Page 52 of Not on the Same Page

“Of course. We’ll find him, Casey. His shift only ended about thirty minutes ago. He couldn’t have gone far,” Lisa insists. But it doesn’t reassure me. We say our goodbyes and I hang up, shoving my phone in my pocket and turning toward the door.

“I’ll drive,” Trina says from behind me, her keys jingling against one another.

I turn to face her. “You don’t even know what’s going on.” She doesn’t know Robert…or know about him. We decided early on not to get too personal. The only reason I ever even mention my mom is because Trina had been at the funeral, showing her support. Robert had stepped aside by the time I saw her there. The emotion had been too much for him, and he needed a break. So there has been no reason to bring him up to her, and now I’m so worried about him that the thought of trying to explain this part of my life feels too big. I don’t know where I’d start.

But she shrugs. “I know you need to get back to your condo. I’m assuming you didn’t drive?” She waits for me to shake my head. “And I know driving is faster than taking the train. Hence, I will drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say even as the relief and gratitude start to soothe some of my nerves.

“I know.” It’s such a simple phrase. There’s no way she’s aware of how much my heart swells hearing it. So much so that I’m still standing there in stunned silence as she breezes past me, the yellow fabric of her skirt brushing against my legs and the strawberry scent of her shampoo carried on the air between us.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

19

TRINA

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Casey so scared in the entire time I’ve known him. His wide eyes as he turned to me, his phone pressed to his ear with a hand that was shaking slightly…it tore my heart open. My chest still aches for him. It’s almost hard to breathe knowing he’s usually the stoic one, the one who has everything under control. He makes me feel in control. I don’t like being the level-headed one, as if I’m the one with answers. I don’t have any. I’m not even sure what’s going on.

We get into my car. My hands are shaking too, so it takes two tries to get the keys into the ignition. If Casey notices, he doesn’t let on. He’s somewhere else, his knee bouncing quickly and his gaze fixed on something unseen beyond the dashboard.

Pulling away from the curb, it feels like something has irrevocably changed. The last time I had this feeling, I was in the back seat, not the front. My mom hadn’t come home. Turns out she had been arrested. Two men from Child Protective Services came to get me, and the next thing I knew, I was on my way to Phoenix. My aunt’s house. It was a beautiful, sunny day just like this. Maybe not quite as hot, but the sky was a piercing blue. Even when I was that young, I had the sense that it was all wrong. Bad things are supposed to happen on rainy days. At night. In the dark. Not while you’re driving in an unfamiliar car, passing families laughing and playing in the park.

I inhale sharply. I can’t flash back to that now. Not with Casey next to me, distressed and in need of someone to carry some of the worry for him. He’s been that for me without knowing it. I can be that for him.

Reaching across the center console and taking his hand in mine, I thread our fingers together and squeeze. Slowly, with a glassiness to his eyes, he turns his head to look at our hands intertwined. For a brief second, I hope he sees what I see—we fit together, just like this.

“Sometimes two things that shouldn’t go together actually blend pretty well.”

It was a pointed statement when he made it, but I didn’t understand what he was getting at as I ate pasta and let the anticipation of heat and sex and our bodies coming together build in my core. But I can’t help but think that maybe he was talking about us—the agent and editor. Anxiety-ridden mess and strong, capable success story. Woman with no roots and man so rooted to Chicago he wouldn’t dare dream of a promotion elsewhere.

Breathing out slowly through pursed lips, I try to settle my racing heart. There are too many things going on. Too many emotions. Too many reminders for me, who has made a second career out of not looking back.

I have to say something, but I don’t want to pry. “You don’t have to tell me anything.” I hope that’s reassuring enough without sounding nosy.

Casey shakes his head, still not looking at me, but his knee stops bouncing. “I have a brother, a few years younger than me. I don’t know if you saw him at the funeral? He…” He swallows hard. “The whole thing was a lot for him. He wasn’t in the room with us for very long.”

I rack my brain for any memory of another man aside from Casey’s father, but I come up blank. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because Casey keeps talking.

“Anyway, he has a cognitive disability. He can do most things any adult can—he has a job, does basic chores. After Mom died, he and Dad had a hard time living together. Dad wasn’t really equipped to be a caregiver, you know?”

He looks at me then, his eyebrows raised in question. The truth is that I don’t have any knowledge of family dynamics like this. I don’t know anything about fathers or caregiving. I’m lucky to be able to take care of myself, but it seems important to him that I understand, so I nod.

“A spot opened up for a group home. They’re notoriously hard to get into because once you get in, you don’t leave. It’s too good. Robert can live on his own there…well, with roommates…and he has help. There’s staff, and they’re wonderful. They taught him how to get to and from his job, how to handle his money…” Casey’s voice goes soft, and his hand tenses in mine.

“It sounds really amazing,” I offer.

“Yeah, it is. He has a lot of freedom to live his life. He’s been thriving.”

“Not anymore?” I guess after some silence.

“No, he’s been doing great. I see him every Sunday for lunch, and then we go back to his place and watch a game or a movie or whatever he wants to do. He’s always seemed happy. But one of the staff members called me, and he’s gone. He came back from work, but now they don’t know where he is.”

“Is this something that happens a lot?”

“Never. They taught him how to use public transit. Got all the housemates Ventra cards, practiced with them just in case they ever needed to use it. One of his roommates takes the bus to work. Robert can walk to his job, though. And I always go to him when I see him.” Casey’s voice cracks, and I squeeze his hand a little tighter.

“He didn’t tell anyone where he was going?” I ask as we pull up to the curb outside his condo.