CHAPTER 29
Sam
“Have you heard from Cory?” Hannah asks.
I roll my eyes, because what’s the expression? If I had a dollar for every time she asked me. I know one thing, I sure as heck wouldn’t be here unloading boxes in a musty storeroom. There’s more sweat under my arms and behind my neck than if I’d just run the Boston marathon. This is a guess, of course. I don’t believe in things like running long distances. Or exercise in general.
“Still no.” I sing the words much like a tired mom would sing demands. Brush your teeth…go to bed…leave me the heck alone. Hannah doesn’t catch the tone.
“Do you think he’ll call? I don’t understand why he would leave the way he did. It doesn’t make sense.” She opens a box and peers inside, then shuts it with a grimace. Where our inventory is concerned, the news is getting worse and worse.
“He probably just lost interest.” It’s harsh and not something I want to keep telling myself, but that is the only answer I can think of. No matter how many times I’ve analyzed his departure in my mind, it all points back to the same glaring black mark on our relationship. He’s a famous musician who rubs shoulders with the wealthy and powerful on a daily basis. I’m a wanna-be indie author who rubs shoulders with the dust inside an old antique store. To quote The Hunger Games, the odds aren’t in our favor. Especially not mine. They never were.
“There’s no way he lost interest in you,” Hannah protests.
I shrug. “Then maybe the guilt got to him. Maybe he thought it was too morbid to consider dating the girl whose sister was hit with his tour bus.” I’m being sarcastic in the worst way possible and the words sound wrong. And bitter. But what else am I supposed to think? Even the tabloids have questioned the fate of our friendship. This morning’s headline made me angry enough to consider taking a hammer to my computer: Minor Flees Springfield, Leaving Older Sister Crushed by His Departure. Catchy. Original. And just the latest in a long string of tacky quips.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Hannah asks.
Of course I don’t. But maybe I do. I don’t know anymore. I tell her as much.
“I don’t really care.” It’s only a small lie. “I have more important things to think about than Cory Minor’s ever-changing moods.”
That seems to put an end to the questions, and we work in silence for the next half hour. Hannah fills up a garbage bag with ruined products, and I head to the back room to retrieve another one. The front door opens and closes in the minutes it takes to find what I need.
“Sam, you have a package. It’s a pretty big box,” Hannah calls.
I turn on my heel and head back her direction just as the delivery man drives away. Hannah is studying the mailing label, but the address is one I don’t recognize. But then I remember last time, I’ve been here before. My heart breaks into a gallop, and I reach for the scissors. Hannah gasps when the tape falls away and I peel back the lid.
“Your books! There are so many of them!” Unable to contain her excitement, Hannah reaches for a copy and stares at the cover. “I thought you weren’t releasing it for a few more weeks.”
“I’m not. These are proofs. Not for sale.”
“Sam, they’re beautiful.”
Hannah is right, they are. I gaze over her shoulder at the vivid colors, the picture of two girls walking side by side, barefoot on a white sandy beach. One girl wears a pair of denim cutoffs and a tank top, long chestnut hair blowing in the breeze. The other girl is slightly shorter and carries a pair of sandals dangling from her fingers, her profile hinting at a soft smile lining her lips. It is the kind of realistic picture that makes you want to climb inside and join them on their walk beside those white-capped waves on that perfect, cloudless afternoon.
Much like today.
“Oh Sam, the picture looks just like—”
“I know.” I study it, working hard to breathe around the cotton in my throat. “I thought the same thing when I first saw the image a few months ago. I didn’t realize how timely the photo would come to be, though.” I can’t take my eyes off the cover. I’d always wanted to take Kassie to the beach, but we never went. There was never enough time, I always planned to do it later. Isn’t that the motto of most people’s lives? Later. As though later is a given rather than a moment in time that slips easily through the fingers.
“You should send Cory a copy.” Hannah returns the book to the box, and the moment sours. It’s a terrible idea, one I won’t even entertain. I ignore the comment and close the box. Balancing it on my hip, I turn to face Hannah.
“Do you need me to stick around? If not, I’m going to head home.” I’m exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Completely stressed from a day that has taken me through more twists and turns than is fair for a woman my age. I’m twenty-five years old and feel three decades past that.
“No, you can go.” Hannah speaks around a paperclip pressed between her lips. “Go get some rest, and thanks for coming in on your day off.”
“No problem.” With a sigh, I back out the front door and into the early evening air. The sky is pink and orange, in the throes of a full-on sunset. I prop the box against my car door and take it in for a minute, then rummage through my purse for keys. Opening the door, I hear the phone ringing just before the sound stops. I haven’t given it a thought since I threw it in the back seat earlier. Of course now I have to find it.
Stretching myself across the floorboard, I check under the seats, feeling around with my hand in the near darkness. I’m not exactly the neatest freak around, so I’m more than a little worried about what I might find. My hand brushes over a pen. An Old Navy receipt. A McDonald’s wrapper from who knows when, complete with dried ketchup on the side. I swipe a finger across the carpet to remove the stickiness from my knuckle. Disgusting. But of course there’s no phone. I’m on the verge of giving up when a voicemail alert chimes from across the seat. Crawling over my box of books, I find the phone standing upright between the back door and passenger seat.
Breathing heavy, I stand up and check the screen. Four missed calls and two voicemails, all from a number I don’t recognize. In no mood to talk to anyone, I roll my eyes and drop the phone into my bag. Just as it slides inside the phone rings again out of spite, so I have to fish around for it. I hate technology.
“Hello?” I bite the word into the air in front of me.
A throat clears. A male voice. “Hello. Is this Sam?” There’s something in his tone. I recognize the voice, but I can’t place it.
“Yes. Can I help you?” I’m nervous but I don’t know why.
A long sigh, followed by silence. I picture the man pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to compose himself. It seems like a silly image until he breathes, “Thank God.”
That’s when it starts to come together. “How did you get my number?”
“From your landlord, sorry.” I consider getting angry but he keeps talking and there’s no time. “I had to talk to you. This is Kyle. I’m Cory’s brother?”
He tells me his name like it’s a riddle I can’t solve. I’ve solved it. I’ve solved it a hundred times in two seconds flat and now my heart is racing.
“What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “It’s Cory. He’s in trouble, and I need your help.”