“We should call Michael,” Lucy says.
My stomach roils at the thought, remembering how concerned he’d been when he couldn’t get in touch with Cillian. The last thing I want is to cause additional stress or animosity. Even though the longer we went without being able to find him, the more my own anxiety starts shrieking.
She makes a few calls but comes up empty. “We’re not far from the house, we can swing by. I doubt he’s there, but just in case.”
“Michael’s house?” I ask, having sworn he and Camille lived in Salem.
“No, Mickey and Kitty’s.”
Great.
We pull up to a small two-story single-family home on a densely packed residential street. It’s nothing fancy, but it is clearly well-loved. The tiny garden beside the stoop is trimmed neatly back for winter, and a Christmas tree already glows in the bay window. It’s the kind of house kids draw; simple yet welcoming.
“Doesn’t look like the boys are here, but we can still check in,” Lucy says as we pull into the drive.
Mickey answers the door, warmth and the smell of something delicious wafting out into the evening air. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Two angels on my doorstep.”
“Who is it, Mick?” Kitty’s voice asks from inside.
He gestures us inside. “Lucy and Toni.”
Kitty holds her phone up. “I just saw your call, Lu. Sorry I missed it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucy waves off her concern.
“Everything alright?” Kitty asks, looking between us.
“Yeah,” Lucy says a bit too brightly. “We were hoping maybe Cillian was here or you guys had talked to him.”
“He’s meant to be working the bar this evening. Is he not there?” Mickey asks, alarm evident.
“He was,” Lucy clarifies. “Oliver came in to cover because he...” She looks at me, unsure of what to say.
I sigh. “He left to come talk to me. We haven’t . . . things have been tense since . . . everything.”
Kitty gives me a knowing nod. “He called me yesterday. We had a good talk, and he seemed ok. Especially after you two musketeers got through to him,” she directs that at Lucy.
“For what it’s worth, he was fine when I saw him. But...”My fuck ass ex-boyfriend was there,isn’t exactly the thing I want to cover with Cillian’s parents. “Our wires got crossed, and he thinks I’m still leaving at the end of December.”
“Ah.” Mickey nods. “He thinks he's losing ya, so he’s running.”
“I just need him to know...” I meet Mickey’s eyes, and I get the feeling he understands that I’m not referring to my zip code remaining the same.
“Where have you looked?” He gestures for us to all sit on the well-worn furniture.
As Lucy rambles off the places we’ve been, Michael calls her back, confirming Cillian wasn’t with him, and we remain at a loss.
Just as fear threatens to swallow me whole, Kitty raises a finger, cutting off whatever Mickey was about to ask. “Have you checked the bridge?”
“Bridge?” Lucy asks, sounding alarmed.
“You know, the salt-and-pepper-shaker bridge. He goes there sometimes to?—”
“Feel grounded,” I finish. Kitty purses her lips to try to restrain her smile but fails. Much like her son, she absolutely lights up the room with her smile.
The bridge crossed my mind earlier, but I’d immediately dismissed it and forgotten about it. He spoke of it with a kind of reverence that implied it was a place he went to as either a last resort or when something was too big—too life-changing—to hold. No part of me could fathom that my leaving would qualify as something important enough for him to go there.
Lucy and I pile back into her car, adding Mickey and Kitty to the list of people to update once we hopefully find Cillian.
