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Chapter 30
Red
Iwas relieved when we returned to Sunville. Las Vegas was too crazy for my liking, too loud and flashy and hot. Sunville, on the other hand, was quiet, unassuming, and cool, hidden away amongst tall pine trees in the shadow of a long, jagged mountain range.
Cash’s surgery was a success, but his gloomy attitude would have fooled anyone into thinking he had some sort of terminal illness. While he could be irritating at times, I much preferred the chatty version of my best friend over this one.
He was sullen and bitter, having said maybe five whole sentences since our return. And while he never once spoke her name, I knew exactly who was occupying his thoughts all day.
We hadn’t heard from Julia since she called things off. I was tempted to reach out myself, but none of us were in a particularly good place.
She was scared, I was frustrated, Cash was depressed, and Dylan was lost. Trying to call her now might drive a bigger wedge between us.
Her absence didn’t go unnoticed.
I missed the sound of her voice, the brightness of her smile, the light bubbliness of her laugh. I missed the smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin tucked against me in bed, the way the whole room seemed to light up when she walked in.
Not a minute went by that I wasn’t worried about her. What was she doing now that she was out of a job? Was she going to try and look for work elsewhere? Would this scandal ruin her chances of being taken seriously again? Wherever she was and whatever she was up to, I prayed she would land on her feet.
Dylan brought the ax down hard, splitting the log into two halves. He’d been chopping wood for the better part of two hours now, working up a sweat.
Cash was seated in his wheelchair on the cabin’s porch, watching us work in silence. I busied myself stacking the wood, organizing the logs in piles because there was little else to do.
We either kept ourselves occupied with busywork or risked thinking about other, more unpleasant things.
“Are reporters still harassing your family at work?” I asked Dylan as he brought the ax down again with a grunt.
“Yes. Had to disconnect the lines.”
“And did you contact Yelp about those reviews?”
He brought the ax down again. He swung so hard that the split log went flying, the blade lodging in the stump base. “They’re working on it. They have a couple thousand negative reviews to sort through. Could take a few weeks.”
“Why so long?”
WHAM!Another log splintering down the middle.
“Some bullshit about figuring out the real reviews from the fake ones.”
“They’reallfake,” I grumbled.
“That’s what I said.”
WHAM!
“Don’t you think you have enough firewood? The shed’s just about full.”
WHAM!
“No.”
I took a deep breath of clean, crisp mountain air. The scent of the pines, dirt, and the metallic tang of Dylan’s tools filled my nose. It was completely still out here, unmoving. Like the whole area was in its own little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world.
My phone rang. It was the senior home.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Smithson? I’m calling in regard to your father.”
