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All of us rush in silence with bated breath.

Fear claws at my chest, traps air in my lungs, pours acid in my gut.

She has to be okay.

Orzo makes it to the wreck first, falling to his knees at the open door.

“She’s not here.” His head pivots back and forth. “But her phone is.”

“I swear, she has the worst luck,” Bran exclaims.

Olive punches Bran with her free hand while Beanie wriggles in the other.

Orzo gets to his feet, circling the area. “Another vehicle was here. Too small to be an ambulance.”

“Maybe she called her aunt?”

Her aunt.

The mysterious woman whose card Cinnamon used. Whose last name was fake. Whose history was clouded.

Cinnamon Jones.

Sherry Jones.

There’s only one woman I ever knew with the name Sherry… But surely it’s not the same Sherry.

Except all signs point to the fact that she is.

“Now what?” Bran asks. “Not to be an ass, but it’s late, and I’m tired.”

“We go to my house. I will round up a search for her. If she’s in the city, we will find her.”

“And if she’s not?” Bran fires back. It’s the wrong question to ask. But Bran is an idiot on the best of days.

I’m shocked when Orzo doesn’t sucker punch him like he did me. “Let’s go.”

He drags Bran back to the car, but this time he shoves him into the back with me, taking the driver’s seat and whipping us away.

56

Every Dish Was a Hit

Cinnamon

Fully bathed and clean, I wipe off the mirror and stare at my naked reflection.

Memories cycle through me the longer I look.

My fingers move on their own to the scar just above my navel.

My thoughts delve into who put it there. Of the feeling of the knife sliding in.

Of the pain. The panic. The calm I forced out.

It was the last time I thought I was going to die, and this car accident has brought the memory into focus.

Shaking my head I attempt to rid myself of it like an etch a sketch.