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By the time I’m done giving my statement, I’m drained. Despite my fatigue, I go off in search of Brazen, who’s sitting in the kitchen where I left him with his face in his hands. I want to cry and scream and go out searching for our friend. I don’t know what the right moves are here. I don’t know anything. How could anyone know what to do when something like this happens?
I come up behind Brazen, and he jumps a little when my fingers graze his back.
“It’s me,” I reassure him. “What do you need from me? How can I help?” Instead of asking him, I should have probably figured it out on my own. I don’t want to give him anything else to think about, but I always want to make sure he’s taken care of.
“You are helping.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Just be here with me. That’s all.”
“I love you, Brazen.” I can’t believe what’s happening.
“I love you, too.” His voice tells me he can’t fathom it either.
When the cops leave, things couldn’t feel more unresolved, and we’re almost powerless to do anything about it. The police didn’t seem worried. I’m not sure if that’s because they believe Sunday ran off or if it’s their professional mannerisms. I’m torn between believing their emotionless tactics are what we need to find her and being worried that they aren’t worried enough.
Sunday is missing, and Brazen is blaming himself.
He couldn’t have known. There is no one to blame but Matt.
Brazen paces his home, and I know he’s having a hard time taking the backseat. It’s killing him to sit and wait for someone else to find Sunday. To keep busy and so that I’m doing something to help, I find a picture of Sunday and make a Missing Person sign. I can hang these up all over town. Someone must have seen something. There must be one person who knows anything that could assist in the investigation. You see Missing Persons flyers on television. I never thought I would be sitting in my boyfriend’s home office, making one.
Yet here I am, doing exactly that.
They’ll find Sunday soon, and this will all be over with. Matt will finally suffer consequences for everything he’s put her through. I trust in positive thinking, which is all I really have at this moment.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
It has to be. I can’t believe any other way.
The front door opens and then slams closed, and I jump up, hoping it’s Sunday. My feet move at top speed, and I’m at the door in record time to see Brazen’s mom frantic and crying.
“Is it true? Oh, please, tell me it isn’t true,” she pleads.
Brazen’s mom was his second phone call after the police.
“Beth, I’m so sorry.” It’s all I can manage before she drops to the floor.
“No. My baby. My girl. Oh no. Please, no.” Each word is choked out between a sob.
Brazen rounds the corner as his mom falls apart. If it’s possible, I think I see his heart break right there, in the hallway. I never, ever want to see this look in his eyes again. He runs to Beth and drops to the floor with her, holding her against him.
“We have to be strong for Sunday. She’ll need us when she comes home. We can’t fall apart.” He rocks his mother while she cries in giant heaves of sadness. His comfort calms her just a little.
Deciding to give them a little space, I go into the kitchen to make coffee for when they are ready. No one will be sleeping until Sunday is home, safe and sound, so the need for caffeine is a safe bet.
As the pot finishes brewing, Brazen and Beth enter the kitchen.
“Cream or sugar?” I ask her.
“Just black, sweetheart.” Her voice is hoarse and broken.
The three of us sit and wait in silence until a ringtone sounds. The vibrations rattle against the table. My stomach drops, and Brazen must have the same bad vibe because, as the phone rings, he just stares.
“Do you want me to get it?” I don’t want to overstep, but I want to ease his responsibilities.
He finally breaks contact with the phone and looks up at me. “No, I got it.”
