Page 154 of Jude

No answers materialized.

To add to my uncertainty, when I stepped out of the shelter the morning after he came by to ask me about listening to his music, his Ram was missing from its usual spot across the street.

I shrugged it off.

Until the following morning, at 6 a.m., when I noticed again that he was MIA from his usual vigil outside my work.

His absence unexpectedly rattled me.

I hadn’t realized until now how his silent guard duty had calmed me without me knowing it.

I began to worry.

Was he OK? Was he sick?

As the week passed, it became apparent that without Jude’s presence, my night shifts seemed longer.

I wanted to give in and head to his home to see how he was.

However, I wasn’t ready to deal with our mess, so while it killed me not to go after him, I stuck to my guns.

My fellow night crew workers saved my sanity.

I’d made friends with three women who became my instant lifelines.

Camilla, a Tuscan with zero filter, and Sarah, a half-Kenyan, half-Spanish survivor who had escaped her abusive ex.

Also, Maria, a young mom who ran from a violent drunk husband in Memphis with zero notice and a single diaper bag, spent hours making me laugh with funny stories about her hilarious parenting fails.

We scraped grease stains and hosed oil-coated bays side by side.

During our short coffee breaks, we shared real talk and spilled secrets.

Their battle scars gave me a hard reality check; however, no matter how much I tried, I could not erase Jude from my mind.

My worry for him spiked to a fever pitch one evening when I checked my smartphone during our break and stumbled upon a viral video circulating on social media.

I stared at the small screen, my heart throbbing as I witnessed Jude’s public breakdown in the rain.

It showed his face, eyes hollowed out, his timbre hoarse, his cheeks sunken and slick with the sleet, as he declared he loved me to the world.

The clip, from a week ago, was still trending.

It twisted me up so much that I dialed Maggie’s number for the first time in months.

She picked up on the second ring, her breath catching as I whispered my name.

‘Maggie, its me, Sofia.’

‘Sofia? Girl, I’m so glad you called.’

We exchanged small talk until my impatience broke through.

‘How’s he doing, Maggie?’ I asked.

‘He’s missing you, honey,’ Maggie sighed.

‘I kept seeing him at my new workplace, but I haven’t spotted him in days.’