Jazzy ignored her phone, just like she’d been doing for the past twelve hours. She caught the flash of Fabi’s name on the screen, and a pinch of guilt traveled down her spine. But her sister could wait.

“You sure about this?” Starlee held the bottle of hair dye, her hands already gloved, her eyes full of doubt.

“Completely sure.”

“Maybe you should just talk to Fabi first.”

“Fabi doesn’t get to decide what color my hair is.” Not anymore. Not again. Jazzy was tired of being passed over in favor of her sister, or a job, or a stupid bird. A bird. Not that becoming a brunette would change that, but her hair color was something she could control, and those items were in limited supply at the moment.

“Maybe you should take a night to sleep on it.”

“I slept on it.” Jazzy had done very little sleeping, but Starlee could probably tell that just from the bags under Jazzy’s eyes.

The stylist drew in a deep breath. “All right.” She applied the toner to Jazzy’s hair, the coolness of it meeting her scalp and sending a wave of relaxation through her tense muscles. All Fabi had to do was get online and look at Jazzy’s bank account to figure out where she’d stayed last night. There was only one hotel in Beaverton, but it had been far enough outside of Brush Creek City limits to satisfy Jazzy.

Max had called twice, and Jazzy had sudden clarity as to why Ed hadn’t wanted to speak to Fabi. She may have blamed him for a day or two, but she saw now that his reasons for taking a break were valid.

That was all she needed. A break. Some time to figure out what she really wanted with her life. All she knew right now was that she wasn’t continuing it as a blonde.

Max glared at his phone like it was the reason Jazzy hadn’t called him back. He’d been at his desk for ten minutes, and he hadn’t moved a muscle. Hadn’t fired up his computer. Hadn’t opened a file. He just needed to talk to her.

Ed entered, and he cast Max a look that reminded Max of a kicked dog. “What?” he practically barked.

“Fabi’s worried about Jazzy,” he said, his voice completely level. “I guess she didn’t come home last night.”

Max’s heart dove for the floor, burrowing through his other organs, causing them to twist painfully. “She didn’t?” He stood but Ed gave him a stern shake of his head.

“She’s looking for her now.”

“I’ll call her.”

“I bet you’ve done that already.” Ed shifted piles around his desk like he was really organizing it. Max had seen this diversion many times, and he knew that Ed didn’t organize anything. The man’s house looked like a bomb went off on a daily basis. His dogs didn’t help, as they liked to chew stuffed animals until the stuffing was strewn all over the place.

Max sat down, looking as helpless as Ed had ever seen him. “Leave it for now,” he said.

“But what if she’s hurt?”

Ed gave his best friend a pointed look. “Of course she’s hurt.”

Confusion pulled at Max’s brows, ran rampant through his system. “What does that mean?”

“It means you chose to stay home and take care of your sister’s bird over coming to meet your girlfriend’s family.” Ed spoke slowly, in his calm paramedic voice, and though Max had done that, he didn’t realize he had done that.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said, the words not quite lining up in the right order. Or maybe they were in the right order. Maybe he’d just never put them together quite that way.

“Of course she is. You’ve been dating her for almost two months. You’re kissing her and all of that. What would you call that?” Ed jiggled his mouse and the black screen of his computer brightened. As if he was going to do any work right now. He hadn’t even taken a sip of his coffee yet.

“Birdy was freaking out.” Max realized how lame his excuse was. But he hadn’t wanted to leave the fowl as he didn’t want to disturb Matilda, who hadn’t been feeling well. His intentions were good. Weren’t they?

“I have to talk to Jazzy,” he said.

“Give her some time,” Ed said. “I know she probably needs it.”

“But she should know—”

“And you’ve got to do something about that bird,” he continued as if Max hadn’t said anything at all. “And probably your whole house.”

“My whole house?”

Ed removed his hand from his mouse and looked at Max. “What have you thrown away since Irina moved out?”

Max opened his mouth, a whole stream of words parading through his mind. None of them came out.

“Exactly,” Ed said. “I’ll come over on Saturday. We’ll purge. Then you can call Jazzy.”

“She’ll call me before then,” Max said, his voice full of confidence he didn’t feel.

