“You’re taking a big step.” Grandpa rubbed her arm. “Change is scary. You’re going to be all right. You’re tough.”
Morgan nodded. Enough of this emotional bullshit. She didn’t feel tough, but she would fake it. She went into the kitchen and took a container of Chunky Monkey from the freezer. “Am I doing the right thing by the girls? They’ll have to make some pretty big adjustments.”
Grandpa followed her in. “They’ll be fine. They’ll miss you, but their lives won’t change that much. You’re the one who will have the big adjustment.”
Taking a spoon from the drawer, she ate directly from the pint.
Fetching his own spoon, he shuffled up next to her and helped himself. “No one said you had to go back to work. If you’re worried about money, you don’t have to be. Even after I’m gone, I have money put away—”
“Thank you.” Morgan stopped him. Tonight she couldn’t bear to think of losing him too. “I know you’ll always look after us.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “But that’s not it. I haven’t even touched the money from John’s life insurance.” Living back home, she was able to cover her minimal expenses with her survivor benefits.
“I’m glad to see you trying to move forward. If you’re happy, the girls will be too.”
“Thanks. I hope so.” Morgan lifted her head. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll lock up and set the alarm.” Grandpa had installed a security system a few months ago.
Morgan wiped out the pint of ice cream, and then she carried her jacket back to her bedroom, frustrated and feeling the first twinge of a sugar headache.
Going back to work was supposed to alleviate her depression, not increase it.
She stopped in the girls’ room. Three twin beds crowded the space. Six-year-old Ava snuggled with her teddy bear. Five-year-old Mia curled on her side with her stuffed zebra tucked under her arm. Sophie, who didn’t let a simple thing like sleep keep her still, lay flat on her back, all four limbs flung out. She’d tossed her covers to the floor. At three, Sophie was a handful. Who was Morgan kidding? Sophie was going to be a handful at every age. Morgan picked up the blanket and covered her littlest daughter before continuing to her own room down the hall.
She undressed, hanging up her suit and putting on her robe. John stared at her from the photo on her nightstand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she picked it up. She had better photos of him, formal pics taken in his dress uniform, but it was this one that spoke to her heart. Sweat glistened on his tanned brow, and his face was deployment-thin under a head of unruly dark hair. Dressed in tan BDUs, he laughed against the desert backdrop. That was John. Always looking at the bright side.
If he were here right now, he’d say, You can do this, babe.
“I’m trying. I miss you,” she said to his photo.
Heaviness settled over her. She opened the nightstand drawer and contemplated the sealed envelope in the back. No. Not ready for that. She closed the drawer. Setting his picture on the nightstand, she eased onto the pillow.
She’d taken the first, huge step toward getting her life back. That would have to be enough for today.
The sound of the phone ringing startled her. She lifted her head, confused. Her bedroom was brightly lit. She glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. She must have fallen asleep. It took her a few seconds to realize it wasn’t her cell that was ringing but the house phone. No one called on that line except telemarketers. The caller ID read Palmer.
Morgan lifted the receiver, expecting to hear the echo of a call center in the background. “Hello?”
“Morgan?” a woman’s voice asked, the rising pitch projecting anxiety.
“Yes,” Morgan said.
“This is Evelyn Palmer, Tessa’s grandmother.”
Morgan sat up straighter. Tessa was her occasional babysitter.
“What time did Tessa leave your house?” Mrs. Palmer asked.
Still groggy, Morgan said, “Tessa wasn’t here tonight.”
The line went quiet.
Morgan propped herself on an elbow. “Mrs. Palmer? What happened?”
“Tessa is gone.”
“What?” Morgan shifted the phone. She couldn’t have heard that correctly.
“We had a big fight yesterday, and she left.” Mrs. Palmer’s voice cracked. “She said she was going to spend the night at her friend’s house, but I called Felicity’s mother. Tessa didn’t go to the Webers’ house.”
She’d lied.
“So you haven’t seen her since yesterday?” Morgan asked.
“Yes.” Over the connection, Mrs. Palmer sobbed. “Since Tessa has been babysitting for you every Friday night, I hoped you’d seen her. Then at least we’d know she was all right.”
“Tessa hasn’t babysat for me for weeks,” Morgan said.
“So she lied about that too.” Mrs. Palmer went quiet.
Morgan set her pillow aside and climbed off the bed. Tossing her robe on the bed, she rooted in her dresser drawer for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “Have you called the police?”
“We’d thought she’d cool off and come home tonight. But it’s almost midnight and she’s not here.” Mrs. Palmer sniffed. “I’ll call the police now, but I don’t know what they can do. She’s eighteen.”
“Have you tried to locate her cell phone?”
“I wouldn’t know how to do that,” Mrs. Palmer said.
“Do you need help looking for her?” As she offered, Morgan felt under her chair for her canvas sneakers.
“I don’t know. I keep thinking she’s going to pull into the driveway any second. My husband is driving around now. I’m not allowed to drive at night anymore.”
Mr. Palmer probably shouldn’t be driving at night either. Tessa’s parents had died in a car accident when she was twelve, and her grandparents had been raising her for the last six years. Unlike Morgan’s robust grandfather, the Palmers were plagued with medical problems.
“I’m getting dressed.” Morgan found the shoes. “I’ll be at your house in a few minutes.”
“Oh, thank you.” Relief softened Mrs. Palmer’s tone. “I’m calling the police and her friends.”
Morgan ended the call, set the phone back in its cradle, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Picking up her shoes, she left her bedroom barefoot. The phone call had rattled her, and she took a minute to peek into her daughters’ room. In the slant of light from the hall, she could see three dark heads nestled on pillows. The tiny shiver of relief made her feel almost guilty.
Poor Mrs. Palmer.
Morgan couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than having one of her girls missing.
She went into the kitchen. Footsteps scuffed in the hall.
Her grandfather came through the doorway, putting one hand on the frame for balance. He wore a navy-blue robe over tailored cotton pajamas. “What’s wrong?”
“That was Evelyn Palmer. Tessa didn’t come home tonight.” Morgan filled him in on the phone call as she sat down in a chair and slipped her bare feet into her shoes. Her grandfather walked forward, his leather slippers dragging on the tile, one steadying hand sliding along the wall.