Then she checked their call log. There were too many calls to him to count. The last call from her was at elevenPM. “Oh God, what did I do?” she muttered into the pillow, then screamed. She was many things, but a stalker wasn’t one of them. She knew something was wrong; she could feel it in her bones. The last thing Dahlia wanted to be known as was desperate. But by the looks of her room, the truth of the previous twelve hours was slowly unfolding, and it wasn’t painting her in a good light.
She lifted her head from the soft cotton pillowcase and brushed the hair off her face. Why hadn’t he called her back? Why didn’t he come over? She bit her nail, deliberating whether she should send a text. She started worrying that something had happened to him, but her pride got the best of her. So she called Kara instead.
She slurped the water while it rang.
“Dahlia?”
“Morning,” Dahlia said with a raspy voice.
“Oh, thank God. You’re alive,” Kara said.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dahlia asked. She glanced at the empties on the floor, her face suddenly feeling pale.
“I don’t know—because you could hardly form a sentence last night?” Kara said sarcastically.
“When did we talk?” Dahlia sat up against the headboard and rubbed her eyes.
“You don’t remember? What else don’t you remember?”
“No, I don’t. That’s what I’m afraid of.” She winced. “I know I called him a lot, but what if I went to his house? God, kill me now.”
“Geez, I’m just glad I’m not you this morning.” Kara laughed.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Listen, with all the secrets you’ve uncovered, you’re allowed a night to blow off steam. You missed that whole drunken college phase. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Plus, it’s not every day you find out your real grandfather is a leading man.”
“Is that what I did? Blow off steam? It feels like I blew a gasket. Like I partied in Vegas all weekend long.” She held her head. “I’m too old to drink like that. I was upset I didn’t hear from Noah, especially after talking to Penny.” She wondered how many more messages she’d left for him while in her inebriated stupor. She looked out the window and huffed.
“What, what is it?” Kara asked.
“His truck, it’s missing,” Dahlia said, blinking rapidly. “Something isn’t right. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Maybe he had a few too many and stayed with his sister. Maybe you should text Gretchen.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dahlia said, feeling unfocused and hazy. “I can’t believe the house will be on the market in ten days. It doesn’t seem real. It feels like I just got here.” There was an ache in her heart that throbbed a little harder today. She was torn between a career choice that made sense and a life she was starting to belong to.
“You can always tell the gallery no or ask for more time.”
“It’s crossed my mind once or twice, but I don’t want to decide anything based on a guy,” Dahlia said, searching for her slippers.
“You wouldn’t be making this decision for a guy. It would be for you. You’re happy there. Admit it.”
“I am happy here, probably the happiest I’ve been in a long, long while. But what do I do for money if I stay?” Dahlia looked around the room at Lil’s belongings.
“Maybe you could open your own gallery.”
She felt a juxtaposition of emotions. Her shoulders tightened, and adrenaline coursed through her body, waking every molecule. “Kara, that’s too risky. And I have zero clients, zero artists, and no name for myself here. I’m completely anonymous.”
“You have one artist—Lil,” Kara said.
Shivers ran up Dahlia’s spine.
“You there?”
“Yeah,” Dahlia’s voice cracked. “It’s a great idea, but I don’t have the capital.”
“Lil’s house is going to be listed for three million. You can afford to take a loan against it.”
