Birthday Girl(117)

Lin opens the door, still in her pencil skirt from her office job but barefoot and her shirt untucked. She sees me and crosses her arms over her chest, pinning me with a smug look.

“I want to talk to him,” I tell her.

“You’ve done enough,” she sneers, pulling out her tight ponytail. “Jesus, I thought I was the bad parent. What were you thinking? Taking his leftovers like there isn’t any other woman in this town you can pound?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Spare me the details.” She reaches over to a nearby table and grabs a glass with what’s most likely vodka and orange juice. “She’s no different than you thought I was. She used you, Pike. Used you for a place to live and utilities, and oh, what else did you do? Fix her car, too?” She shakes her head, smiling bitterly. “She lucked out with you, and all she had to do was open her legs. Christ, you men really are dense when it comes to a pretty face.”

My jaw tensed. Jordan isn’t like that. She’s nothing like you.

I’m not here to talk about her anyway.

“You don’t know anything,” I grit out.

“Aw, were you two in love?”

My heart thumps twice as hard, and my face falls, an image flashing in my mind of her standing by the pool just three nights ago, asking me to tell Cole and then to take her to bed—to our bed.

My stomach sinks. I miss her so much.

“Oh, my God, you do love her,” Lindsay says, staring at my face and looking like she’s about to laugh.

But before she can say anything else, I steel my spine. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” she says, leaning on the door and taking a sip of her drink. “For the next eight weeks.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe if you were paying more attention to your son than his piece of discarded trash, you would know he went up to MEPS over a week ago for his physical and other tests,” she tells me, all too pleased to rub everything I don’t know in my face. “He enlisted in the Navy, Pike. Seems he was desperate for the guidance he’s clearly not getting from you. He shipped out this morning.”

My eyebrows nosedive. “What?” I yell this time.

The Navy? You don’t just join the Navy. It takes months to enlist. I should know. I almost did it when I was his age.

As if sensing my questions, she goes on. “He’s been planning it for a while. He’s lost, wants some direction,” she says as if reciting her grocery list. “He was afraid to tell anyone, because he has a habit of not following through with things. He wanted to surprise us when he was sure. After he went to MEPS, took his test, got his physical, and committed, though, he was going to tell you, but I guess he never got a chance.”

My lungs empty, and I drop my head.

Needles stab my throat, and my eyes sting. This isn’t right. He wouldn’t have done something like that. Cole’s not…disciplined. Would he willingly put himself through that? What was he thinking?

“He’s at Naval Station Great Lakes,” she says. “He’ll be back in a couple months. Check his Instagram if you don’t believe me. He made a final post this morning.”

Instagram? I don’t…

Jesus Christ.

She slams the door, and I immediately hear the lock turn.

I stand there, outside her door, the rain pouring around me with the past several days running through my head as I try to connect any clues Cole left about his plans. Quitting his job, telling me all the perks of his new one…. He wanted a tattoo.

This secret new job was a big deal.

Did he really join the military?

Heading back to my truck, I climb in and slam the door against the downpour, and check my phone for any messages or texts again.

But still nothing. Not from Cole or Jordan.

Did she know about this?

No, she would’ve told me.

Remembering what Lin said, I type Cole Lawson Instagram into the search bar, and I immediately see a few different accounts pop up. Clicking through them, I find one with his picture and notice the first post is the most recent. It’s just a picture of the open doors of a bus that it looks like he’s about to board with a caption that reads I should’ve taken the blue pill.

What does that mean? Then I remember The Matrix. One of his favorite movies when he was little.

I run my hand through my hair, ready to crawl out of my goddamn skin. How could he not at least send a text? I understand if he won’t talk to me, but he has to know I’d be worried. To leave me for months with all these questions…

I sit in the truck, spending the next half hour searching websites and parent blogs, trying to figure out how I can talk to him. He isn’t allowed a cell phone during training, and I can’t call him unless there’s an emergency, and even then I have to go through the Red Cross to reach him.

Fuck. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone right now. He’s gone. With no way to immediately reach him for eight weeks.

We haven’t spent much time together the past few years, but he was still only a phone call away. I can’t let things be left like this for two months.

I search the local recruiting station in the area and call the office. I might be able to get his address through them once he receives his assignment.

There’s no answer, so I’ll track him or her down tomorrow and find out how I get a hold of him.