“I don’t know.” Memphis slides his legs off the bed and lowers his head into his hands. “It’s bad timing.”
“You fucking think? Maybe it would be easier to explain if she didn’t just see you out on adatewith some chick you used to fuck, or maybe if you didn’t call her a junkie last night, I wouldn’t have to explain at all because I would have been with her.”
“You think I don’t know that I fucked up?” He glares over his shoulder. “That I don’t regret what I said or how I acted? I want to help her.”
“Help her?” I’m confused. “She told you it was prescribed medication. You don’t need to help her, you need to believe her!”
Memphis’ head tilts to the side, and he looks at me like I’m being naïve. “Why would she have scraped the label off if it were hers?”
“Because she wanted to? Because she got bored? I don’t fucking know, but can you sit there andhonestlytell me you think she is using drugs?”
“Sometimes she’s evasive. Look how she acted when we first tried to talk to her.”
“Evasive? She just met us and basically let us take over her life. Can you blame her for trying to avoid us? The first words you said to her weren’t actually nice or inviting. I told you she said she was scared she was in trouble because she bumped into you.”
“Why is she always worried about being in trouble?” Memphis asks as if that’s some sort of admission of guilt.
“I don’t know, I didn’t get the chance to ask her, but you’ve seen her at school. She’s always quiet and reserved. Maybe her parents are strict assholes.”
“Yet they just gave her a house and left her on the other side of the country?” he asks incredulously.
“That’s less plausible to you than the idea that they moved her across the country so they didn’t have to deal with her or herdrug problem? Are we even talking about the same girl? I’m talking about Waylynn, the girl who sat at a bar drinking a virgin Mai Tai.”
“Just because she didn’t ask me to get her a drink doesn’t mean anything,” Memphis argues, but I can tell by the way he won’t meet my eyes that he’s doubting his own words.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I tell him when I can’t think of anything else to say. He doesn’t dispute my statement.
“What are you going to do?” he questions after a few seconds.
“I’m going to text her, call her, and try to explain that last night was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I’m going to hope she forgives me for being related to you, and then I’m going to tell her the truth about the pictures. The last fucking thing I need is for that shit to come up after all this, that isifI can get her to even talk to me.”
“You don’t think she’s using?” Memphis asks me, and for the first time, I feel like he’s looking to me for answers, for reassurance.
“No, I don’t think she’s using anything, Memphis. I think you let our fucked-up past mess with your head, which I get. We’re both guilty of doing shit like that, but this time, you might have gone too fucking far.”
“I know,” he murmurs.
SEARCHING
Memphis
I’m notsurprised when calls and texts from both of us go ignored all day. I’m not even shocked when I go to her house Sunday afternoon and find the place empty and her car gone. Waylynn is a runner.
I have to force myself to leave her driveway and not sit around waiting for her to come home, but it’s with the promise to come back later tonight, when I think I might have a better chance to catch her.
Oswald left after lunch, and other than a few texts to check in to see if I’ve heard anything, we haven’t talked. I know if I can get Waylynn to forgive me, he’ll come around, but I don’t know how to bridge the gap until I do.
Around eight, I lock my apartment and walk to her place. It only takes me about ten minutes, and some of that time was wasted at the crosswalk waiting for the light. I know before I reach her kitchen door she’s not home—there isn’t a single light on in the house. I peek into her garage again just to be sure, but her car is still gone.
Where the hell could she be? As far as I know, she doesn’t really know anyone else other than us. I try her phone again, but it just rings. I drop my ass on the porch to wait for her to get home, thinking maybe she just went to grab dinner.
At midnight, I finally give up and walk back to my apartment, struggling with the fact that I know I’m the reason she’s not home and wondering where the hell she might be.
* * *
I getto Angell Hall even earlier than I usually do because I can’t sit at home another minute. I broke down last night and texted her, begging her to call me and tell me she was okay. I even promised I would leave her alone if she answered, but there’s still no response. Nothing is even showing as read past my two messages yesterday morning.
“You’re in early,” Hilbrand observes from behind her desk when I close the door to her office. If she notices I look and feel like shit, she doesn’t comment on it.
