Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
"I'll have to go soon," Elise mutters apologetically. "Pepper's alone at home... I need to walk him."
"Okay."
"Are you going to be okay?"
"I have to be," I mutter. "I'm going back to the station soon, in another few hours. They have to start the search then."
She picks up her purse and putting down some money for our drinks. "Dove, I know it's none of my business, but... Please eat something."
My eyes snap up and we stare at one another.
"You look so thin," she says softly. "Painfully thin. Please eat. That's what Robin would want."
I nod. I don't trust myself to say anything right now.
When Elise leaves, I order a slice of pecan pie. It arrives, prettily arranged on a patterned plate, and I stare at it, picking at the crust with my dessert fork while my stomach rumbles loudly.
I'm hungry. Starving. So why is the thought of eating only managing to make me feel sicker?
My phone dings. It’s a message from the account that commented on my Instagram the other day. He or she has sent through a photo, an abandoned cup of coffee with lipstick on the rim. No words. The image is black and white save from the hot pink of the lipstick. I manage a shaky smile.
I reply, if only to distract myself from the inescapable truth of my reality – that Robin is gone. My gut says so, and my gut is never wrong.
Good eye.
Thanks, little bird.
You have a nickname for me now?
Don't you like it?
This is dangerously close to flirting, and I find myself thinking of Raphael guiltily. I haven't returned his text and call from this morning, but I have time to chat to this stranger.
Instead of replying, I force myself to get up, the abandoned plate reminding me just how weak I am and how disappointed Robin would be. I leave Elise's money on the table and head to the precinct.
I'm introduced to Detective Goldin, who's going to lead the investigation. He tells me nonsense I don't believe, like that Robin probably went on a bender, or wanted to escape for a few days. I don't buy any of it, and I head back home with the sinking feeling that he's gone. For good.
***
Somehow, two weeks pass. I've been dodging Raphael's calls apart from telling him Robin's gone missing. But I just don't have the energy to show my fear to someone else. Because deep down, I already accepted he isn't coming back. A sister just knows.
Elise is getting on my last nerve, too. She's unwilling to accept that Robin's missing and keeps pressing me for details, like I'll magically remember something I've skimmed over. Of course I won't remember anything. I remember that night well – I've replayed it in my mind a thousand times.
I visit Sam that night with a box of cookies and a paper cup of warm soup. He knows all about Robin’s disappearance and has been my lone shining star in the time since my brother has been missing.
"Any news?" he calls out when he sees me approaching.
"Nothing," I mutter, handing him the cup. He starts sipping on the chicken noodle soup while I sigh, crumpling on the blanket next to him. "I just wish they'd find... something."
"You've accepted that he's gone."
"I don't want to," I mutter. "I just feel it. I know he's dead."
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Dove. Have you called your mother?"
"Yesterday." The call was fucking painful. Mom was awkward and cold like always, although at least she got a little emotional when it came to the subject of Robin. She always liked him better than me. But she was as clueless as we all were as to Robin’s whereabouts.
"No news there?" Sam wonders, and I shake my head. He pats my hand, and I'm grateful he hasn't tried to give me some bullshit reason why Robin's gone. He accepts my grief, doesn't question the fact that I know he's gone, like Elise does.
I stay with Sam until he finishes his soup, leaving him the cookies for later. He tells me to come by again, and I promise I will, heading back home to find a familiar face at my doorstep.
"Raphael?"
"Hey." He smiles, offering me a bouquet of yellow roses. "I thought they might cheer you up."
I smile weakly, accepting the bouquet with a soft thank you as I let us into my apartment. I don't tell him I don't like cut flowers. I don't explain they remind me of the inevitable end.
We sit down in the living room, making small talk and avoiding the topic of Robin. I'm grateful as well as resentful that he doesn't ask about my brother, and my own confusing feelings twist my stomach into a thousand knots.
"I'm sorry I just barged in here," he finally says. "I've been really worried about you. Are you eating?"