I’m not that guy.
I never will be.
But if I were, I’d make her mine in a heartbeat.
And I’d never let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLE
It’s a forty-minute drive from the Omaha airport to Whitebridge. Scarlett sits beside me in the back seat of our Uber, all but leaning out the window like an excited Labrador, pointing at every landmark and narrating every mile of the journey.
As soon as my cell gets a good connection, I fire off a quick thank-you email to Connie with Winlock Media. Our interview went well this morning—at least, I think it did. It all happened so fast, and this day has been a blur ever since.
“There’s a garden at that park with a maze,” she says when we pass the WELCOME TO WHITEBRIDGE sign. “And a place on the corner that has the best ice cream. Crazy flavors like cinnamon chocolate raspberry and Twinkie sprinkle. My mom used to take me there when I was little.”
Speaking of Scarlett’s mom, Scarlett’s been firing off texts to her since the second we stepped off the plane. As far as I know, however, she’s received no responses. West told me to leave my expectations at the door when it comes to Lexi. That she has a tendency to make promises she can’t keep. But I’m keeping an open mind and giving her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn’t seen her daughter in almost half a year—I can’t imagine she’d flake out on her like this.
“I told my mom we’re almost there, but she hasn’t sent anything.” Scarlett checks her phone again, her lips pressed into a flat line. “Maybe she’s stuck at work?”
West made arrangements for us to stay at the Whitebridge Best Western tonight and tomorrow, but our first stop is supposed to be Lexi’s house.
“There it is.” Scarlett opens the passenger door before we come to a complete stop, dashing up the jagged concrete walkway toward the sinking front stoop.
“Thank you,” I say to the driver before grabbing our weekend bags and climbing out. I follow Scarlett, keeping back as she tries to barge her way through the locked door.
“That’s weird.” She turns to me after a few futile attempts. “Mom never locks the house.”
Stepping back, she flips the front doormat over—perhaps searching for a key—before skipping down the steps and peering into a front window. Her palms leave imprints against the murky glass.
“It’s dark in there,” she says, dusting cobwebs off her hands. “I’ll check the back door.”
The Uber driver backs out of the driveway and disappears down the street as Scarlett dashes around the side of the house. A minute later she returns, eyes sullen and shoulders deflated.
“Back door was locked too,” she says.
“Scarlett, is that you?” a woman in a mauve terry cloth robe calls from the front porch next door. Pinching a cigarette between her lips, she offers a quick wave.
“Hey, Dede. Have you seen Mama?” Scarlett asks.
“Not for a few weeks now,” she says, nodding toward the front yard. “Grass is getting long. Thought about asking my stepson to mow, but I wasn’t sure what was going on.”
Scarlett swipes her phone from her back pocket, dialing Lexi for the millionth time.
“It’s ringing . . .” Her eyes widen as she pinches her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “And ringing . . . and ringing . . .”
“Maybe she’s working?” I give the benefit of the doubt to someone who likely doesn’t deserve it. “Just leave a message and let her know we’ll be at the Best Western. She can meet up with us there.”
Sucking in a breath, Scarlett leaves a message for her mother. And while her words paint a picture of excitement, her tone is laced with disappointment.
“I guess I should call us a ride?” I glance around the sparsely populated strip of street. The sign on the way into town said Whitebridge had a population of 1,400. I’m willing to bet Ubers aren’t a thing here.
Snatching her bag off the gravel driveway, Scarlett heads for the sidewalk. “We can walk. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
For the next ten minutes, we walk in silence, the wheels of our bags droning against the sidewalk.
“Maybe we can order in and watch a pay-per-view?” I offer when we get closer. “That could be fun, yeah? And you can invite a few of your friends over. I think there’s a pool at the hotel. It’s warm enough to swim if that’s something you guys are into.”
Scarlett stops, releasing the handle of her bag before retrieving her phone.
“Yeah,” she says, monotone. “It’s just . . . I don’t have anyone’s numbers anymore. Uncle West made me get rid of my old phone when I moved, and I never had them memorized because I didn’t need to . . .”
Honk . . . honk-honk-honk . . . honkkkkk . . .