Helen folded her arms. “Your boy’s family is rich-rich. A plastic surgeon mommy and a lawyer daddy, and their two boys are living a life of crime. They must be proud.”
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
Helen knocked my foot again. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, dude.”
My stomach churned the same way it had when I’d rode the Ol’ Yeller roller coaster three times in a row at the Oregon State Fair when I was twelve. I had to swallow again and again to keep bile from rising.
“It’s good you did. It feels like everything is out there now.” I gave her a weak smile. “Can we talk more later? I kind of want to bury my head under my covers for a little while.”
They let me go, and even though things weren’t quite back to normal, I was pretty certain I wasn’t going to lose them. Not if I kept being honest with them.
Phone clutched in my hand, I pulled my covers up to my chin. Every night when Amir dropped me off, I always texted him a picture of me. If I didn’t do it within a minute or two of me leaving him, he’d call. My chest pinched with the knowledge he wasn’t going to call tonight. He might not call me again.
I wouldn’t be the one to give up, though.
I took a picture of myself and texted him.
Me:I’m home, thinking about you. Wishing we could talk, but I understand you need space, so I’ll give it to you. Xoxo.
I fell asleep waiting for his reply.
I dreamed he came and we danced on the beach. Even in my dream, I was sad and clung to him so he couldn’t walk away. My ringing phone pulled me away from the feel of his hands on my hips. I tried so hard to stay, but my eyes fluttered open, and I was back, alone in my room.
My phone was next to me in bed, my mom’s name on the screen. It was already ten in the morning. I’d crashed early last night and had slepthard.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, baby. Did I wake you up?”
“Mmm. Sort of, but that’s okay. I’m being a bum.”
She chuckled. “Well, now’s the time to be a bum, before real life starts. Although, you know I’m still a big fan of lazy Sundays.”
I smiled despite the misery weighing on my chest. “Where do you think I get it from?”
“I taught you well. As we speak, Max and I are bumming on the sofa. Eli hasn’t emerged from his room yet. He’s got another hour before we drag him out.”
I gasped. “He’s a growing boy. You have to let him sleep until at least noon.”
“Eleven is my limit.”
“How’s Max?”
“He’s okay. We’re getting through.” The phone became muffled, but I still heard Mom telling her husband I was asking about him. Then she came back. “Max says if you worry about him for longer than a minute a day, he’ll ground you. I’m not sure he has the authority to do that, but he seems pretty adamant.”
“Tell Max we’ll discuss this when I visit you next.”
She cleared her throat. “There was a reason for this call, baby.”
At the switch in her tone, I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed. “Yes?”
“I finally got answers from Officer Ryder about Drew. He made some calls, including to Drew’s parents. They didn’t want to tell him anything, and it took a few conversations before they finally admitted his whereabouts.”
My nails dug into my knees as my heart thrashed. “Is he here?”
“No, he’s not. Drew was admitted to a mental health facility ninety days ago. It’s a long-term treatment program. They didn’t tell Ryder his full diagnosis, but they admitted Drew had a bad psychosis episode and harmed himself severely. He…um, tried to end his life with his father’s table saw and lost a hand. I don’t know if it makes you feel better to know he isn’t the one who has been sending you—”
She kept speaking, but I had folded in at the news of what Drew had done to himself. I’d been angry at him for so long for what he’d put me through, but I couldn’t help the rapid rush of sympathy that punched me in the gut. What kind of mental state had he been in to use a table saw on himself? And to lose a hand?