know she's here." My voice comes out rough and desperate.
"Who?"
"My wife!" The words explode out of me as I refuse to hear anything that's not a confirmation.
"She's not here," he says, but my hands are already finding his chest, pushing him aside as I barge my way into the house. Water drips from my clothes onto his pristine hardwood floors.
"She has to be." I'm already moving deeper into the house, my boots squelching with each step. "Asha, come out! I know you're here!"
I hear the front door close behind me with a solid thud.
"I'm telling you, she's not here." Warrick's voice is calm, too calm, and it grates against every frayed nerve I have.
I spin to face him. "I don't believe you. Where's her room?"
He sighs, running a hand over his face before nodding across the living room. "Down the hall."
I charge across the space, my wet boots leaving a trail of mud.
Let her be here. Please, God, let her be here.
"Which door?" I call over my shoulder.
"Two doors down." His footsteps follow behind me, measured and steady.
When I reach her door, I throw it open, expecting to catch him in a lie, expecting to find her sitting on her bed, surrounded by her mother's letters, red-eyed and hurting buthere, alive and safe. Instead, I find darkness and boxes.
"Have you tried calling her?" Warrick asks, like I haven't tried the most obvious solution.
I pull her phone out of my pocket. "She left without it."
"When was the last time you saw her?" he asks quietly.
"Same as you. Two days ago."
The breath I hear him take could fill a room, but when I turn around, he simply nods. One slow nod, like everything isn't upside down.
"That's it?" I question, unbelieving of how he can be so unfazed. "How can you be so calm about this?"
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, something flickers across his face. "This isn't the first time someone I love received life-changing news," he says quietly.
The statement hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. He holds my gaze for a beat longer then turns and wordlessly walks down the hall.He's right. He's lived through this before.
I follow him, my emotions a tangled mess. Every feeling bleeds into the next until I can't tell where one ends and another begins. I can't stand waiting, but what's worse is not knowing where she is or what she's thinking. I've tried hard to hold it together, to not let my mind spiral into worst-case scenarios—ones that end with her taking my choice in all of this away.The thought makes my stomach turn.
Warrick pulls down a blue-and-white bottle of tequila and two glasses, setting them on the granite counter with a soft clink. He pours a sizable amount in each and, without asking, slides one across to me.
