90. Lovesick

Finally, the Wednesday after Christmas, after several days have passed and I’ve heard nothing more from Jocelyn since her cryptic and baffling email, I have my mother drive me to her house. I have her wait at the end of the driveway so she doesn’t have to see any drama unfold. Yet as I approach the house, I suddenly know that nobody is there.

There’s no car. The snow on the driveway looks several inches thick and untouched. No lights are on and there aren’t any footprints in the snow.

The house looks abandoned.

I knock on the door several times then try opening it. Part of me wants to kick it in (if I could actually manage to do that), yet I know there’s no need to.

Nobody’s been around here for some time now.

I wonder where Jocelyn and her aunt might have gone.

What about Wade? What if he came back and forced them to go somewhere?

I know what I need to do.

I run back to my mom and tell her to stop in town on the way home.

I need to see the sheriff.

“Just slow down a second.”

The deputy I’m talking to, Kevin Ross, chews gum robotically and rubs his nose as if he’s bored. I stop talking and compose myself.

“Is the sheriff around?” I ask again.

“I already told you he’s out.”

“When’s he going to be back?”

“When he gets back.”

This guy doesn’t like me, I already know that. He looks like the kind of guy who has an attitude simply because he gets to carry a gun around all day long.

“So Jocelyn Evans sent you a Dear John note—”

“She sent me an email,” I say.

“And what did it say?”

“It was just short.”

“What did it say?” the deputy barks out at me.

“That she made a mistake. That she needed some space.”

“A mistake with you?”

I nod.

“So this space she’s talking about—what does that mean to you?”

“I’m worried something happened to her.”

“Because she broke up with you?”

“She didn’t break up.”

“Oh, no?” There’s a smug grin on his face that I’d so like to wipe off with a hammer.

“She’s just confused.”

“Uh huh. So giving her a little space is going to her home and checking up on her?”

“Can I talk to the sheriff?”

The guy grabs my wrist and squeezes it so hard I start to see tiny stars. He shoves his face in mine, and I can smell onions on his breath.

“You listen to me. You leave that girl alone, you hear me? She’s fine.”

I wince and tug at my hand and he releases it.

“Her uncle—her step-uncle—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know about Wade,” Kevin says. “Sheriff told me about the little altercation.”

“I’m just worried that he might have done something.”

“The sheriff told Helen that if they go anywhere or do anything, or if anything—anything—happens, to let him know. So she did.”

“She did what?”

“Maybe it’s not your business.”

“I’m just worried about something happening to Jocelyn.”

“Her aunt told Wells that they were going on a little trip. Called the morning after Christmas. Something happened. I don’t know. Whatever you said or did musta left an impression. Because her aunt’s gone bye-bye.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere warm.”

His smile mocks me.

“Did they say anything—”

“Enough of this,” he snaps. “I have other things to do with my time than listen to some lovesick little boy. Enough. You got it?”

I nod.

“And you listen to me,” Kevin says, his long, skinny finger pointing at me. “You come in here asking more questions or needing the sheriff or any of that, you’re going to find trouble. You got that?”

I nod again and then stand up.

My wrist still hurts.

I leave the station and wish I were back in Illinois.

Alongside Jocelyn.