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FORTY-FIVE

The first two messages were terse, asking Josie to call back immediately.

The third was longer and right to the point.

“I saw on the news that your husband is missing. They said it was a home invasion and robbery and that he was abducted. My heart goes out to you and I hope he’s found safely very soon. However, we cannot make your adoptive profile available to birth parents at the present time. I’m sure you can understand. We weren’t even extended the courtesy of a phone call informing us of this change in your circumstances. This isn’t the first time you and your husband have had safety issues at your home. Though it pains me deeply, I’m afraid we have to revoke your adoption approval. Please contact me with any questions. I’m praying for your husband’s safe return.”

Emotion slammed into Josie’s chest, nearly knocking the breath out of her. Saliva thickened in her mouth. The backs of her eyes burned. She’d known the calls weren’t good, had even known what they were about, but she’d convinced herself the hurt wouldn’t touch her. Couldn’t touch her. Because this was not the time for it.

But here she was, waves of raw emotion rolling over her, thunderous and destructive, while her traitorous body let them.

“No,” she whispered.

Trout’s sleepy head lifted at the sound of her voice. His ears pointed straight up. A small whine escaped his mouth. He sensed the shift in her emotions even in slumber.

She wasn’t doing this now.

Scratching his head, she soothed him back to sleep and then got the hell out of there. She had no idea where she was going. Just away. As if running down the hall of Gretchen’s second floor could carry her away from her feelings. Tears clouded her sight.

This wasn’t happening now.

Josie’s body collided with something, sending her staggering backward. Not something, someone. Hands gripped her upper arms and spun her. “In,” said a voice that sounded like Gretchen’s. Josie couldn’t be sure. Blood rushed in her ears, distorting everything. Cold tiles touched her bare feet. Light exploded around her. A door clicked closed. Her ass landed on the cool, flimsy plastic lid of a toilet.

She was in Gretchen’s bathroom, sobbing.

It was coming out. All of it—the panic, the rage, the pain, the despair, the pressure, the unbearable missing of her other half, and now the death of their shared dream—spilling from her in violent bursts she could no longer contain. Heat stung her wet cheeks. A spasm rocked her abdomen, forcing her to fold over and dip her head between her knees. Snot poured unceremoniously from her face, mixing with saliva, pooling near her feet. Her body always made too much saliva when she cried. It was embarrassing and annoying. Josie hated crying.

Noises broke through the roar in her ears. A rustling. The soft tearing of something. Then a hand gently gathered all the fluids leaking from her face onto a wad of toilet paper. Gretchen said, “I promise you, it will lessen. Stop fighting it, Josie.”

Her chest constricted. She tried to speak, to tell Gretchen that she couldn’t not fight it but the sheer strength of the feelings forcing their way out of her body took up too much of her energy, too much of her internal coordination. What did she even have if she couldn’t fight? She’d had to fight for her very survival from such a young age, she didn’t know anything else. That was what she had, what she did best.

Gretchen knew it. Raised by a mother with Munchausen syndrome by proxy, she still bore the scars of her childhood. They were the same that way. They needed the fight almost as much as they needed oxygen to survive.

Another wad of toilet paper swiped at Josie’s face. “This is not a battle you need to win,” Gretchen told her matter-of-factly. Josie appreciated her tone and the way she didn’t try to soothe. No rubbing of Josie’s back, or hugs, or soft, encouraging words. This pain was too raw, too deep and elemental for all that.

The only person who could touch her when she got like this was Noah.

Another dam broke and this time, Josie let it disintegrate. She surrendered, letting her body do what it needed to do until she was completely spent. Lifting her heavy head, she blinked her swollen eyes until Gretchen came into focus, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that said, I Like My Cat and Maybe Three People.

Unexpectedly, Josie laughed. It sounded unhinged and ended in a hiccup.

Gretchen looked down at the shirt and grinned. “Funny, right? ’Cause it’s so true. Paula got it for me.”

Josie nodded.

“You’re one of the three, by the way.”

“I know,” said Josie, her voice throaty and thick.