Her car isn't here, either.
The house is dark.
He parks the Mercedes out front near the shabby porch and cuts the engine. I make no move to get out. She isn't anywhere around. I'm no closer to answers than I was hours ago in Brooklyn. "She's not here."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Come on," Naz says. "Let's have a look anyway."
I don't argue, getting out of the car and following him onto the porch. He pauses and knocks on the door, and although it's silly, because I've already told him she wasn't here, I'm touched by the respect that shows.
He waits, knocking until I grow impatient, pushing past him and reaching for the knob. I think it's senseless, considering she keeps a dozen locks on her door, so I'm astonished when the knob turns smoothly.
The door creeks as it opens, the sound running through me, turning my worry into fear. She wouldn't leave her door unlocked like this, not intentionally, not unless she had no other choice. My heart is pounding hard, thumping painfully in my chest, and blurring my vision. Bile burns my throat that I swallow back as I whisper, "Something's not right."
In fact, it's terribly, terribly wrong.
Naz says nothing, stepping past me into the house. He strolls down the hallway in front of me, his footsteps heavy against the old wood. I follow him, flicking on lights as I go to get a better look. Everything seems in place, exactly as I recall it last time I was here. There's no sign of a struggle, no sign of any sort of foul play, and although that should ease my concern, it does little to help me.
It's like she vanished into thin air.
"Killer?" I call out, wondering if he's around anywhere. "Killer!"
Naz's footsteps stop abruptly as he turns to me. "Kill who?"
"It's our dog … Killer."
"Ah." He glances around. "Looks like the dog's gone, too."
I check the other rooms, eventually making it to my mother's bedroom, tensing when I open the door and finding the first sign of disarray. Things are strewn around, drawers left open and clothing torn from hangers. Her suitcases-suitcases I've seen stuffed with belongings over a dozen times in my life-aren't on the bottom of her closet, where she always kept them stored.
She's gone.
And she left in a hurry.
"She ran."
I turn to Naz in the doorway when he speaks. "What?"
"It looks like she ran out of here," he says. "Like she was running from something."
"Or someone," I say, shaking my head.
"Why do you say that?"
"She's been running my entire life, from someone, or to someone … I don't know. It's like she's chasing a ghost."
"Or a ghost is chasing her."
"Yeah," I whisper. "Guess it caught up to her again."
I stroll through the room, looking through drawers, rifling through the things she left behind as Naz walks out. Down the hallway, I hear the answering machine click on as Naz presses the button to listen to the messages. My voice echoes through the house, message after message, growing more worried with each one.
I pull open the top drawer of her dresser. It's mostly empty, but some stray things remain. I sort through it, finding a Polaroid picture, and pick it up. It's old and faded, a much younger version of my mother that looks startlingly like the woman I see when I look in a mirror.
It's strange, seeing her look this way, so used to the stressed woman who raised me, age showing on her face, hair prematurely gray. I clearly got my looks from her, though. She's with another woman in the picture, a stunning brunette with olive skin. The words 'best friends forever' are scribbled on the bottom in a foreign handwriting.
I don't know the woman, never saw her picture before. It surprises me, seeing my mother so normal. She had a best friend.
"Did you find something?"
Naz is back in the doorway, startling me when he speaks. I shake my head, tossing the Polaroid down on the dresser. "Just an old picture."
I plop down on her cold unmade bed. I wonder how long it has been since it was slept in. Days? Weeks? Since the last time I was here?
Naz strolls over, pausing in front of the dresser, as he looks down at the picture. He gazes at it for a minute in silence.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
He doesn't turn around, his shoulders tensing at my apology. "For what?"
"For wasting your time," I say. "For having you drive the whole way up here for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," he says, turning around. "At least we know now."
I leave Naz in there to go to my room, scrounging up some of my belongings. I don't know when, or if, my mother will ever come back here, and I don't want to just abandon everything. Naz surfaces, loading my things into the car. I give one last look around the house, locking the door as I leave, feeling bad for leaving so much behind but I can't take it all with me.
Naz is quiet on the drive home. It feels so much longer than the drive there. He said at least we know now, but he's wrong. I feel like I understand less than I did hours ago.
"She'll come for you."
My brow furrows as I glance at Naz, barely making out his face in the darkness. We're nearing Brooklyn again. Neither of us has said a word in hours. "What?"
"Your mother," he says. "She'll come for you."
"How do you know?"
"Because I told you-only a coward leaves their family."
The cafe is quiet with school out, the students that frequent the area day after day all gone for the summer. I sit in the usual seat I planted myself in weekly for studying, sipping my warm chocolate mint tea. It tastes like a liquid peppermint patty, rich and creamy, something that always made Melody cringe.
At the thought of my friend, I glance at the nearby clock and sigh. She's late, unsurprisingly. I'm not even sure if she's still coming. I haven't heard from her all day. Naz is working, so I came into the city on my own, making plans to spend some time with my friend. He left me some cash, a whole lot of cash, and my own house keys so I can come and go.
I guess that officially makes it my place now, too. Weird.
I take another drink, savoring it, when I hear Melody's voice behind me. "Well, I guess some things never change."
I turn around, eyes widening as I look at her. Her usual blonde hair is now bright platinum, stark red and black streaks running through it.
"Do you like?" she asks, fluffing up her hair. "Switching up on you ordinary bitches."
I laugh, shaking my head. "It's very you."
"Right? I thought so, too." She orders a coffee and plops down across from me, sipping on it before she launches into her usual rambling, going on and on about what she's done already this summer (way too much) and how things with Paul are (better than she hoped but man, he needs to get a job), before she flips the script right back to me. "So how's engaged life?"
"Fine," I say, shrugging.
"Fine," she echoes. "That's it? Fine?"
I shrug. "Yeah, fine."
She rolls her eyes at my response, launching into a dozen questions: When's the wedding? Where? Do you have a dress? Who's all invited? Can I see the ring again? I humor her, although I haven't given much of it any thought.
"So what are you going to do next year?" she asks. "You know, since your GPA wasn't high enough to keep your scholarship."
I think I preferred wedding talk to this. I let out a sigh, shrugging. I've tried not to think about it, but it's been lingering there, in the back of my mind. I've got a tuition bill coming that I could never pay. I know Naz says what's his is mine, but how can I ask for thousands to pay for my classes? "I'll figure it out."
"You better," she says. "We totally need to take this class together-Ethics & Society."
"Hell no," I say. "Fuck no. Shit no. No more philosophy classes."
She laughs. "Come on, it'll be easy."
I ball up a napkin and throw it at her. "Negative."
She shrugs, finishing off her coffee. "Your loss."
She can't stay long, having to meet her parents for lunch across town. I bid her goodbye, making plans to meet here again next week, and she starts to walk away but pauses after a few steps. "Oh, I almost forgot! This came for you the other day … it was sent to the dorm room."
She tosses an envelope down on the table. I glance at it, seeing no return address, but the handwriting strikes me as familiar … my mother's.
I finish off my drink and throw it away before heading for the door. I tear open the envelope, yanking out the single sheet of notebook paper, and unfold it. It was scribbled hastily, no sweet greeting or small talk, straight to the point.