Now, as she texted Josh for the millionth time with no response, left him yet another voice mail, she wanted a fight. She wanted to push his stupid broad shoulders and scream in his face. Words scrambled in her brain, everything she would say to him, everything that was clouding into her chest like a storm.
I knew you would do this, I was right, you always leave, everyone always leaves.
She called him again, but it went straight to his voice mail, just like it had every time she’d tried to contact him in the past two days. Ruby was beside herself. She’d been calling and texting her father nonstop too, and he wouldn’t answer. Yesterday, Claire had used the key Josh had given her a few weeks ago to let herself into his apartment, just to check things out and make sure he wasn’t lying on the floor with a fatal head wound or something. Inside, most everything looked like it was in its place, but his truck was gone, as were his toiletries and the big duffel bag he always took with him when he skipped town.
Now, as Claire finished a tense call to the Bradfords in Portland, fielding a million incredibly intrusive questions about Astrid’s sanity, she sat up on her couch and rubbed her forehead. Down the hall, Ruby was shut inside her room, sad music filtering from under the door. Claire felt like a piece of cloth stretched thin, fraying at the edges. She couldn’t watch her daughter go through this again.
She couldn’t go through this again.
She picked up her phone and opened her text messages, her thumb hovering over her thread with Delilah for the hundredth time since the other woman left. She wanted to talk to her. She wanted to tell her about Josh, to beg her to come back, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Delilah was already gone, back where she belonged, and Claire . . . well.
Maybe it wasn’t only Josh she couldn’t stand to see walk away again.
And that’s all that would happen if she reached out to Delilah right now, if anything happened at all.
Delilah doesn’t care.
Claire said it to herself, over and over and over, ignoring the spark of doubt in the back of her mind. It wasn’t doubt anyway. It was hurt, lust, maybe even a little longing, but it wasn’t doubt.
She switched to her messages with Iris and finally swallowed her pride.
Can we talk? Please?
She hit send and held her breath, but those three little bouncing ellipses appeared immediately, Iris’s response buzzing through soon after.
I’m already on my way over.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, Claire opened her door and sucked in a surprised breath. Iris was there in a green sundress, her red hair long and flowing around her bare shoulders, but she wasn’t alone.
Astrid stood next to her on Claire’s front stoop, her arms folded and her sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her mouth looked tight, but Claire didn’t even care. She was here, and Claire had never felt so relieved in her life.
She must’ve sagged against the doorframe, or maybe the dark circles she knew snuggled under her eyes gave away her current mental state, but either way, Iris stepped forward and gulped her into her arms. Claire fell into her, tears suddenly clogging her throat.
“Josh is an honorary shit boot,” Iris said, smoothing circles on Claire’s back.
Claire pulled back. “How did you know?” She hadn’t mentioned his vanishing act to either of them—it never felt like the right time to drop that bomb via text.
“You gave your daughter a phone and our phone numbers,” Astrid said, removing her sunglasses. “She’s eleven; texting is her life.”
Claire exhaled. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. I gave her your numbers for emergencies, and I—”
“Honey,” Iris said, taking Claire’s arms. “It’s okay. We’re part of Ruby’s family. Of course we want her to text us when she needs to.”
Claire flicked her eyes to Astrid, who gave her a terse nod, which was enough for Claire.
They came inside, and Claire opened up a fresh bottle of rosé. The three women settled on Claire’s couch, which, over the past two days, had become a nest of blankets, books, glasses of water, and bags of chips.
“You’re really set up for the long haul here,” Iris said as she tucked herself into a corner.
Claire laughed. “You know I burrow when I’m depressed.”
“I do know,” Iris said, winking at her over her glass.
Astrid was on the other end of the couch, Claire in the middle, and her friend had yet to smile or relax her shoulders. Claire searched for what to say, how to make this right, but she wasn’t sure anything would help.