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And how I always let him. Happily.
After a few moments of listening to whoever’s on the other end, Henry rolls and sits at the edge of the bed, his demeanor changing instantly. “When?”
Something is wrong.
My exhaustion evaporates as I sit up and listen, trying to guess what this could be about. His father and Scott are gone, and he holds nothing but loathing for his mother. Did something happen to one of the guys last night? We left on our own. I don’t know how late they stayed. My stomach clenches with the very thought. He would be devastated.
But Henry’s giving me no clues as to what this is about.
“And what was the issue with that?” he asks, his tone softer.
I slide closer and smooth my hands over his back as he listens.
“As far as I know, she hasn’t. Security would call me if she showed up here again.”
Violet. This must be about her. I’ll bet that’s Howard and Gayle calling. She must have run away again.
“She hasn’t been gone long enough for the police to do anything … Yes … Please keep me updated, and if I hear anything, I will do the same.” He ends the call and chucks his phone.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
Henry rubs the bridge of his nose. “They’re getting Audrey’s house ready to sell and the real estate agent came by yesterday with an offer, even though it’s not listed yet. Violet took issue with it and stormed off to her room. When Gayle went to check on her last night, she was gone. Crawled out the window. They called her friends, and she didn’t go there.”
“What about her old house?”
He shakes his head. “She’s not answering her phone either.”
“That kid …” I snuck out of the house a handful of times, but it was to meet Jed at midnight to swim in the pond between our properties and I was always back within half an hour.
“They thought maybe she came here. But considering how we left things, I can’t see why she would.”
Unless she came to New York and is working up the nerve to face her father again.Especiallyafter how they left things. A thought strikes me. “When she came to Manhattan last time, she hung out at a diner that she and Audrey had been to in the past. I’ll bet she’d go there.”
“A diner.” He gives me a flat look. “This is New York City, Abbi. Not Greenbank, where there’s one diner and it’s owned by your aunt.”
“She said it was near the train station, and I remember the logo on the coffee cup she was carrying. It had a monster on it. Howard did say she loves New York, and we already know she’s not afraid to come here alone. If I were a confused and angry fifteen-year-old girl, I’d go somewhere that makes me happy and that I’m familiar with while I figured out what to do next.”
He hangs his head, pushing his hands through his hair, sending it into further disarray. “A diner with a monster on its logo?”
“Yeah. It was red and blue. Cute. It wouldn’t be too hard to find.”
Henry bites his bottom lip in thought. “You feel like going for a walk?”
Five minutes ago, I planned on staying under these blankets. But for Henry? I press a kiss against his shoulder. “Yes.”
* * *
My hands are turningred as I grip the collar of my fall jacket in a pointless attempt to keep the frigid breeze from reaching inside. “How does the weather always know to turn right after Halloween?” My winter things are still in Greenbank, and I have no plans to visit anytime soon given how Mama has been behaving. I guess I’ll need to shop for a few staples, beginning with a scarf and mittens.
Beside me, Henry strolls with purpose, seemingly unbothered by the chill. We may have rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago, but unlike me with my unkempt hair and cobbled outfit, he looks perfectly put together in black pants and a charcoal sweater, a camel-colored peacoat thrown over top. There’s no hint of the playful ringmaster who dragged out a mind-bending orgasm from me in the House of Mirrors last night.
It took all of two minutes to find the address for Breakers, the twenty-four-hour diner three blocks away from the station. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say if she’s here?” I ask.
“Yeah. How about ‘Stop fucking running away. Are you trying to kill your grandparents?’”
By his stern tone, I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Okay, but for real.”
His answering stare confirms he is not joking.