Ed grunted, and that ended their conversation. By lunchtime, Max found himself praying for a multi-car accident he could run off to. At least then he would feel useful.

Nothing came in. Not even the silly schnauzer who liked to climb on top of the barn. Max made it home and glanced next door to Matilda’s place. He couldn’t hear Birdy, though a dog barked somewhere down the street. The air was still, deathly almost, and Max went past his front door in favor of Matilda’s, his paramedic radar pinging in his head.

He knocked and called, “Matilda? You home?” Her car was in the driveway, not an inch out of its usual place. Somehow, something was wrong. “Matilda?” He tried the door and found it open, as usual.

Her little lap dog, a puffy white Bichon Frise that Matilda had had as long as he’d known her, streaked past him, a couple of yaps coming from its mouth. The dog bounded down the steps and relieved itself on the lawn while Max turned his attention back to the house.

It smelled like the whole place needed to be aired out, and he left the front door open as he entered. A plate holding a single piece of toast sat on the dining room table, the only oddity in the house.

He called dispatch and asked if anyone had been sent to her address. Nope. But Matilda wasn’t here, and she should’ve been. She hadn’t been feeling well.

“You must be Max.”

He spun at the masculine voice, his muscles tensing to fight or run. A tall man stood in the living room dressed in business attire, the tie around his neck seeming to throttle him.

“I am.” Max glanced at the little dog who’d followed the man inside without so much as a warning yip. “Who are you?”

“I’m Charlie,” he said, extending his hand. “My mother speaks about you often.”

“Charlie.” Max smiled and shook the man’s hand. “Matilda talks about you all the time too.” He glanced at the cold toast. “Where is she?”

“She called last night and said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Yeah, she mentioned it to me too.”

Charlie nodded and loosened his tie. “When she mentioned chest pains, I got in the car and drove here from Salt Lake. I took her to the hospital about midmorning. They’re keeping her overnight for monitoring.” He sank onto the couch, making it look like a child-sized piece of furniture. “I hate hospitals.”

Max had had plenty of his own experiences inside of hospitals. “I hear you.”

“Aren’t you a paramedic?”

“Yes. The hospital is usually a beacon of relief. But I’ve…I’ve seen plenty outside the scope of my job.” He didn’t need to give Charlie the details of Irina’s fertility issues. The pain he’d endured mentally and emotionally while she dealt with all of that, plus a physical aspect of their loss.

“Well, I’ll leave you to relax.” Max stepped toward the door. “Sorry to barge in. I was concerned.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad my mother has a neighbor looking after her.” Charlie gave him a tired smile, and Max went home. He wished he had one of Ed’s dogs to greet him. Instead, all he had was that messy bird.

He stood just inside the doorway, the birdcage on his right, the rest of his house spreading out before him. Every item he looked at brought a memory of his first wife. When she’d bought the rug. Where she’d picked out the couches. Why they’d painted the mantle a smoky shade of gray instead of black, the way he’d wanted to.

As he stood there, he realized that Jazzy would never be comfortable in this house his ex-wife had built. How he’d lived here for five years with the constant reminders was a sudden mystery to him.

“You haven’t been living.” His voice whispered through the house, lifted toward the ceiling, full of truth and power. He hadn’t realized it, but he honestly hadn’t been truly living. He got up. He ate breakfast. He went to work. He saved people. Came home and fed the bird. Mowed Matilda’s lawn on weekends.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

He didn’t want to simply repeat the same day anymore, especially this one without Jazzy in it.

Desperate and afraid, he dialed her again. It had been almost twenty-four hours since he’d texted and then called to say he couldn’t come to her family dinner. She didn’t answer, and Max slumped into the dining room chair closest to him.

Birdy yelped at him for more bird seed, or more water, or just because he felt like making a fuss.

Max ignored him and instead decided to cancel dinner with his family on Saturday night. He wasn’t feeling confident anymore that he and Jazzy would be in a place to go together. With that done, he faced the house again.

He didn’t even know where to start the purging. At least he could see that it now needed to be done. Glancing at Birdy, who clung to his cage with his clawed feet, Max said, “Starting with you.”

He reached for his phone and called Cathy. “Look,” he said in his nicest big-brother voice. “I have to get rid of Birdy. What would you like me to do with him?”