“I can only tell you the place she almost never is these days,” her editor said. “And that’s her desk. I would fire her for that if she didn’t write such great copy. And because if I weren’t afraid her husband might kneecap me.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
Obviously not a joke.
Keltan’s offices may have been in a peaceful part of one of the most chaotic cities in America, but the man himself wasn’t. Maybe a part of it was being from New Zealand, his persona was as rugged as his accent. I think it had a lot more to do with his past in the army. That was a thing that could steal peace.
I knew that because of what Lucy had mentioned. About him losing his best friend. I couldn’t begin to fathom watching another human being die. Let alone someone you loved.
I also knew because of the shadows behind Heath’s eyes before and after.
So it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Keltan would break Lucy’s editor’s kneecaps if he fired her. Not that he’d need to. Lucy and Rosie would’ve likely already bombed something he lived in or drove. With no fatalities, of course. They didn’t do harm, they sent messages.
Their words, not mine.
Since her editor had no idea where she was, and she wasn’t answering her phone, I figured her husband would know where she was. No, I knew he’d know where she was. Because ever since he’d held her dying on the street, he always knew where she was. And I loved that for her.
I didn’t love that her husband employed Heath and in order to find my sister, I had to risk an encounter with him. My phone had died on the way out of the newspaper offices. I kept forgetting to charge it.
Everyone in my family had bought me portable battery packs.
And they were all fully charged, sitting in some drawer in my living room.
I wasn’t someone who needed to be attached to my phone. I didn’t have social media. Didn’t like the spirit of it. The competition of who could make their lives look better, while behind the photos were problems and issues that broke people with the effort it took trying to hide them.
It was hard enough doing that in real life.
So I never worried about my phone too much. This was a time I cursed myself for not keeping it charged.
I could’ve gone home and waited until Lucy called me back. But I wanted to see my sister now my mind was cleared from yesterday. Especially because of the news she’d called me with two weeks ago.
“You’re going to have a baby?” I whispered.
“I know, everyone has had varying degrees of shock since I’m not maternal, like at all,” she said. “ I can’t be the only one to think that babies are ugly. Everyone’s thinking it. When they’re fresh, they’re all wrinkly and red and look like aliens and they’re just too small and breakable. It creeps me out. And now I’m growing one. Me. So shock is not surprising.”
A tear trailed down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away. “No, Lucy, this isn’t shock. You’re going to be the best mother. I know it.”
There was a pause. I let Lucy take it. She didn’t do emotions, so she had to collect herself.
“You’re going to be the best aunt,” she said, her voice husky. “Well, as long as you actually come back from your adventure before the baby is born. Because I’ll kick your ass if you’re not there to judge me about getting an epidural and lecture me on natural births.”
“I’ll be there,” I said immediately. All of my pain, my fear, my heartbreak was not going to stop me. “And you know the dangers of drugs—”
“I’m getting the fucking injection, Polly,” she hissed. “I’m pushing a human child out of my vagina. There is no way I’m doing that without drugs. You want to do that when you have your moonchild baby, more power to you. But it’s not happening for me.”
It was my turn to pause. Mostly because the breath had been punched out of my chest.
Lucy took this as disapproval. “The silent treatment isn’t going to have me change my mind,” she snapped. “I’m even considering a C-section because I like sex and I don’t want a child I’ll obviously love and cherish ruining that for me.”
I sucked in a breath. “I’ll support you with whatever you need.”
“Wait, no way would you support a scheduled C-section, not without at least a few pointed comments,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Crap.
I forgot that my sister could read me, even across oceans.
“Oh, my phone’s about to die,” I said, not a lie. “I’ll call you later. I’m so happy for you, Lucy,” this was little more than a whisper.
And then the connection was cut off as if my phone battery was giving out at the same time as my heart.