Abby Girl: When are you coming back stateside?

Jo-Jo: A month. Six weeks. I dunno.

Abby Girl: We should hang out.

Jo-Jo: I thought you were too busy with college.

Abby Girl: Taking a term off.

Jo-Jo: Why?

Abby Girl: Reasons. Serious, Jo-Jo. I haven’t seen you in forever.

Jo-Jo: It’s only been a year since I left.

Abby Girl: I dunno, I just…did you know Clary got married?

Jo-Jo: Clary? She was a junior. She’s barely eighteen, right?

Abby Girl: Yup.

Jo-Jo: I don’t know if I ever want to get married.

Abby Girl: Me either.

Jo-Jo: I know, right?

Abby Girl: One person for like, ever? Sounds awful.

Jo-Jo: Promise me one thing?

Abby Girl: What’s that?

Jo-Jo: If I am ever crazy enough to get married, stop me, would ya?

Abby Girl: A girl can’t let her bestie take the plunge, right? Hey, it’s late. You got my number, call me when you get stateside, right?

Jo-Jo: You know I will.

It took us two hours to finally find the bedroom; we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. And as the sun set outside my bedroom window, we found each other after a lifetime apart.

Don’t judge me—eighteen months is a long time without a man. Eight years between Joey and I—even longer. A lifetime. I could still remember the day he left, and I made him promise he’d call me when he got overseas. Despite the huge burden and inconvenience, he always had. Until I’d married Evan, that was, and I stopped returning his phone calls and emails. Joey was there, and Evan had been here at the time.

Evan. I couldn’t think about him. It hurt too much, and I still grieved when I thought about him. Cheryl had been right: my negligence in Evan’s depression had driven him over the edge, and I’d never stop blaming myself for it. Instead, I turned on my side, pulling the blanket over me, watching Joey sleep. His barely-there stubble was fine on his cheek and his long, dark lashes covered his eyes perfectly.

I felt like a creep. I never watched Evan sleep. But Joey, well, there was something so beautiful about his peacefulness. He reminded me of Zoey; so calm and content. He sighed softly and smiled in his sleep like Zoey did, only his strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me tightly toward him.

Content, I settled into the crook of his arm and kissed him lightly, but he didn’t stir. Why had I waited so long for this? Why had I denied myself this piece of heaven, even in high school?

Maybe because back then, we were awkward teenagers and had no idea where to even start.

But Joey? Joey was all man now. Good Lord, all man. I bit my lip and shut my eyes, remembering our passions of the night before. My heart swelled with love for him, remembering how he treated me like a fragile goddess, like a woman who needed, wanted, to be touched in the most intimate and special ways.

Even with Evan, it had been so different. He had been gentle and kind, but hardly had the libido that I needed—and the military sent him away often the first year we were married. The second year, when I discovered I was pregnant with Zoey, Evan was gone for the first seven months. Any sex drive I once had evaporated into thin air. After Zoey—well, that was another story entirely. You don’t have to worry about birth control when your husband is too depressed to touch you anyway.

Gasping, I pushed away from Joey and shot out of bed, pulling the sheet with me. I stumbled into the bathroom, flicking on the light, and stared at myself in the mirror.

Oh, no, Abigail. What have you done?

My image shocked me. My long, wavy blonde hair was disheveled, even my blurred eye makeup that completed that ‘just screwed’ look wasn’t enough to make me laugh. I was too disgusted with myself to find any humor in it.

Shit, shit, shit.

After Zoey, I bothered with birth control for exactly a month. Enough time for me to give up on the disaster of breastfeeding and realize that Evan, well, wasn’t Evan anymore. I never bothered to refill the prescription. Condoms were just easier for the once in a blue moon event if Evan was in the mood.

I can’t believe that not once last night had it occurred to us to use protection. What was wrong with us? We were both adults. Adults hooked up all the time. They were smart about it. Pregnancy aside, who had Joey been with in the last eight years? There were STDs and HIV to think about, though I doubted that would be an issue.

“Abby? Come back to bed,” Joey called from the other room.

Breathing hard, I shut the bathroom door and called, “Just getting a shower! You should get home. Your mom will be worried!”

Jesus, I felt like a teenager, sneaking around like this. I threw on the shower, turning it to scalding. Oh, no. What if one of my students drove by, and saw his truck in my driveway? It wasn’t a huge town; a few of them knew where I lived by association, despite never giving out that kind of personal information. I just prayed since he was a new student no one knew his truck.

I scrubbed in the shower viciously, holding back the tears. There was nothing I could do now. The damage had already been done. In the future, we really should plan for it.

