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When 17-year-old Arbor Hayes' best friend turns up alive after a mysterious six-month disappearance, she must piece together the fragments of her story to make sense of what happened. But as clues e...
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When I'm back in my room, I pull Emma's license from my pocket and sink onto my mattress, turning the laminated card over in my hands. Cooper molds himself to the small of my back as I study every detail.
It's definitely hers. The picture and expiration date are exactly as they should be.
So why did she tell the police it was missing?
I need to give Jordan an update and let her know what I found. But when I reach for the phone, my stomach takes an unexpected dip.
No new notifications.
In the back of my head, I hoped Smith would call to clear things up between us, but I guess he's not ready to talk. Apparently Mey's given up on me, too. After I avoided her all day, who can blame her? She's giving me space, which is exactly what I wanted. So why does it make me feel like shit?
I push down the disappointment, take a calming breath, and pull Jordan's number up on the screen. It rings three times before going to voicemail.
Shit.
It's just after eight. By the time I left the hospital, her eyes had drooped into slits. She must be sleeping. She did just get out of a coma after all, and we learned in health class that our bodies repair themselves while we sleep.
Jordan needs all the sleep she can get. If our visit taught me anything, it's that she has a long way to go before she's back on her feet. In the meantime, I should try to get some rest myself. If I'm going to expose Emma, I'll need to keep my wits about me.
I kick off my boots and head downstairs, Cooper batting at my heels as I bounce down the steps. Mom is still snuggled under a blanket with her book. When she glances up, her sleek black readers are perched on the end of her nose. "How's the homework going?"
"It's done." I stretch my arms over my head and yawn, some of the tension leaching from my muscles. "And that means it's time for bed."
Her dark eyes flick toward the clock. "But it's not even eight-thirty."
"I haven't been sleeping well," I say as I continue toward the kitchen. "I'm going to take Benadryl with my medicine. Maybe that will help."
"Don't take more than one. I don't want you to overdo it."
"I know, I know." I feel her eyes on me as I disappear around the corner, knowing full well I'm going to take two.
Outside, heavy clouds cover the moon and an eerie darkness stretches across the lawn. Tree branches claw at the side of the house and I can already make out drops of rain clinging to the windows. I reach into the cabinet and pull out my bedtime medications, but when I pop off the first lid, I'm surprised to see there's only one left.
How had I not noticed that before? I always order ahead of time to avoid running out. The last thing I want is to be left empty-handed.
"If I call the pharmacy, can you pick up my prescriptions on your way home tomorrow?" I call into the living room.
