I kept my agreement with my father. I checked in with him every hour until I pulled into the driveway. He said he was going to stay out and keep looking.
My mom didn’t bother to knock before walking into my room.
“Has anyone called?” she asked.
“No.” I had plugged my phone in next to the bed. I was down to ten percent of my battery.
I looked at her. Her hair was pulled back in a clip. She wore the pearl earrings my father had helped Garrett and me buy for her fortieth birthday. I remember picking them out. The three of us were excited to surprise her with something so expensive and extravagant.
But now they seemed dull and faded. Maybe because she rubbed them often out of nervousness. She touched her finger to one now.
“I can try the police again. See if anything has come up.”
“Mom, don’t do that. They don’t want us to keep calling.”
“Someone has to do something. Someone has to convince them Garrett needs help.”
He did need help, but not police intervention. He needed people to keep him accountable. A mother and father who were a team. A woman in his life who saw what an amazing creative person he was. A sister he could count on.
“We’re doing it, Mom. We are doing everything we can. Garrett doesn’t want us to find him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he hasn’t called.”
She chewed the side of her fingernail. “You think that’s a good sign?”
“I don’t really know what to think, other than we need to know he’s ok.”
“He has to be ok. He has to be.”
I looked at the creases around her eyes. The lines around her mouth. The brushes of smudged mascara.
“What if I make tea or a pot of decaf?” I suggested. She wasn’t going to sleep, and as I fatigued as I was I wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon. “We could see if there is an old movie on.”
She nodded. “Ok. Tea?”
“Come on.” I put an arm around her and led her to the kitchen.
Sometime during Casablanca, we both fell asleep in the living room. I was curled up in the recliner and my mom stretched out on the couch.
I awoke with a pain in the side of my neck that spread to my shoulder. I rubbed it while I stretched my arm toward the ceiling. In the fog of my mind, I knew I had dreamed about Vaughn. His smile tugged at a memory I couldn’t quite pull into focus. I blinked trying to catch the remnants of it. I missed him.
I had moved my phone cord to the living room outlet before we started the movie last night. I checked to see if I had missed any calls or texts. There had to be something from one of my brother’s friends.
There was a text from Greer.
Checking on you. Any news?
I sighed and texted back.
No. Nothing to report.
Let me know if you need me.
Thanks.
Should I come down?