So I do.
"Howie." Jason's voice is wrong. Not angry. Not the low, dangerous quiet from the parking lot. This is something tight, fast, like Rookie is barely holding it together. "Is Ella with you?"
"No. Why?"
"She's gone."
I sit up so fast that coffee sloshes on the corduroy. "What do you mean she's gone?"
"I mean, she's GONE, dude. Her stuff — the closet is empty. Everything she had is gone." His breath is ragged. "She left my laptop open on an airline site about flights to Minneapolis."
The floor tilts. I grip the arm of the couch.
"I tried calling her," Rookie says. "Straight to voicemail. I texted. Nothing. She's not at the hospital. I already called the ER desk."
“Rookie—”
"I chased her away." His voice cracks, and I hear something I've almost never heard from Jason Rujkowski — not anger, not bravado, but genuine, chest-deep anguish. "I drove her out of my home. My own sister. She came to Pittsburgh because I told her I’d help her out, and I sucked at that, and now she's going back to Minnesota."
I close my eyes. My own guilt is a living thing in my chest, clawing for space next to the fear.
"We both did this," I say. "I should have told you weeks ago. I should have been honest with you instead of sneaking around behind your back. That's on me."
Rookie is quiet for a beat. "Yeah. It is." Another beat. "But I'm the one who punched you and told her she was making a mess of things. After her big exam." His voice drops. "What kind of brother does that?"
"The kind who shows up to drive her home from a test he didn't even know about until yesterday."
"And then ruins it."
"Yeah," I say. "And then ruins it. Like I said, we both contributed to this mess."
Mayhem is already on his feet, pulling on shoes. He heard enough from my side of the conversation. I put Rookie on speaker.
"Rookie, I'm at Mayhem's. I'm going to find her."
"How? She's not answering?—"
“Call the crew, and we split up,” I offer, and Mayhem nods. I grab my keys from the coffee table and shove my feet into my shoes. "You should check the airport. Spinner has McKenzie's number.”
“Who?” Rookie sounds like he, too, is grabbing keys.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated that this guy missed so much in the short time Ella was living with us.
“One of Ella's nurse friends. They might have heard from her."
"Okay. Yeah. Okay." Rookie’s voice steadies. "Howie."
"Yeah?"
"Find her. Please."
I hang up. Mayhem is already at the door, phone in hand, texting Spinner. "Go," he says. "I'll coordinate."
I drive, swinging by the hospital, not sure why. It’s not like I can go in there and ask if she showed up to work.
But as I’m swinging through uptown, a thought occurs to me. Ella was looking up airfare, but she’s also been working on her own version of flight.
As I drive to the silk studio, running yellow lights, muscles straining, I know that my hunch is correct. I just know Ella will be in here, trying to soar.