Future? We?

Hold on—throttle this brake. This was moving too fast. He’d only moved back a few weeks ago, and we’d already slept together. I was delighted and scared, and above all it terrified me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I thought about the arcade last night, and the way he’d won that teddy bear. The one on your desk looked lonely, he had said. Jesus, Joey knew the way to my heart, didn’t he? I’d fallen for it, too: hook, line, and sinker.

The bathroom door opened an inch as I was drying off and Joey poked his head in. His face was worried and disappointed at the same time as he frowned at me. “I’d invite you to breakfast, but my mom is frantic. I gotta go.”

I tugged the towel in front of me, but of course, they were never made for girls my size and didn’t cover much. That hungry look crossed his face and I frowned at him, pushing at the door. “I’ll see you in class,” I said lamely.

“It’s Sunday,” he noted, “we have all day to…well, I can put my mom off a little longer.” He smiled, eying me up and down.

“Just go,” I said, biting my lip. Don’t go, I wanted to say. But I needed him to. Before I said something I regretted. Such as, this is a wrong, all of it.

He shook his head but didn’t question it. “I’ll text you.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

I’ll text you? I wanted to scream at him, as I listened for my front door to close behind him. You make love to me the way no one else eve has, and that’s all you have to say? Faintly, I heard the roar of his truck starting, then fade as he pulled out of the driveway.

I let the breath out I’d been holding. I’ll text you. Ugh. It could have been worse. He could have thrown the ‘L’ word around, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Was I?

As I dressed in the most plain, comfortable clothes I could find—tank top and yoga pants—I picked up and threw away the remnants of our food we had nibbled on around midnight and changed the sheets on my bed. I cursed myself for last night. I was the one who started it, who invited him in, who yanked him through my doorway. As much as I wanted to blame myself, however, I had to remember: it always takes two.

I hoped our mistake last night wouldn’t come back to haunt us.

No sooner had I pulled on my sneakers than my phone buzzed by the table stand. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was just Joey, as I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to tame my wet curls. Then, it buzzed again and again, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

Crap. I checked it.

Mom.

She’d also called six other times.

My heart dropped. Was Zoey sick again? I couldn’t deal with this again this week. Maybe it was that hike in the cold air, and this was all Joey’s fault.

I swiped to answer before my thoughts ran away with me. I’m sure it was just my frantic mother wondering why Zoey didn’t like mashed green beans or something.

“Hey, Mom, sorry, I had my phone on silent last night.”

“Abigail! Thank God!” she nearly screamed. “You have to get over here right now!”

I had never heard her so upset. I nearly dropped the phone. Dad, Lettie, had something… “Mom, what—?”

“Zoey’s gone!”

“What?” I shrieked.

“Someone took her! I called the police.” My mother broke into a sob. “Hurry, Abby, please.”

I jumped to my feet and raced down the stairs to where my purse was still laying, forgotten, by the front door where it had fallen the night before. I rummaged for my keys and came up empty.

“Shit!” I screamed, pounding my fist against the front door. My car was still at the bowling alley from yesterday! Lettie still had my keys! In everything with Joey, I hadn’t even bothered to remind her.

I had to get to my parents’, and now. I threw the door open, fully ready to jog to the bus stop. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the next stop, but it was better than nothing. I couldn’t figure out my car now.

The door opened right into the surprised face of my sister, her hand still raised on the doorbell.

I nearly passed out with relief. The idea of worrying about Zoey on the bus was killing me.

“Abby!” she yelped, holding my keys out with her other hand. “I’m so sorry I forgot. I went and got your car for you. You weren’t answering your phone last night. Hey—”

I snatched the keys from her and pushed past her, slamming the door behind me. “Zoey’s been taken!”

“What!” Lettie yelled behind me.

“I’m headed to Mom’s!”

Lettie’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve got to call work, but I’m coming, too!”

It’s a miracle I made it to my parents’ house a few miles across town without a ticket. I ran two stop signs—thank God no one else was coming—and sped through a residential area as a shortcut. Lettie didn’t say a damn thing. My mind couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. Gone? What? I was partially numb. I couldn’t focus.

I jammed the car into park behind a city police car, while Lettie was still fumbling with her phone and trying to call into work. I raced up the front steps, throwing the front door open. My mother and father were sitting on the couch in the living room right inside the front, holding hands. A uniformed police officer sat opposite them, a notebook in his hand. He looked up as I entered.

“Where’s my daughter?” I strode past them and down the hall to my old bedroom, the one my father had redesigned for Zoey when she came to visit. The room was immaculate as usual, the crib against the window empty except for the pink crocheted blanket that belonged to me as a child. The window was open wide, and the screen had been slit right down the middle and pried open. The hole was only big enough to reach though, so there was no way someone had climbed through.

