Page 192 of Bitter’s Sweet

“It’s okay.”

It is not okay.

Nothing has been okay since yesterday morning, and somehow the universe keeps finding additional basement levels beneath rock bottom.

My phone buzzes again in my hand.

I do not want to look.

I look.

A photograph fills the screen.

For a second, I cannot understand what I am seeing.

Then my knees go weak.

Mama.

Her picture is still inside the repaired wooden frame, the tiny crack Bitter fixed with careful hands visible in one corner. A black-gloved hand grips one side of it.

Behind the frame is Bitter’s nightstand.

His bed.

His wall.

His apartment.

“No.”

Junie is beside me instantly. “What?”

I turn the phone toward her.

She sucks in a breath.

Petal stands, and Lark’s face drains of color.

“That’s upstairs,” I whisper.

Junie looks toward the windows. “Call Hyde.”

I am already hitting Mercy’s number.

It rings.

Again.

Nothing.

“Come on.”

Voicemail.

“No.”

I call again.