Ellie stared at the door to her condo building, clutching her cell phone to her ear with numb fingers. She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn’t seem to activate the correct muscles she needed to close it. She’d been so excited, so happy to be done with work and about to see George again. When she finally was able to speak, all she could manage to get out was a faint, “He left?”
“Yes.” The doctor’s voice oozed sympathy.
“How could he leave?”
“Mr. Price was here voluntarily,” Choudhry explained. “It was within his rights to leave at any time, since he isn’t a danger to himself or others. I did encourage him to stay, since we were still working to find the right combination of medication and therapy.”
“When did he leave?” Why did he leave? And how? On his current medication, Baxter hadn’t seemed able to work up the motivation to leave his chair, much less the facility.
“Today around noon.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
The doctor dialed up the sympathy in her tone another notch. “Your father authorized us to share the details of his care with you. You are not, however, his guardian. He is capable of making decisions on his own.”
Not very good decisions, if choosing to check out of Armstrong and wander the streets in his current zombielike state was one. “Do you have his new contact information? Where’s he planning on staying? Did he have any money when he left? His pack burned. Everything he owned was in there. How’s he going to live?” Her voice was getting higher and higher, and a person passing her on the sidewalk gave her a wary look and increased his pace.
“Deep breaths,” Dr. Choudhry urged. “Long breath in, hold it, and long breath out.”
Until the doctor talked her through it, Ellie hadn’t realized how close she was to hyperventilating. “Sorry,” she said once she’d gotten her breathing under control again. “I’m just really worried about him.”
“I know.” The doctor’s sigh was audible. “I know.”
Long after the doctor ended the call, Ellie continued to stare blindly at her building, useless phone in her hand. It wasn’t until the door swung open, revealing a worried-looking George, that her paralysis broke.
“What’s wro—?” Before he could even finish the question, she hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around his reassuring bulk and pressing her forehead to his chest as she burst into tears.
“He left!” She wasn’t sure how coherent she was, since she was crying so hard, but she kept babbling anyway. “He checked himself out of Armstrong today. I don’t know where he went, or where he’s staying, or if he has any money, or if he’s okay, and he was on that awful medication, and how am I supposed to keep my promise to always have his back if I don’t know where he is?” She ended on a wail that should’ve made her cringe in embarrassment, but she was too consumed by her worry to care.
“El.” Just that one word in his calm, even tone brought her semi-hysterics down to sniffles and the occasional hiccupping inhale. “How long has your dad been like this?”
It took a moment for his question to penetrate, but George waited patiently for her to answer, his big hands stroking her back. “Mentally ill, you mean?” Her words were punctuated by a hiccup. “All my life. I th-think Mom said he first started showing symptoms in his midtwenties.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixty-three.” Even though she wasn’t sure where George was going with it, the exchange was calming her. Having him hold her, the bass rumble of his voice vibrating against her cheek, was even more soothing.
“So he’s lived almost forty years with this.”
“Yes.” Another hiccup turned the word into two syllables.
“And he survived all that time.”
Now she knew where George was headed. “Yes.”
“Why do you think he won’t be able to manage now?”
“Someone really is after him,” she argued. “Anderson King is still out there.”
“Even if he managed to get out of Blue Hook alive, how would he be able to locate Baxter? You’re his daughter, and you don’t know where he’s headed. A small-town drug dealer running from the cops isn’t going to be able to track him.”
The sense of what he was saying allowed relief to flow through her in a warm rush. “You’re right.” Taking in a deep breath, she released it in a shuddering exhale. “Thank you.”
“He’ll be okay, El.”
“Yeah.” She was starting to believe it.
“Want to go up to your condo?”
Pulling back, she glanced at the entry of her building, blinking. The news about Baxter, and then George’s embrace, had made her forget where she was. She wondered how many of her neighbors witnessed her breakdown. “Good idea.”
George kept an arm around her shoulders as they started to climb the first flight of stairs. It was hard not to sink against him, to let him carry her weight. They’d passed the door to the second level when she realized something.
“We could’ve taken the elevator,” she said, continuing to climb stairs.
His expression was close to the one he wore when he talked about hating to fly, but he only grunted.
Her small smile disappeared quickly. “Do you think he went back to Simpson?”
“Maybe.”
She sighed, her breath uneven. “I don’t know where else to start looking for him.”
His hand squeezed her shoulder. A thought occurred to her, and she fumbled for her purse as she stopped abruptly. Digging through the contents, she pulled out the card she needed. Her fingers were shaking, making it hard to tap the right numbers, but she finally managed to send the call.
“Coughlin.”
“Sheriff.” Her voice still sounded quivery from exertion and emotion. “This is Ellie Price.”
“Ellie. How are you?”
“Not good.” The tears were back, lurking just behind her eyes, and she squeezed the bridge of her nose tightly to stave them off. “Dad checked himself out of Armstrong.”
There was a short silence. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. Did he say anything about leaving when you talked with him this morning? Maybe mention where he planned to stay or where he was going to go?”
“No.” The single word crushed the tiny hope that had blossomed. “He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Did he tell you why he planned to leave?”
“You misunderstood me,” Coughlin gently explained. “When I said he didn’t say anything, I meant that he didn’t talk to me at all. He wouldn’t even make eye contact.”
“But why…?” Ellie let her words trail away. She could ask why all she wanted, but the only person who could tell her the answer was Baxter, and she didn’t know where to find him. “Could you let me know if he contacts you? Or if he returns to Simpson?”
“Of course. I’ll call if I hear anything.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” She needed to get off the phone before she cried again.
“Call me Rob. I hope you find him soon.”
“Me too.”
George looked at her as she dropped the card and her phone back in her purse. She gave a tight shake of her head. With a silent sigh, he gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the head before they started climbing stairs again.
“George?” she asked in a small voice. “I know you just drove a really long time to get here, but would you mind if we went back to Simpson? I need to look for my dad.”
“Okay. Tonight?”
Relief surged through her at his easy acceptance, and she gave him a sideways hug, so glad that she wasn’t alone in this. “Would that be okay?” It probably made more sense to wait until the following morning to leave, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep anyway.
“Yes.”
Gratitude warmed her from her toes to her ears, and she gave him another squeeze. Although anxiety still churned inside her, it would’ve been a thousand times worse without George. His steady, strong presence made her feel like anything was possible. They’d drive to Simpson, find Baxter, and everything would be okay. George would make sure of it.