Page 23 of Made for You

Andy. Julia, call me. I’m really worried.

Ally Buoncore from Netflix. Hey! In Indy next week. Can we schedule some face time? I’d love to see where you’re at with considering the documentary!

I have half a mind to block her number. Why can’t she get that I just want to be left alone?

Eden. Out of wet wipes! Can u pick some up on ur way?

Eden, again. Hey, putting A down, just want to make sure ur ok

Next, a selfie of her and Annaleigh, pressed cheek to cheek.

I compose a text to Eden first, so she doesn’t worry.

Sorry! Phone died, running late, will pick up wipes. Back in 2h.

Next, I message Cam.

Hey Texas. Saw on TV that you’re in Indy. Call me!

I don’t have the heart to tell her the bad news about Josh’s disappearance via text, even though as his friend—our friend—Cam deserves to know.

And then, with an obsessive twitch of the fingers, I’m back on Josh’s messages, reading every word like there’s a secret behind them I just haven’t dug out yet.

First, I read the ones I showed the sheriff with our happy good mornings and kissy emoji.

Then, farther up, the others.

You and Josh have trouble at home? Mitchell asked this morning.

Yes, Sheriff. My husband thinks my designer is in love with and/or obsessed with me, which makes him violently angry. And worse? He thinks I’m in love with Andy, too.

I stare at Josh’s texts from after he left Saturday night. The first time stamp is 8:52 p.m. At the time, I imagined him fully set up at the campsite and settling into his tent, but after overhearing Miss Pert, I know he was still on the road.

Josh: Meeting up w Andy. FYI, if I have to beat the shit out of him, I will.

Me: Josh, please be calm. It’s not what you think. Just listen to Andy’s side.

Josh: HE IS IN LOVE WITH MY WIFE

Me: omg babe can we not do this again??? Please???

Josh: he wants you to himself, it’s so obvious. I just want that little fucker out of our lives

I stare and stare. My heart is beating fast. I’m angry. Really angry.

For a few seconds, I sit in the tension of wanting to curse Josh out and throw my arms around him. Of wanting to scream fuck you and wanting to whisper I love you, please don’t ever leave me. When the tug-of-war gets unbearable, I push a burst of air out through my nose, swipe the messages off-screen and toss the phone into the passenger seat.

As I start the car, I try to return to calm, problem-solving mode. I imagine Josh arriving at the campsite after all these emotional texts. Setting up the tent in a fury, which would make him awkward. Inefficient. Like a newbie, the lady said. Driving off shortly after...where? To get supplies of some kind? Never imagining he’d swerve off the road. I imagine him lost in the woods. Disoriented, roughing it, like I just did. Or stumbling toward some stranger’s house. Maybe with a concussion. But what about the damn text the next morning? Unless someone else sent it...

The road is getting harder to see. It’s after six, and soon it will be pitch-black. My headlights cut a lonely path, and I know I need to use all my focus to scan for deer, but instead, I increase my speed. Seventy-five. Eighty. Eighty-five.

And then it hits me: Josh’s texts from Saturday night didn’t say where or when he was meeting Andy. The specifics about breakfast at Stella’s, I got from Andy, and now that I know Stella’s was closed...

I take a curve too fast and realize I’m going ninety, a reckless speed for these country roads.

What if Andy lied?

Not just about the location of their meeting, but the time? The day? What if after Andy left my place Saturday night, he went straight to meet Josh? And what if Josh crashed his car on the way to that meeting?