My hands curled into fists as fear and fury fought in my chest. Freedom hadn’t said it, but I could guess what she’d told Aline on Sunday morning. No way was it a coincidence that they’d gotten into a fight only hours after Freedom had told me about Aline having been a virgin.
Yeah, I’d left, and I hadn’t talked to Aline since, so that was on me. Truth be told, I knew Aline well enough to know that, if Freedom had told her about the whole conversation, Aline would’ve been even angrier at her sister for the betrayal than she was at me for leaving.
“I tried calling the phone company to get her call and text history, but there’s nothing on it after Saturday night, nothing but our calls and texts to her. I went back to our apartment in Stanford, but she’s not there either. All her stuff is still there. She only took a few things from our parents’ house. Her credit cards haven’t been used either.”
The way Freedom was explaining the situation made me think this was how she’d tried to convince the cops as to why they should be looking for Aline. I was worried about Aline, but it honestly sounded to me like she’d been upset at her family and decided to take some time to cool off.
“Then, Monday, Aline took money from her trust fund. Cash.”
No surprise that Aline had a trust fund, but that was neither here nor there, as my mom liked to say. Sounded to me like she really didn’t want to be found and was smart enough to know how her family would try to track her down.
Again, I couldn’t really blame her, even if the logic wasn’t doing a damn thing to make me less anxious.
“None of her friends have seen her?” Cain asked.
Freedom gave him a dirty look. “If they had, do you think I’d be here, talking to him?”
“Would they tell you if she asked them not to?” I asked before I thought better of it.
Freedom glared at me. “Of course they would. They know how worried we all are and would’ve told us if they knew where she was. All of our friends know that Aline doesn’t always think things through.”
Freedom said ‘our friends,’ which made me wonder if Aline had any close connections that weren’t also close to her sister. I didn’t ask, though. Freedom already looked like she wanted to murder me for my question. Well, my question and everything else.
“Maybe she just needed some time to think,” Cain offered. “She had just gone through something pretty horrible.”
“Which is why she shouldn’t be out there on her own,” Freedom countered, jamming her fists on her hips. “On her best days, she can barely take care of herself. Right now, she needs us even more.”
I remembered thinking something similar about Aline when I’d first met her, but those circumstances had been crazy. Besides, I wasn’t her sister. I couldn’t imagine one of my siblings treating me that way. Or me treating any of them like that. My sisters would castrate me if I ever implied they weren’t completely competent adults.
Maybe that was why I felt the need to say something. “She’s twenty-two, not a child.”
“You know what,” Freedom took a step toward me, “if you’d just kept your dick in your pants, none of this would be happening. Aline would be at home with us where she belongs and not out doing who knows what.”
She was right…but I couldn’t take all the blame for it. Aline would probably still be at her parents’ house if Freedom had just minded her own business too.
But I wasn’t crazy enough to say it. Freedom had that ‘castrating the bastard’ look I’d seen in my sisters’ eyes at various times growing up. I liked my balls right where they were.
Fortunately, Cain intervened.
“We’ll look for her,” he said. “No charge, of course. We’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“Don’t bother.” She shook her head. “If you don’t know where she is now, then I don’t want anyone in this room near her.” She pointed at me. “Especially you.”
And then she was gone.
Two
Aline
Until I’d walked out of my parents’ house earlier this week, I hadn’t realized just how many of ‘my’ friends were actually Freedom’s or our parents’ friends who’d simply become mine by default. They liked me well enough, I didn’t doubt that, but their loyalty wasn’t to me.
In school, I’d been so much younger than everyone else that we hadn’t shared interests until my junior and senior years, and by then, everyone had already chosen their friends. Then I’d gotten to college, and Freedom already had a group of people for us both to spend time with.
Aside from the fact that I hadn’t wanted to put anyone in a position where they’d feel as if they’d need to take sides, I honestly hadn’t been sure if any of them would’ve chosen me. I’d only been able to think of one person who’d take me in and not feel obligated to tell my family.
Martina Chavez and I had grown up next to each other and had actually attended kindergarten and first grade together. Even after I skipped two grades, we’d stayed friends. Her mom had been the live-in nanny for our next-door neighbors, so they’d moved after the kids had grown up, and I hadn’t been able to see her as often as I once had, but we still kept in touch.
Between my move to Stanford and her going from high school to cosmetology school, our visits had been less and less frequent, but we had a unique bond that, whenever we were able to speak or spend time together, we picked up wherever we left off. I’d last seen her in June when we’d taken a trip to Vegas, but Sunday morning, I hadn’t hesitated to take a bus to the high-end boutique where she worked. She’d simply given me her apartment key and said I could fill her in later.
I’d been grateful for her help, but I hadn’t told her anything more than I was tired of being treated like a child. Each day, she’d asked what’d happened to finally motivate me into action, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to form the words. Twenty minutes ago, she texted to say that she was picking up Thai on her way home, and I knew that meant she wasn’t going to accept my succinct answer this time. She wanted to hear the whole thing.
Some women had ice cream or chocolate – or both – as their comfort food, but with Martina and me, it’d always been Thai. It was what she’d brought me when I was fourteen, and I’d overheard two senior boys making fun of the outfit I’d worn to school that day. Or, rather, they’d been making fun of the fact that I hadn’t been able to fill it out any better than a fourteen-year-old boy would have.
I’d called Martina in tears, and she’d come over with sesame chicken. A few months later, I’d taken the same dish to her when her boyfriend had dumped her two days before the big spring dance.
I had to admit, she’d been beyond patient with me, letting me sleep in her guestroom and not giving an ultimatum about when I needed to either leave or start paying rent. Not that I intended to be a freeloader.
I’d gone to the bank on Monday to take money from my trust fund, and I had it in an envelope to give to her when I asked if I could stay a little longer. Just while I figured out what I wanted to do.