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Maybe crawling over glass would be the only penance for how atrociously I pushed Ava away. I was scared of losing my friend and resistant to change.
I no longer feel that way. Now, I hope I can convince her.
When I arrive at the bookstore, there’s already a small queue of young women waiting for admittance into the store. There’s a sandwich board sign with Ava’s picture and her book by the door.
I park across the street, noting the time. She should have already arrived, but there’s no sign of Maxwell’s car.
Stepping out of my car, I find the short block where the bookstore is located and there’s still no sign of Ava or Maxwell.
Where are you and Ava?
Maxwell is usually good about responding quickly.Before I can return the phone to my pocket, it rings and Kamaya’s name flashes across the screen.
“Hey, Ka?—"
“Brandon, I can’t get a signal from Maxwell’s car. I tried to see if there was a signal from his or Ava’s phone, but I’m not seeing anything.”
I pass the same queue of eager young women holding copies of Ava’s book with her smiling face on the cover, and an ominous foreboding consumes me.
“I’m heading back to my car,” I say, dodging to avoid getting tangled in the leashes of a passing dog walker. “Where were they last located?”
I hear keys as Kamaya is typing. I unlock the car door, but something prompts me to check the vehicle’s tires for anything amiss before getting back in.
“Kamaya.” Nothing looks amiss thankfully. I return to the driver’s seat, starting up the car and still waiting for her answer.
“Uh, this doesn’t look good,” she says. “The tracker must be disabled because I can’t get a read of Maxwell’s location, and Ava’s phone must be turned off.”
“Or jammed,” I say. The first time I’d ever heard ofjammingwas from my father. He used the tactic when he wanted to fuck with my mother and cut off all communication from the outside world. Jamming phones cuts off all signal and guarantees no location tracing.
The sick bastard loving threatening that before she finally escaped him shortly before her accident.
“Yeah, I guess it could be, but where would Ava be that her phone signal is blocked?”
“Not where. With whom,” I say, my stomach sinking. The black coffee in my system is threatening to return.
“Brandon, what are you saying? Do you think that friend of hers is behind this?”
“No,” I say, making my way back towards midtown where the studio is located.
“I’m worried now,” Kamaya says. I hear the fear in her voice, and it’s only magnifying my own. “I think we should call the police.”
Before I have a chance to respond to Kamaya, an incoming call ringing fills the car.Uncle Jonathan.
“Kamaya, don’t do anything until I tell you.”
“Brandon, I think?—”
“Wait for my signal,” I say, switching over to the incoming call.
“I know who you are,” I say in lieu of greeting.
A low chuckle escapes the voice on the other end. The sound instantly brings me back to my harrowing childhood. The same mocking laugh that always followed when I tried to defend myself from his blows.
“Took you long enough, son.”
“You don’t have the right to call me that,” I say, pulling over to a free space by the curb. “It implies that you were ever a father to me.”
“I want my money.”
