It was more than whatI’dhad before.
Jack was supposed to get off duty this morning.Ifthe pattern of behavior had continued, he would have come over to the house to check on me when he got home, gone back to his place to sleep a little, and then come back over in the afternoon.
It was nearing one in the afternoon, and his truck still hadn’t appeared in the driveway.
I would have texted the man, butIdidn’t have his number.Whoneeded to exchange phone numbers when you were constantly within shouting distance of each other?
Okay, it was definitelynota relationship ifIdidn’t have his number.Exchangingphone numbers wasDating101.Iwas still somewhere around orientation.
The chicken, with its picturesque grill marks and beautifully charred marinade, was probably cold by now.Ihad been salivating over the grilled corn, but now it was starting to lose moisture and shrivel since it had been sitting out for so long.
The room-temperature meal was an insult punctuating the day.Jackhad spent the night with me, breaking in my new bed, whispering all these beautifully heartfelt promises of how much he wanted me to give him a real chance.
And then he didn’t come home.
Why hadn’t he come home yet?Andwhy wasIcalling my great-aunt’s house “home?”
Something started to eat at me.Aninkling of worry started to override the doubt.
I didn’t even bother clearing the dinner spread off the table and squeezing it into the fridge.Igrabbed my keys, slid on my flip-flops, and jogged down the stairs to my car.
I’d probably pass him on the road and we’d laugh about it.Maybehe had gone toDrew’shouse after work.Maybehe had plans.WhowasIto demand to know where he was every minute of the day?
Jack would probably show up right asIset foot in the driveway, and we’d laugh about it.
But he didn’t show.
Instead of the rumble of a diesel engine, the only sound for miles was the crash of ocean waves and the ambient peals of laughter from beachgoers.
This was the part in the story where a tumbleweed usually blew by.
Fuck it.
I hopped in my car and made the drive to theCedarIslandFireDepartment.
I let out a sigh of relief whenIspottedJack’struck in the parking lot.Maybehe was still clocked in and was covering for someone.Maybethey were short-staffed and he had to stick around.
That made me feel a little less stupid about attempting to cook a proper meal for him.
Shit.DidIsnuff out the coals in the bottom of the grill completely?Ihad done everythingJackalways waxed poetic about—keeping the grill far enough away from structures and dry grass.Alwayswatching over it; never leaving it unattended.Alwayshaving a bucket of sand and a bucket of water at the ready.
No,Ihad definitely put the embers out.Theywere probably still swimming in seawater.I’dhave to clean it out later.
My heart lodged in my throat asIslowed to make the turn into the parking lot.ShouldIjust do a drive-by?Hewas obviously there.ShouldIactually go inside and check on him or was that stage-five clinger of me?
Drew spotted my car from an open garage bay and lifted his hand, waving me in.
Crap.
It was too late to bolt.IfIdid,I’djust be the weird stalker driving by my neighbor’s workplace.
I could always use the excuse thatIwas on my way to theFish‘nFuel, exceptIhad already passed it.
I pulled into the empty space besideJack’struck and cursed the fact thatIhad even left the house to begin with.Nothinggood ever came from leaving the house.
“Hey,”Drewsaid as he jogged out to meet me. “Howis he?”
My heart sank. “Whatare you talking about?”Iglanced atJack’struck, then back at the worry that was painted acrossDrew’sface.
