Maybe he crashed.A bomb of dread explodes through me. I squeeze my eyes shut on the thought. I can’t think that way. Not yet. Maybe he’ll show up in a few minutes, full of apologies, so I can wring his neck.
I take a few deep breaths and get dressed quickly, throwing on my leggings and sweater, swiping on a layer of mascara like normal, just in case, my mind sorting through options of what to do, who to call next if he’s not home in the next five minutes.
Once that’s done, he’s still not home.
I go out to the front porch to wait, sitting in the swing, where Archer and I first kissed, but even those memories aren’t doing anything to alleviate my rising apprehension.
I try Veronica. “Hello?” she mumbles.
“I’m so sorry to call so early.” I wince. I know she works late hours, but she might have been one of the last people to see Jake. “Did you see Jacob last night? He hasn’t come home.”
She clears her throat. “Jake? Oh. Right. Him and Frank left kinda early last night, I think. It might have been around eight? I’m not really sure of the exact time, but I remember it was before nine, when the band started up.”
“Did they happen to say where they were going?”
She is silent for a few seconds. “No. They just paid and left.”
I blow out a breath. “Okay. Thanks. Sorry again about calling so early.”
“No worries, honey. Let me know when you hear from him. I’m sure they’re just sleeping it off at Frank’s. He’ll probably show up any minute now.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right.” I hang up and drop my head back against the seat.
I have to do something. I shouldn’t have argued with him before he left. Guilt pounds into me every time I pick up my phone and try Frank again. And again. And again, until he finally answers.
“Frank?”
The phone clicks and the line opens, but no one says anything.
It’s not quiet though. There’s a bunch of rustling in the background and the sound of deep breathing.
Did he answer the phone and then fall back asleep?
“Frank!” I yell.
“Wha-what?” Frank is a year younger than Jacob. He still lives with his parents and works at one of the ski resorts in the winter and then bums around the rest of the year, doing odd jobs.
“Frank!” I shout again.
There’s more rustling, and the breathing gets louder. “What’s up?”
“Frank. It’s Finley.”
More breathing. “Yeah?”
“Where’s Jacob?”
“Um. Home?”
“He’s not here.” Lord, give me patience. “Did he go to your place last night?”
“Uh, yep.”
“Well, is he still there?”
Seriously, this is like trying to herd a goldfish.
“Lemme see.” There’s rustling and grunting on the other end. Seconds drag on like years while he shuffles around. “Jake, you still here?” he calls out. “Ma, is Jake still here?”