CALEB: Mom’s gone. I need you.
CALEB: Please pick up.
CALEB: Harper?
Nothing.
Does that mean Silas wasn’t able to get her out of jail after all? He seemed so sure when he took off after the school called about what happened. Pounds of weed in her locker? I had no idea how fucking diabolical McKenzie was. High school pranks are one thing, but didn’t she realize that could get Harper in real trouble? Trouble that could affect the rest of her life?
Silas wouldn’t let me or Z go with him, but he assured us he’d get it taken care of and Harper would be home in a matter of hours.
I was so busy freaking out about it, I didn’t even realize Mom had gone out to get the mail.
Or how long she’d been gone.
Until I heard the ambulance siren.
I’d been so focused on her sixty-two percent survival rate from the cancer. Those were good odds. Great odds, even. The doctors said the experimental treatment wasworking. Her last scans showed improvement. Marginal, but improvement nonetheless.
But then her heart just... stopped. She dropped where she stood, halfway out to the mailbox.
An embolism.
Complications from the cancer. Medical jargon that boils down to: sometimes bodies quit, and there’s nothing you can do about it, and all your careful planning and perfect grades and rigid self-control mean precisely nothing in the face of cellular betrayal.
And now Silas won’t return my calls or texts either. Or Harper.
Read receipts turned off. Like she’s deliberately hiding from me.
What the fuck is going on?
I slam out of the Mustang, my chest constricting. I need to fall apart, and I need my family so I can.
But why aren’t there any lights on?
Air moves wrong in and out of my lungs. Too fast. Not fast enough. I can’t?—
Deep breath.
Count to four.
Hold.
Count to four.
Exhale.
Count to four.
My legs feel disconnected from my body, like I’m operating a machine I don’t quite remember how to control.
The front door is unlocked.
My pulse spikes. Unlocked.
Mom never left the door unlocked.
Rule #12: Lock doors behind you, always. Safety first.