8 a.m. here. 2 a.m. there.
The line clicks and then dies. I frown. I look at my phone. She fucking hung up on me? Maybe it was a misdial. I call her back.
Her answering machine cuts on this time. “Hi, it’s Daisy. Not Duck and not Duke. Definitely not Buchanan. I’m a Calloway. If you haven’t misdialed then leave your name after the beep, and I’ll call you when I return from the moon. Don’t wait around. It may take a while.” BEEP.
“Call me back or text me that you’re okay,” I say tersely before I hang up.
I’m about to return to Sully, but my phone rings again. She’s being fucking weird. “Hey, what’s going on?”
She sniffs and tries to speak, but her voice falters.
She’s been crying.
My chest tightens. “Fuck. Daisy, what’s wrong?”
She lets out a breath that shakes the sound from her lips, and then she inhales sharply and chokes like she’s unable to exhale.
Fuck. Fuck. I rest my hand on my head. “Dais…”
“I…I can’t…”
She cannot have a fucking panic attack while I’m here and she’s there.
“Shh, shh,” I tell her in the gentlest voice I can. Calming someone—that’s not a skill I possess. I jump after girls who dive off of cliffs. I accompany crazy chicks on their illogical adventures. I teach them how to stand back up. I hold them while they fucking cry.
But I’m not there to do any of these things. I’m thousands of miles away with no room for error.
“Take deep fucking breaths. Relax,” I say roughly, dropping my hand and clenching and unclenching my fist.
“I…feel sick…” She coughs, dry heaving until I hear her really fucking vomit.
Fuck.
Sully is by my side with concern. He looks at me like what’s going on?
I just shake my head at him. “Daisy,” I say, running my hand through my damp hair. “Hey, you need to talk to me right fucking now. Take deep breaths. You’re not dying, so stop acting like it.” Being a jackass is the only way I can think to get her to calm down. It’s the only fucking tool I have to work with.
She pukes, but it turns back into a violent cough. Then she begins to breathe somewhat fucking normally.
“Good girl,” I say.
She exhales shortly. “They took pictures…of me…and no one cared…”
What the fuck is she talking about? She’s a model; of course they take photographs. “You’re not making any fucking sense.” I can’t just stand on top of this fucking cliff. I can’t just fucking talk. I head over to Sully’s backpack, and he keeps up with my hurried stride.
“I was naked,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “The designer…she threw me out of her show, and she stripped me…”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I freeze, gripping my hair with one hand. “And no one did anything?”
She chokes on another cry.
I almost kick the fucking cake off the edge. I almost lose my shit. I bend down to a crouch to stop myself from screaming. I fucking hate people. I hate that the ones I care about most are the ones that get shit on.
“Hey, fucking talk to me,” I say, realizing she’s completely silent now. “Daisy?” Nothing. “Daisy?!” I check my phone. Signal lost. The call dropped. I try again, but I have no more range. I look to Sully with panic.
“No signal,” he says, tapping at his iPhone screen.
I stand up quickly and switch into a new gear called Get the fuck off this rock. “We need to go down now.” I pick up his backpack and find the extra harness that I use when I descend with him. I put each leg through the fucking straps while Sully collects rope, repel devices and locking carabineers, his hands moving in a flash.
“Is she hurt?” he asks, his eyes flickering to me.
I tighten the straps on my legs. It’s not a physical hurt. It’s not like she crashed her motorcycle, but it fucking feels like she got into a head-on collision. “I don’t know,” I tell him. Truth is, I think she’s always been hurting. It’s just different when I’m not there to take care of her. “I need to get her back on the fucking phone.”
“Double your rope so you can get down faster.” He tosses me extra rope for my descent, and I tie two together with a Double Figure-8 Fisherman’s knot. Then I tie an extra knot at the end of the rope in case I fucking fall. It’s the last safety I have to catch me.
“Ready,” Sully says. “I only have one anchor. You take it. I’ll go after you since I have to pick up my gear.”