Knox hangs his head. “Yeah, he could be holed up in the goddamn woods for a week without his meds. Fuck.”
Lucy stands. “Ok, then. I’m going to head up to Ollie’s cabin. Does anyone have directions? Is it easy to find?”
“I’ll drive you,” Booker says, grabbing his hoodie from a hook on the wall.
“Like hell you will,” I say, a little louder than I intended. “I just mean it’s a terrible idea for the two of you to go off looking for him. It’ll be dark soon.”
Booker turns toward me. “You’re crazy if you think I’m staying here. I’d bet money that Whit’s at Ollie’s cabin without his meds, and I’m not just going to sit around and fret about it. I’m going to find him.”
“I’d never suggest you should stay here. But the two people who love him the most are not getting behind the wheel and leading the charge. I’m driving. You two have five minutes to grab anything he might need. I’ll meet you outside.” I catch the keys Booker tosses my way; glad I never touched the beer Ty gave me earlier.
“Here, I even used Ty’s fancy machine and gave you a double shot of espresso,” Willa says, as she hands me a thermal mug of coffee.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the coffee.
She nods. “Just…be careful, ok?”
“Of course,” I say. Seconds later, Lucy and Booker come down the steps. Booker’s carrying a duffel bag and Lucy’s wrapped herself in an oversized hoodie I can only guess belongs to Whit.
Things are tense as we settle into Booker’s car. Booker takes the back seat and lets Lucy ride shotgun. I pull out onto the main road as Booker types the address into the car’s GPS. Lucy’s foot taps nervously against the mat on the floor, and though it doesn’t bother me, I’m worried about her. The man she loves is in crisis. He’s alone, without his medicine, and likely flooded by emotions with no way to regulate them.
I’ve studied psychology for six years. In three months, I’ll have my master’s degree. I have a social media following of more than fifty thousand people. But right now, I can’t think of a damn thing to say.
Unexpectedly, it’s Booker who breaks the tension. “You know that’s my shirt, right?”
“What?” Lucy says, turning toward the back seat.
“That hoodie. It’s mine.”
“No way. I’ve seen Caleb in this a million times. He had it with him on our road trip.”
“Yeah,” Booker agrees, “because he stole it from me. I bought it because it’s so soft. I wore it once before he swiped it. Guy’s always stealing my clothes. Of course, that’s probably because he hates to do laundry. I don’t get it. He’s more than happy to cook seven nights a week, but the man won’t run the washing machine.”
Next to me, Lucy finally smiles.
Booker reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, Lucy. You have to believe that. And no matter what shape he’s in when we get there, we’re gonna put him back together, ok?”
“Ok,” she nods.
* * *
Booker
We drove away from Ollie’s cabin twenty minutes ago, but my hands are still shaking. Whit’s in good hands; I know that. Lucy’s always loved him, but today? Flying in from Wisconsin, defying her father’s wishes? She saw him at his worst and didn’t even flinch. There’s no doubt that she’ll take care of him.
But that was a close call. The second one I’ve had with Whit in the past few years. The thought of losing him shakes me to my core.
I check my phone to see if she’s texted, but there are no new messages. I tap out a quick text to the group to give them an update.
Booker: He’s ok, or at least, he will be. Lucy’s got him.
Knox: Thank Christ. You all right?
Booker: Yeah.
Ty: Thank God. Keep us posted if you hear from Lucy, ok?
Booker: Got it.
