"Yeah, I saw his town car turning down their road on my way back from the feed store yesterday. She's not there. When I knocked on the door, the maid told me Warrick was spending the holidays with Asha at their Louisville estate."
"That's crazy. You'd think she’d want to be here," he says, leaning against the frame of my stall.
"I mean, it makes sense. She's attending classes at Louisville."
"I guess, but her mother planted all those purple flowers that run along the fences." He shrugs before straightening. "You’d think she'd want to come home after being gone for so long. If nothing more than to surround herself with memories she had with her mom."
I think back to our time at school and the way she tried to push me away, to keep me at arm's length even when I could tell she didn't want to. When I found out I was the reason she got sent away, that all made more sense. I was wrapped in memories she didn't want to remember, but I know she loved her mom dearly. She said as much, daring to touch some of the happier memories she could never forget. When we weren't talking about how we hated our senior class assignment, horses, food, and teachers we couldn't stand, then she would talk about how she couldn't wait to go home and sleep in her old room. Bardstown is home, so why hasn't she been here?
Unless someone's keeping her from here.
"Can you finish up here?" I ask as I hastily brush past him.
"Yeah. What's the rush?"
"I have some business I need to handle," I say, exiting the barn and leaving off thein Louisvillepart.
Here I am again, staring at another one of Asha's doors. I look insane, and showing up here feels reckless, but I'm out of ideas, and I'm done waiting.
I rap my knuckles against the door and wait. There's silence on the other side of the door. When I pulled in, I didn't see a car in the driveway, but there's also a huge attached garage, sono car doesn't mean no one is home. I try to peer through the window and look for a light, but I can't do so without climbing into a bush, which would definitely make this entire encounter teeter on the edge of stalker if I let one toe step off this porch to peek inside a window.
I take my chances and knock once more. This time, the door opens before I can finish, but it's not Asha.
A heap of messy blonde hair piled atop the head of a brown-eyed girl in a sweater and socks, opens the door. Her eyes trail up my body from head to toe before a smile tugs at her mouth.
"Can I help you?"
"This is the Fairfield residence, correct?" My voice comes out more formal than I intended, like I'm delivering a package.
"That depends. Who's asking?" she says coyly, leaning against the doorframe.
"So that's a yes," I say, refusing to be sidetracked. She's pretty, but not who I came here to see. "Is Asha home?"
She purses her lips. "Damn, already taken. No, you just missed her. She left for the Poconos with her father to spend Thanksgiving with family."
Of course she's gone. Of course I'm too late. Again. But just as my stomach feels like it can't sink anymore, I hear a silver lining in her response.Damn, already taken.If she thinks I'm someone to Asha, that has to mean Asha isn't seeing anyone.
"Want to come in?" She opens the door wider.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name," I say, trying to put pieces together. She's not a maid, and I don't think she's a relative since she just said they left to spend the holidays with family. So, who is she to Asha?
"I'm Sydney. We're roommates, but there was a water leak on the floor above our place, so we're staying here." She looks behind her, where there's a fire burning in a stone fireplace. "Nottoo shabby." She raises her shoulder, turning back to me. "Care for a drink?"
"Sure, one drink," I agree.What else am I going to do? Drive back home and stare at a blocked number?
She's not the girl I hoped I'd find, but she's close to the one I've been searching for.
Close might be the best I'm going to get. Months of missed chances, blocked numbers, and closed doors. But Sydney is here, and Sydney knows her. What she does on weekends, who she spends time with, if she talks about home, or if she's ever mentioned me at all. It's not the conversation I wanted, but it's the one I'm getting. And right now, that has to be enough.
TWO YEARS LATER
TRIGGER
"Who are we missin'?" my father asks as Dallas and I walk into the kitchen after returning from the auction house in Lexington.
"No one," I answer, disbelief still overpowering my annoyance.
"No one?" He sets his coffee cup on the counter and gives me his full attention. "Now, how in the world is that possible?"
