Page 27 of Made for You

YES! I reply. Normally I’d toss in a few emojis—champagne glasses, kissy faces, hearts—but considering what I have to tell her about Josh, it seems in bad taste. Three dots tell me she’s already replying. The message pops through.

I’ll bring the hard stuff.

I can’t help but smile. It warms me to think of Cam on the other side of this exchange, tapping away at her phone, thinking of me. Despite the seriousness of Josh missing, I can’t resist having a bit of fun after all. I type, You mean the tequila or your new dildo?

Her laughing emojis fill an entire text bubble followed by you bad bitch you just made me pee a little.

There’s also a new text from Eden, but this one does not bring a smile.

Don’t want to stress u out but the sheriff stopped by. He left something 4 u. Sorry!!! An anxiety-faced emoji follows.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“Enjoy your evening,” says the teen in a deadpan voice.

I cut the twenty-minute drive home to twelve and screech into the driveway at 8:35. I can’t get out of the car fast enough—the purchases can wait.

I stumble inside, all frantic energy, half expecting to see my house completely overturned by Mitchell and his cronies. But everything looks normal. Peaceful. It even smells good—like evergreen. Eden has lit one of my fancy candles.

And yet, nothing in me feels peaceful. Hasn’t it always been like that for me? At odds with my environment. But is it something wrong with the environment, or me? On my way to the family room, I pass the small bedroom that we repurposed into a playroom and glance inside. I can almost see the skeletal ridges of the hospital bed that used to occupy this room. I shiver and walk on.

Eden’s in the family room off the kitchen, snacking on microwave popcorn and messing around on her laptop. Captain, sprawled on the rug at her feet, is fast asleep.

The domestic scene feels...

Wrong.

Wrong like the tent Josh didn’t sleep in, wrong like speeding in the night when your daughter needs you safe, wrong like...

Tick-tick-tick.

Oh, God. Josh’s watch...like a finger tapping, counting down the seconds to something, something bad. The peace of this scene is butcher paper, hiding something rotten underneath that I don’t want to see; it’s all going so fast, mileage signs flying past in the night, and like a car lifting on a violent curve, the scene in front of me is tilting. Something terrible happened in this place, and Captain knows it—my dog’s instincts have never been wrong—something to ruin every fantasy, smash every dream, and I’m slipping off the edge...

“You’re back,” Eden says, and snaps the laptop shut, snapping my strange slip-slide of thoughts closed, too. Her face looks soft in the low lamplight. Round, almost childlike.

Nothing terrible has happened here, except for the obvious: Josh disappearing. It’s just my exhaustion, my adrenaline.

I probably spilled something on the rug; that’s why Captain was so interested. Cheerios. Cookie crumbs. Take your pick.

“The sheriff came?” My voice, stripped of its normal layers of politeness, sounds harsh. Demanding. For once, I don’t care. “What did he say? Is Annaleigh okay?”

Captain wakes at the sound of my voice, getting to his feet so suddenly he’s falling over himself. He’s at my side, large and comforting, and I bury my hand in the fur on his head.

“He was here a few hours ago.” Eden tucks her laptop into her backpack. “I should have texted right away but... I didn’t want to freak you out. Then I thought maybe it was better if you showed up knowing?” She looks a little guilty, a little upset. Normally I’d go out of my way to reassure her.

“What did he say?” I repeat. I’m used to looking at myself through the camera-eyes of others, so I know what Eden is seeing now. Not the bold, fearless person I try to project. Weak Julia. Unhinged Julia. Paranoid Julia.

But if I’m paranoid, it’s because they’ve made me paranoid. If I fear the worst, it’s because they’ve taught me how easily the strong can take down the weak...

“He wanted to know where you were. How long you’d been gone.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Um...not where you were, because you didn’t tell me, but...yes? I said you left around lunch and were coming home around dinner. Should I have—”

“No. It’s fine. You said he left something?”

She gestures to the kitchen counter, but all I can find is my grocery list, sitting where it always does.