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The traffic getting out of the east county was brutal and after thirty minutes, I'd barely managed to get on the freeway. It was already a little after five o'clock, and cars and semis clogged the lanes, inching along as they marched toward downtown and the 15 interchange. At this rate, I wouldn’t be home for hours.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and swore under my breath when I saw I'd missed two calls from Elizabeth.
I tapped her number and she answered on the second ring. “Oh, good. You're alive.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Got tied up with something. What's up?”
“I thought we were gonna have dinner,” she said.
“We are,” I said. “I mean, we still can. But I'm out in El Cajon and the traffic sucks. Gonna be awhile.”
“I already put chicken on the grill,” she said. “Thought we could have an early dinner.”
My stomach knotted. “I'm sorry. I should've called and said I was running behind.”
“It's fine.”
But I could tell it wasn't. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought we were gonna have dinner.” There was an edge in her voice that I couldn't decipher. “But I guess that's a no go now.”
“We can eat when I get there,” I suggested.
“It's almost done,” she told me. “And you’re in El Cajon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, because it was the only thing I could say. And because it was true.
“It's fine.”
“No, it's clearly not,” I said, switching lanes, trying to get into any lane that was moving. “I should've called.”
“Or texted,” she said. “I texted you, too.”
The guilty knot tightened. I'd nagged at her so many times about how she didn't have to call. A text would be fine, just so I knew where she was. And I had ignored my own advice, my own rules. “Or texted. Yeah. I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
I almost said I was sorry again, and pressed my lips together to prevent the words from slipping out.
“Are you going to quit teaching?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.
“What?” I was genuinely surprised. “Where's that coming from?”
“I don't know,” she said. “But the last couple days, you haven't said a word about it.”
“Because I’m on vacation,” I reminded her.
She continued on as if I hadn’t said anything. “And whatever you're doing for Mike clearly has your attention. I've barely seen you and when you have been home, you've been talking only about what you're doing for him.”
I didn’t know how we’d gone from me being late to dinner to me potentially quitting my job.
I managed to get all the way over to the number one lane. It was moving at the same snail's pace the other lanes were, each car creeping along into the sun.
“I know,” I said. “Bad timing with the Mike thing.” I almost apologized but knew those weren’t words she would want to hear again.
“You can’t exactly control when people need help,” she said, her tone almost grudging.
“You’re right,” I told her. “I can’t.”
This was true. But I could control how much time I put into things, and make sure I was still available to my daughter during her break.
There was a pause. “Is it gonna be like this the whole time I'm home?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“You not being home. Being distracted.”
I pulled the visor down to cut down on the glare. “No.” But even as I said this, I thought about all of the loose threads surrounding Patrick’s death, the pieces that I needed to put together to give Mike and Cleo the answers—and the closure—they needed. Because I was pretty sure it was there for me to find.
“You don't sound very sure.” Her tone had changed, and she sounded more like a petulant child than a young adult.
The car in front of me jolted to a quick stop and I slammed on my brakes.
“Elizabeth, come on,” I said. My patience was wearing thin, and I didn’t know if it was from the mess of traffic I was sitting in or the berating I was getting from my kid. “Give me a break. I told you I was doing this for Mike, and I can't bail in the middle of it.” Especially not after everything he had done for me over the years. “I'm sorry I forgot to call and I'm sorry the traffic is rotten. I'm trying to get there.”
There was silence on the other end and for a moment I thought she might have hung up on me.
“You still there?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was small.
“What?” The knot in my stomach was back, tightening like a noose.
She sighed. “It's just...”
“It's just what?” I asked.
“There's just some stuff I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “That's all.”
“Well, I'm not going anywhere right now.” My foot was still on the brake, and I was still at a stand still. And all I wanted to do was veer onto the shoulder and speed home to my kid. “I can talk to you the whole way home. I won't answer the phone if another call comes in.”
“Not the same thing,” she said.
“Talk to me.”
“We can talk later.” Her tone had changed, and I could tell she was distancing herself.
“Let’s talk now.”
“It's fine. I am fine,” she clarified. “I'll take the chicken off the grill when it's done and leave it in the fridge for you.”
My hand tightened on the steering wheel. “You're not gonna be home when I get there?”
“I don't know,” she said. “Jenna asked if I wanted to go out after we went looking for apartments.” I remembered how she’d spent her day. “Told her I couldn't, but maybe I will now. I don't know.”
The guilty knot now felt like an anchor in my stomach. She'd clearly told her friend no because she'd planned on having dinner with me.
“I'd still like to have dinner with you,” I said. “And talk about whatever's on your mind.”
If she heard what I’d said, she made no indication of it. “If I'm not home when you get here, chicken will be in the fridge. I'll be home later. You don't have to wait up.”
I started to ask her again to wait on me, but she'd already hung up.