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SASHA: Hi, Mom. It’s Sasha. New number. Have you heard anything from Sam?

She answers only a few seconds later.

MOM: No, have you?

I shouldn’t have done this. I’m in the process of writing back to tell her never mind, but it takes a while on the old flip phone. Another text comes before I finish.

MOM: It’s atrocious. Just atrocious.

MOM: Where are you? Isn’t it time you come home?

MOM: Anyway, I saw Celina Moore the other day…

I lower the phone. I can’t believe it. Celina Moore is the mother of Robert Moore, a boring-as-hell hedge fund manager who my mother will not stop trying to set me up with.

She doesn’t even care about Sam anymore.

More texts come from her, and exactly none of them are about him or about me. Nothing about how she misses me or hopes I’m well.

As my phone keeps buzzing, I have the sudden liberating thought: I’m done.

I’m done trying to pretend we have a good relationship. I’m done trying to seek validation or approval from her.

Things may not be perfect here, but since I’ve been in Quince Valley, I’ve felt more accepted and loved and cared for than I ever did at home. Griffin has shown me more love than I knew for even a moment with my family. Feeling my chest swell, I ignore the texts from my mom and send one to Griffin. I wasn’t going to tell him about Sam until he got back, but I do now just in case, reasoning he’ll respond when he’s not so busy.

A few minutes later, I’m bringing my overnight bag outside to drop in the truck before heading over to Chester’s when my phone rings.

I’m surprised to see Vivian’s name on my screen amid all the text notifications.

“Hey, Viv,” I say congenially, only because I know she doesn’t like pesky things like friendly greetings.

I’m sure she’s going to tell me I messed something up during my shift, which she usually does when she just wants to chat. But to my surprise, she says, “Do you know a Mr. Chester Brown?”

My stomach flips. “Yes. I’m actually on my way over to see him. Why?”

“Well, you’re not going to find him at home. He’s here at Greenville General.”

I drop my bag. “What? Is he okay?”

“Not really. He’s making a very big fuss because they won’t let him leave by himself.”

“Viv, is he okay?”

“Okay enough to act like that cartoon cowboy with the guns.”

Yosemite Sam. I’d laugh if this was remotely funny. “How did you know to call me?”

“I thought this is the neighbor you talk about with his…tooth situation.”

Now I do laugh, though it’s quick and humorless. I pick up my bag, setting it on the hood of the truck as I pat my pockets for my keys. They’re not there. “So does he need a ride? I can be there in fifteen.”

“No, no, I’m already here with my sister. We’ll bring him home. Just meet us at his place. Give me the address.”

I try to argue, but she threatens to hang up on me if I don’t tell her where to go. I give her the information, then run back inside to find my keys. It takes me a good five minutes of frustration to find them, emptying my pockets and tearing up the place before spotting them on the couch where I sat with the laptop earlier.

When I get to Chester’s, I pace his front walkway, questions flying through my head. What’s he doing at the hospital? Is he going to be okay? It’s only when I peer around the side of his house that I see his old car. There’s a huge dent in the front bumper.

This time my fingers actually make it into my mouth.