Written in the Scars(78)

I need my husband. I need to hear his voice.

Quick steps lead me to my purse in my bottom desk drawer. Shaky hands tug at the zipper and retrieve my cell.

“Let him be home,” I whisper as another tug rips through my insides. “Please. Let him be home.”

Tears build in the corner of my eyes as I unlock my screen to see no missed calls and no texts. It’s ten o’clock, seven minutes past, to be exact, and I can’t fight the flicker in the back of my mind that it’s odd I haven’t heard from him at all.

I tell myself he’s probably just exhausted and grabbed a shower and fell asleep as I find his name in my favorites list. My finger is on his picture, “My Love” printed across the top, ready to drop and place the call when a knock reverberates through my classroom.





ELIN

My hand hovers over his name and I teeter on the verge of not answering the door and going through with the call. That answer is made for me.

It pushes open and Mr. Walters, the elementary school principal, pokes his head around it. “Elin?”

Blowing out a hasty breath, I sit the phone down. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Walters. Can I help you?”

He steps through the opening.

I suck in a soft breath.

Gloom is written all over his tight features. He clears his throat and stands tall. “I don’t really know how to say this, Elin, but can you get your things and come with me, please?”

“Um, sure. Is . . . is everything all right?”

A million thoughts run through my head—have I been fired? Has someone filed a report against me?

“Blackwater Coal called the office a few minutes ago and asked that you come to their headquarters immediately,” he says softly.

“Why would they do that?”

I’m afraid to ask, but even more terrified of the answer. When Ty got hurt, they called my phone and asked me to meet the ambulance at the hospital. My phone hasn’t rung today. I check it again. No missed calls.

Why would they call the school?

It occurs to me, just as a slight quiver to Mr. Walters’ composure sets in, that I might prefer that question to remain unanswered. My legs go numb, as do my hands that reach furiously for my things.

He’s talking, but I’m mentally removed from this moment. It’s some sort of survival mechanism, I’m sure. If I can just come up with a decent reason, it will make it all right.

Maybe Ty tested positive for drugs and I need to pick him up?

Instantly, I’m relieved at the idea. That we can deal with.

Yes, I’ll pick him up and rip him a new asshole and make him get professional help this time. Real help, not some self-detox in the—

“ . . . accident, Elin.”

My head jerks to the front of the room.

“What did you say?”

He’s watching me like you look at the family standing beside a casket, like you want to seem all warm and familial, yet you’re afraid in their current state they may completely melt down. It’s a look that’s friendly, yet mixed with sadness, and one I hate. It’s also one I can’t process at the moment because my mind is stuck on that one little word.

“Accident?” I ask, my voice too loud for the room. “What accident? Who’s been in an accident?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” he says and I believe him. The lines on his face soften. “They just asked that you arrive as quickly as possible. Can I give you a ride?”



The car flies down the highway, past the fields now waiting on spring to arrive for the next crop. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, nothing feels different than any other Thursday morning, except I’m in Mr. Walters’ car going a wild rate of speed as I try to get ahold of Lindsay.

Every time it rings, it goes dead.

“Shit!” I say, ending yet another failed attempt at getting through. “I can’t take this.”

My head falls in my hands and I force air in then out of my lungs. My heart is beating violently in my chest as every worst-case scenario fires through my brain.

“Elin, if it was anything incredibly wrong, don’t you think we’d have heard it on the radio? Or gotten some wind of it in the media?” His hand lands on my knee and I stare at it. It feels heavy, the weight of it sitting awkwardly on my leg. He withdraws it quickly.

“I don’t know,” I reply, wishing he’d shut up. I know he’s trying to help, but I need to think. I scroll to Ty’s name and call his number for the hundredth time.

Straight to voice mail.

My hand shakes uncontrollably as I concentrate on my breathing and I try to convince myself this is going to be okay.

Feeling my phone buzz in my hand, I jump. “Hey!” I say as soon as I swipe it on. “Lindsay? Where are you?”