I groan, or maybe whimper, as I get up to put the scrapbook away. Maybe I should lock it in the entertainment center, and then throw away the key. Then I wouldn’t ever have to open the scrapbook again.
Hmmm.
The cabinet stares at me, mocking me, telling me I can’t do it.
I throw the book in there and slam it closed. I know I won’t ever be able to lock it away, but I do need to step away from it.
Blowing a piece of hair out of my face, annoyed with how long it has gotten, I toss my hair in a messy bun and drag my feet along the hardwood floors to the kitchen. I need a glass of wine.
Or a bottle.
Two bottles.
Yeah, that sounds good. I open the bottle cabinet where Blaire keeps her wine stash. Every time she goes to the store, she picks up a bottle of cheap, five-dollar wine. She says it’s to prepare for rainy days. Well, now we have thirty bottles of wine, and today is a rainy day for me.
So, I’m just going to grab… “Let’s see.” I rummage through the reds, trying to get to the whites. “Ah, Moscato. The forgotten.” I grab two bottles of it, not even bothering to grab a glass because it’s just one of those days, you know?
I sit back down on the couch and screw off the top—yes, it’s so cheap it doesn’t even have a cork—and take a swig. Right at the moment the liquid hits my lips, my phone rings. I down the sip quickly and pull the bottle away from my lips, a few drops falling down my chin as I reach for my cell on the table. My brows pinch as I see an unknown number calling me. I swallow the sweet, peach flavor of the Moscato and swipe my finger to answer.
I don’t usually take calls from numbers I don’t know, but my instincts screamed for me to answer it.
“Hello?” I greet.
“Is this Everly Madison? Daughter of Barbara Michaels?” The deep tone of the man’s voice on the other end of the line has my spine straightening.
“Yes, this is she.” I place the bottle down on the coffee table. I’ve seen movies. It’s never a good thing when someone asks that question. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to my mother?”
My heart races. Sweat builds over my brow. It gets hot. Too hot. My brain is shutting down. I want to pass out, but I can’t.
“This is Deputy Josh Kendall in Denver, Colorado. I got a report from Mountains Retreat, the resort your folks are staying at.”
Blah, folks. My mom is my folk, not Mr. Michaels. “Yes? Are they okay? Did they get arrested or something? My mom can get kind of crazy on champagne.” I bet that’s it. My mom sometimes thinks she is still in college. “What did my mother do?”
“Well, the resort has filed a missing persons report. Neither of your parents have been seen from the hike they took around thirty-six hours ago. We’ve checked the room they are staying in, and they aren’t there, but their stuff is, leading me to believe they are lost on the mountain. We searched today, but we can’t find them. A bad snowstorm is coming, and time is crucial. I recommend you get here as soon as possible.”
The breath whooshes from my lungs, and the room starts to spin. No, not my mom. Please, not my mom, too.
“You’re sure?” I struggle to say. “Maybe they went somewhere else last minute.” Probably not. Mom always wanted to go to Denver, and Mr. Michaels made that dream come true for her. But I had to hope.
“I’m sure, ma’am. There is a chance your parents are still alive. There are a lot of caves and cliffs they can seek shelter under, but every hour that passes that we don’t find them is another hour that storm gets closer. When that storm hits…”
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. It speaks for itself. When that storm hits, they are probably dead. “Okay, okay. Can you give me the information of the resort again, please?” I wipe my tears on my shoulder, trying not to soak the paper in front of me. I click the pen and write down everything he says.
After I hang up, I fight through the tears and book a ticket with the remainder of the money I have in my account. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there, but I’ll figure out something. My flight leaves in three hours, but instead of hurrying to pack, I grab the bottle of wine again and chug.
Not my mom. Please.
Chapter 13 Rowan
The hum of the plane jolts me awake as we land. The tires squeal against the pavement, burning, and dust and smoke from the friction drifts into the air. My body springs forward from the momentum. Once the airplane slows, a ding rings overhead, and the captain welcomes us to Denver, Colorado.
I rub my eyes, dreading getting off this hunk of metal. I’m not quite sure how this day is going to go. Getting a call saying my father and Barbara were missing plucked a few strings of fear in me, and not knowing anything about the situation has kept me unsettled.
A sigh escapes my lips as the seatbelt sign turns off, telling us it is okay to get up and de-board. I’m in first class, and I don’t feel like getting up, but if I don’t, I’ll be stuck in this seat for twenty minutes. What’s the point of getting first class, just to wait for everyone else to get off?
I duck, avoiding the curve of the luggage bin above me, and step into the
