“Is she there?” Sandra asks for me.

“No. Look, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Josh says, his voice cracking, revealing his fear.

Sandra’s eyes focus on my hands before she says, “Josh, maybe you need to call the police, hospitals…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. Shit. Hang on.”

“What’s happening? Did you find her?” Sandra asks without my prompting, her fear matching mine.

“A cop car just pulled up. Hang on.”

The worst possible scenarios infiltrate my mind, and the only thing I can do is stand here and listen, my heart aching, my pulse shattering every nerve.

“She’s here,” he breathes out. “She’s in the car.”

He seems to cover the phone, because all I can hear are muffled voices as he speaks to the cops. The seconds feel like an eternity before he says my name, his tone calmer. “So apparently they found her walking the streets. I’m going to take her to the hospital and get her checked out. I’ll take care of everything, okay? I promise.”

“Who are you talking to?” Grams asks him, her tone gentle.

“It’s Becca,” Josh tells her.

“Who?”

My eyes snap to Sandra’s while Josh says, “We’re going to take you to the hospital. Just to get you checked out and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joshua. You always worry too much.”

His loud exhale crackles the speakers on my phone. “Then humor me, okay? Let me take care of you for once.”

Sandra smiles.

I can’t.

“Tell him I’m going to catch the next flight out,” I sign, and Sandra relays it for me.

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere yet.”

I shake my head and stomp my foot.

Sandra tells him, “She doesn’t seem too happy about that.”

“Two minutes,” he says, and then he hangs up.

I watch the seconds of the clock in the office tick by. One minute turns to two while Sandra consoles me, her words meant to comfort only cause more pain. Two minutes turn to three. Four. Five. Ten. Finally, my phone rings, and I jump to answer it.

“Becca?” Josh says. I can tell he’s in his car now, the wind whooshing in the background.

“She’s here,” Sandra tells him.

“A private plane will pick you up. The pilot’s going to send through the details of which airport, and I’ll forward them on to you. He says he can be there within five hours. There’s a big Check and Deck logo on the side of the plane. You can’t miss it. Just give the desk your name. Message me when you get here, okay?”

I nod.

“Okay,” Sandra says.

“Good. Drive safe. And Becca, please don’t worry. I’m not going to leave her side. I promise.”

I let his words sink in while I wipe at my tears, my heart slowing just enough to stop the ache in my chest. I take the phone off speaker and hold it to my ear, my eyes drifting shut as I force a swallow and prepare my throat to whisper, “I’m scared.”

12

—Becca—

The second I land in Wilmington I text Josh and let him know. He replies immediately, telling me there’s a car waiting for me just outside the exit. When I find the driver, he asks if I have any bags, and I realize I don’t. I don’t have anything. I went straight from the Say Something warehouse to the airport without even stopping to think.

It seems to take forever to get to the hospital, and as soon as I see the signs from afar, the driver makes a call to Josh. “We’re pulling in now, Mr. Warden.”

Josh is already waiting outside when we arrive at the hospital entrance. I open the door, not bothering to wait for the car to come to a complete stop. Then I’m in his arms, my cheek pressed to his chest. “She’s okay,” he says, his hand rubbing my back. “She’s okay,” he repeats, and I sense his need in the tightness of his embrace. It’s only now that I realize how hard this must’ve been for him. How being the one to find her missing must’ve made him feel. I pull away, just far enough to look him in his eyes—eyes red and worn—evidence of the tears he’s shed. “She’s being examined at the moment for any physical—” He chokes on a breath, and I guide him with one hand around his waist into the waiting room of the hospital. He sits on a chair and I do the same, our fears and panic merging into one. I feel the warmth of his hand on my leg, and I don’t remove it. Instead, I cover it with mine and squeeze once. “It’s my fault,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t be leaving her alone for weeks at a time. I should’ve had Kim check in on her, but she hated it, you know? She hated me worrying about her and God, what if something happened to her? What if she was hit by a car, or attacked, or…” His words are rushed, admissions of regret pouring out of him and I wish I could tell him that he’s wrong, that none of this is his fault. But I can’t say a word. So I do the only thing I know to do. I release his hand and cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. His eyes meet mine, then drop to my lips when I mouth, “Stop.”