Everything You Are(34)
Steph starts to bite her lip, encounters a silver ring and starts worrying it with her tongue.
Braden looks at the clock. Just now three p.m. No reason to expect Allie early today. No reason to believe something horrible has happened, at least nothing more horrible than Ethan, who is most probably not a serial killer.
Steph slides onto one of the stools at the kitchen coffee bar. “It’s possible she’s with Ethan.”
He dials Allie’s number and it goes directly to voice mail. He sends her a text, but it just sits there, inert. No delivered or received notification.
“I told you, she’s gone incommunicado. You should put your produce away. It’s getting wilty.” Steph peers into the grocery bag and starts unpacking it. Celery. A bag of salad. The bottle of whiskey.
Her eyes meet his, assessing. Judging.
“Allie said you’re a drunk.”
“As you said, Allie doesn’t lie.”
“Except about school attendance. Apparently. Are you going to drink that?”
“I was planning on it.”
Steph shoves the bottle toward him, with enough force that he has to grab it before it slides right over the edge of the island and onto the floor. “My mom drinks. It sucks. But whatever. Your life, I guess.”
The familiar shape of the bottle in his hand promises comfort. Oblivion. Ease.
All of it a lie.
He fills his glass with water to allay temptation. “I don’t suppose you have contact info for this Ethan person.”
“He’s on Facebook, sort of.” Steph concentrates on her phone, thumbs moving at speed. “He has an account but hasn’t been on it in, like, ever.”
Braden distracts himself both from his thirst and his new worry about his daughter by putting groceries away. Steph is right about the celery, which was already limp when he bought it. The inside of the refrigerator still looks too empty when he’s done, but at least his thoughts are clearer.
“Listen, Steph. Allie’s got some major shit going on. It’s maybe not so surprising for a kid to skip school, given the circumstances.”
Steph snorts. “Were you listening to anything I’ve told you?”
“I was listening. I just think—”
“Let me tell you some things about Allie. The two most important things to her, that she would never, ever mess with, are her GPA and her music. She missed a concert. Didn’t show up. When she had the flu last year, she tried to play with a fever of one hundred and two and was pissed when they made her go home. She had a solo and everything. Mal tried to play it, but nobody plays like Allie and it sucked.”
“She hasn’t touched the cello since I’ve been here.”
“Weirder and weirder. Maybe this is one of those Mandela Effect things,” Steph says after a minute. “Has to be. Doesn’t make any sense. Like at all.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Mandela Effect. It’s this weird reality thing. Like—some people swear it’s Berenstain Bears and some say Berenstein. And some people believe for sure that Mandela died in prison, only others believe equally for sure that he didn’t. You see?”
All of this is too much for a reluctantly sober Braden to process. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Google it,” she says.
“Steph. Grief is a powerful force. It changes people. I suspect that’s more probable than some alternate reality theory.”
“Whatever. Allie packed that cello everywhere. There were places she wouldn’t go because it wouldn’t fit in somebody’s car. They were inseparable.”
Steph slides off the stool and onto her feet. “Give me your cell number.”
She doesn’t wait for his permission. Before he can decide whether giving her that information is going to be a good idea, she’s already tapping something into his phone, and then her own.
“There. We’re connected. Text me when she shows up. Somebody needs to worry. I guess that somebody will be me.”
Without another word, she walks out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
Braden stands there in a daze. Half an hour ago, his path was clear and simple. Open the bottle. Have a drink. Rinse. Repeat. Make dinner.
Now there’s Alexandra to call. An appointment to make with Lilian’s attorney. Worry about Allie on a whole new level.
He sends her another text message: Should I be worried? Contact me please.
And then, after pacing the length of the kitchen and living room once, twice, three times, he picks up the phone again and dials not Alexandra or the attorney or his sister but another number altogether.
Chapter Fourteen
PHEE
“Hold still!” Phee orders, meaning it.
Celestine’s tail droops at the tone of her voice and he obeys, unhappy about the water pouring over him from the handheld shower wand.
Phee turns off the water and starts lathering on the dog shampoo.
Amazing how one dead rabbit can turn an afternoon upside down. One minute, the two of them are having a lovely walk in the park, and the next, she’s face to nose with a giant and malodorous dog who could not resist rolling in the carcass.
It’s a cold, rainy day, not conducive to outdoor dog baths, and the two of them now stand in the shower: Phee naked and shivering, Celestine bedraggled, both of them unhappy.