I open my mouth before I close it again.
Come on, Rider, think.Say something.
“Cricket,” I say slowly, “took excellent care of Poppy.”
There.
That gets me another eye roll. “Itook excellent care of Poppy.”
I rub the back of my neck, hating life. “Listen, can we start over again? I got Poppy on Halloween, and I’ve been doing my God’s honest best to take care of her. She’s happy and healthy and really fucking smart. She calls me ‘dada’ and says ’nana’ for banana. She tells me ‘mo’ when she wants more. Before that night, I swear I had no idea I had a daughter, much less that Cricket had gotten pregnant, or I would’ve been there for her.”
I’m not sure where that declaration comes from, but after a moment where I search myself, I know it’s true. I would’ve gotten my shit together and helped Cricket even though I don’t know her from Adam. But I apparently got that woman pregnant, and this baby and even Cricket, to a certain extent, are my responsibility.
Which leads me back to that awkward question Mrs. Hildebrand never answered. “Can I ask where Cricket went? Her note said something about calling me when she got there.” Not that she had my number, but I don’t note this detail. “She didn’t mentionwhereshe was going, and I’ve had no way to contact her.”
I’m a little ashamed to admit I haven’t been more actively looking for Cricket. I was mostly pissed she dropped off Poppy the way she did. Embarrassed I didn’t know jack shit about who my baby mama is. It never occurred to me that something could be wrong. That this woman might be in trouble or in some kind of danger.
“I… you see…” Mrs. Hildebrand twists her hands in her lap. “Margot is a free spirit. While she was pregnant, she managed to stay on a good path. I took her to her therapist every week and acupuncture and I got her a spiritualist who taught her how to meditate so she could be healthy for her pregnancy. And she did it. She was the most sober I’ve ever seen her. She was excited for Poppy.” She smiles, but it fades quickly. “Afterward, though, she returned to her old ways.”
“Partying?” I ask gently.
Reluctantly, she bobs her head once. “Her friends wanted her to join them for the fall harvest at the Green Triangle in California. No”—she pauses, pursing her lips—“not the Green Triangle. The…”
Tank snaps his fingers. “The Emerald Triangle.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
I turn to my roommate. “What’s the Emerald Triangle?”
The excitement in his eyes disappears, and he folds his lips. “It’s, uh.” He cringes. “It’s like the largest cannabis-growing region in the country.”
Pot’s legal in California. What’s the big deal? “Okay, but why the face?”
He grimaces. “The reason I know about the Emerald Triangle in the first place is because of this Netflix show called…” He pauses. Scratches his head. Looks at Olly who shrugs. Then whispers, “Murder Mountain. According to the documentary, more people go missing there than any other area in California.”
“Fucking hell.”
Olly holds up his hands. “But that doesn’t mean Cricket went missing. Right?”
We all turn to Mrs. Hildebrand, who has tears streaming down her face. I shoot Tank a dirty look.
“What? Did you want me to lie?” he whisper-yells at me.
I reach for the box of tissues that Gabby put on our coffee table last week because Poppy kept drooling on our textbooks.
Mrs. H takes it gratefully and daintily dabs it at the corner of her eyes. “Apologies.”
Once she looks composed, I ask, “When was the last time you heard from Cricket?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Two weeks ago.”
Tank claps his hands. “That’s nothing. I’ve gone a month before calling my mama. She waspissed. But still. Not a reason to call the popo.”
I hand the woman another tissue. “But you’ve tried calling her? Or her friends?”
Before she answers, the front door swings open, and Bree, Gabby, and Poppy come strolling in.
Fuck, has it only been an hour since I dropped Gabby off across the street? Christ, I feel like I haven’t seen her in a year. How did this day go sideways?
