RATH STOOD OUTSIDE the Bee Hive, letting the cold reinvigorate him as much as it could in his state. The cars on Main Street were dusted with snow. His breath formed clouds as he tried to wrap his mind around this revelation about Mandy.
He stared at Mandy’s Post-it and the refrigerator note. The second note ended with thx. On the phone, Gale had read thx as thanks. Shorthand of a generation. Rachel’s generation. Rachel, who couldn’t write two words in a text without an abbreviation or an acronym. Fear rose in him like a poisonous bubble. Primordial, parental.
He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, brought up Rachel’s text.
I’m sorry to be so lame. I’ve just been swamped. I’ll call you soon. I promise. Love you, Rachel
Not a single abbreviation or acronym. No shorthand.
Rath’s blood congealed in his heart.
Rachel had not written this text.
He worked his fingers to dial Rachel, screwed up. Tried again. Panicked. He tried to breathe slowly and stabbed Rachel’s number one digit at a time. Rachel’s phone rang.
The voice mail of the number you have reached is full and—
Damn it.
He needed to get to Johnson State, and this time he wasn’t leaving until he found his daughter.