I raced back to the living room, bracing myself on the edge of the couch before I passed out. “Zoey, where’s Zoey?” I asked again. “Who took her?”

My mother stood and rounded the couch, hugging me tight. Tears were still streaming down her face. My father’s stoic banker face was distraught as well.

The police officer stood up, his pen at the ready. “Are you Mrs. Years? Zoey’s mother?”

“Yes,” I said. I gave him my information.

“Mrs. Years, I’m so sorry this happened. I’ve already radioed this into the station and we have an amber alert out statewide. I just need to ask you, is there an estranged parent possibly?”

I shook my head. I could barely focus. “Her father died. A year ago.”

“Grandparent, maybe?”

I started to shake my head again. My parents were in the room.

Then it hit me. Cheryl.

“Yesterday I ran into my late husband’s mother and brother. They were upset with me.”

“Why is that?” the officer pressed.

I looked at my mother. I was having trouble with words.

“You saw Cheryl?” my mother prompted softly. “Where? I thought she was in Europe?”

“She came back. Her health is bad,” I answered.

“Did you have an altercation yesterday?” the cop interrupted. “Where did this occur?”

I stared at him, trying to focus on the shiny badge on his chest to ground myself. Gritting my teeth, I concentrated as best I could. “At Marlita’s, about one in the afternoon. And not me, directly. My friend, Joseph Harrison, was with me.”

My father lifted an eyebrow, but I ignored him.

“Do you have his contact information?” the officer asked.

I rattled his number and address off by heart.

“Thanks. Now, what happened during this incident?”

I relayed as much as I could remember. As I talked, I felt my pulse slow to normal speed and my heart beat regulate, but I was still in panic mode. Words were hard.

“Why didn’t anyone call the police?” the officer prompted gently.

“He didn’t hit him that I recall. Just pushed him to the ground. I didn’t really see. I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask Joey the rest.”

My mother pulled a chair form the kitchen and I collapsed into it.

“Do you think this” he looked at his notes, “Malachai Years had something do with your daughter’s kidnapping?”

I stared up at the officer. “I’m sure of it, actually.”

“Any idea why he would do such a thing?”

My mother answered for me. “When Abby lived here shortly after her husband died, Cheryl, Malachai’s mother, used to come by unannounced and demand to see Zoey. Abby’s husband committed suicide. It was hard on everyone, especially his mother. Abby refused to let her see Zoey at the time. I think she took it hard.”

“I see,” the cop answered. He came around the couch and put an arm on my shoulder. “Well, I’m fairly confident we can find your daughter. I have one more question, but then you should get some rest, Mrs. Years.”

No shit, I was up all night having sex, my mind protested, but I bit my tongue to avoid an awkward outburst. I was angrier that he was still standing here talking to me and not finding Zoey.

“Do you know where Mr. Years is living at this time?”

“Probably with his mother, out at the resort. I don’t know what their exact address is,” I answered slowly. I wrung my hands together, hard.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Years. Mr. Jameson, Mrs. Jameson.” He nodded to my parents. “I’ve got to relay this to my partners. I will be in touch.” He handed all three of us his cards and turned to let himself out the front door.

“Oh, one more thing, I’m so sorry,” he said gently. “Do you believe Mr. Harrison is in any danger after this altercation yesterday?”

I stared at him.

My father spoke, finally. “Joey was in the Marines for eight years. That boy can take care of himself. It’s Malachai you need to worry about.”

“Understood,” the cop replied. He closed the door behind him.

I turned the card in my hand. Officer Garrett Knowles. I went to tuck it safety in my purse, only to realize I had left it in the car.

Standing, my legs wobbly, I pushed past my sister as she walked in the front door. Mumbling about needing my phone, I stumbled out to my car just as Officer Knowles pulled away from the curb.

Completely drained of energy, I fell across the front seat and fetched my phone from my purse. My fingers didn’t work for texting, so I dialed his number.

He picked up on the first ring. “Ab? Everything okay?”

“No,” I nearly choked on a sob that came so suddenly even I was startled. I almost never cried. “Zoey’s been kidnapped. Malachai took her.”

“Took her? What do you mean?” Joey’s voice was surprised, confused. “Are you at home? I’m on my way back over. I’m literally at the minimart getting coffee down the street.”

“I’m at my parents,” I said lamely. I didn’t know what else to add that didn’t sound like begging. But God, I needed him right now.

“I’m on my way.” He hung up before I could protest.