Page 50 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)
Chris
T wo weeks after I last saw Hopper’s face in person, I see him in an article Adrian sends me.
The article’s headline is Have You Seen the Muffin Man? And the image is of him—and Miles—mouths open, with a muffin in midair in the foreground.
I immediately forward it to Dolly, who calls me, losing it. She can’t stop laughing, and neither can I.
“I’m framing it!” she declares. “It’s going on the wall.
” It’s good to laugh, since I haven’t been feeling it lately.
I miss Hopper so much I can barely breathe.
Even though I know why he hid everything from me, I still can’t quite bridge the gap to being where we were.
And now he’s in LA, getting ready for the Iggies, which are happening tomorrow.
My friends are constantly reaching out to me to hang out, and sometimes I do.
I had a semi-enjoyable time on Shelby’s boat.
But seeing the beach made me have to hide tears.
It’s like that most days. So most of the time I’m keeping myself distracted by doing online research. And working at the Dinghy.
The most shocking development besides the Muffin Man article is that Shay moved from her house.
I hadn’t seen her at the track lately and she wasn’t answering her phone.
I got so worried, I did something really stupid.
I went to her house with a plan to make up some story about being a teacher and recruiting for a high school club.
But when I knocked, the door swung open.
Panic gripped my chest as I saw through the crack that the place was empty. The only thing in there amid the reek of cigarette smoke and old beer was some scattered garbage and abandoned clothes.
“They moved,” a voice on the street called up at me.
I whirled around. A tired-looking woman pushing a stroller had seen me and stopped. “Neighbor said they got some kind of inheritance and took off.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish before finding my voice. “They all went?”
“Just Shay and that asshole stepdad of hers. Mom’s been having a rough time; hasn’t been here in a while. Shay went to live with family, though. Looked happy. Lord knows where he went.”
I swallowed, my pulse racing with worry. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Then I called Tru. “Whoever you guys hire to do background checks, I need you to talk to them. Please. I need to find out what happened to someone missing.”
Once she calmed me down, she promised she’d get her guy to look into it. I got the confirmation back three days later. Not from Tru, though. From Shay, who finally returned my call.
“OMG, I’m so, so sorry!” she told me. “But guess what?”
She told me she moved in with a second cousin of her mom’s, in Alberta, who didn’t even know she existed. That her mom, who she hadn’t seen in a few years, is moving a few hours away and taking steps to get clean.
“We went camping and all left our phones. They have a camper and do these unplugged trips… Aunt Susan and Uncle Bill. I mean, technically, Susan’s my cousin, but I call her Aunt Susan.
Anyway, she’s so nice. She said it was okay for me to talk to you.
I’ve got cousins my own age here, and my own room… they even let me bring Betty!”
I swallowed down the thickness in my throat at all her gushing out-of-order news that only sort of made sense to me. Her being happy and wanted was a gift. Even if I knew it meant I was likely never to see her again.
“You tell me if you ever come back here, okay?” I ask.
“I promise.”
I’ve said farewell to a good number of people I cared about in my life.
But this one hurt in a very particular way.
I didn’t want to hang up. “Hey, Shay? What would you think if you knew there was a special school for girls to learn how to dirt bike? Like a club. Would you be interested in something like that?”
“OMG, yeah. I probably couldn’t afford anything like that, but it would be awesome. Wait, is there something like that here? ”
“I’m not sure, honestly. I can find out for you.
” I’d only looked locally. “But it would be great, wouldn’t it?
I would have loved something like that when I was your age.
” Shay thought that was beyond awesome. She promised to write me a real, old-fashioned letter sometime, and I told her if she wanted to, I’d love that.
But mostly, I just wanted her to know that she deserved all the good things happening to her.
Tru called me the next day to tell me the investigator refused to tell her exactly what he’d found, which she said was very strange. “I pushed, but he wouldn’t budge,” Tru told me. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. Because with that confirmation, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what happened.
The relative who’d been tracked down, as well as the “inheritance” Shay’s neglectful stepfather received, was likely initiated by someone with the sexiest eyes in Hollywood and a mustache I missed running my thumb over so badly I ached.
“Chris,” Tru said before we hung up. “While I still have you, a little bird told me you haven’t looked at your trust account.”
My severance hadn’t been paid into my bank account like my paychecks.
Hopper’s accountants had set up a separate account for me.
It was true; I hadn’t looked at it yet. There was something too final about it.
Plus, I’m certain Hopper would have overpaid me.
Just the thought of looking at twenty grand or whatever I haven’t earned while the two of us are on the rocks like this makes me feel wrong .
Yesterday, Adrian called to ask if I’d reconsider joining them on the red carpet at the Iggies in two days.
I already told him there was no way I was going.
I reiterated that, even though I wished so badly I could.
It was the clincher when Tru talked me into taking the job.
Our outfits were amazing. Len’s collection of shades of hunter green vintage, repurposed and refitted so we all matched, was going to look amazing.
But I’m not part of the team anymore. It doesn’t feel right.
Waking up today, I’m almost as depressed about missing it as I am about missing Hopper. Okay, not nearly that much. But I’m still mopey about it.
I pick my phone up off the bedside table, intending to text Hopper.
About what, I’m not sure. We’ve been talking, just words and pictures here and there.
But it’s been both the high- and lowlight of every day.
High because Hopper always makes me smile.
Low because when we end our conversations, Hopper says I love you, while I say Over & Out.
Both of us know it means I love you too, but I can’t say the real words again.
Not just yet. I’m not withholding it, exactly.
I’m just still waiting for something. Some explanation.
Some solution for this cracked and bleeding heart.
So I write Over & Out, and Hopper hearts it.
This morning, Hopper’s already texted, which isn’t unusual.
Yesterday he sent me a photo of a seagull inhaling a full-sized smokie on his morning run on the beach.
But today, something about seeing his name sends a tingle of intuition through me.
Like today’s text will be different. I open the text .
HOPPER: I found a show that might interest you. Tonight at 7.
He tells me where to watch, and when I look it up, I see it’s an evening interview show.
Tonight with Rob Vancy. I’ve seen the show before—Rob’s a hard-hitting interviewer, and it’s been the stage for several bombshell career announcements from politicians, celebrities, and other public figures.
Last year an evangelical preacher came out as a sex addict, and it’s where Charlene, Hopper’s costar on Mountain Man , talked about her struggles with eating disorders.
Tonight, the show’s featuring Hopper Donnach.
My stomach swoops. Maybe he’s going to talk about his shift to indie films. Maybe he’s going to address the Muffin Man incident.
But somehow I know that’s not it.
Either way, I only agonize for a long time before pulling out my phone.
I don’t want to be alone when I watch this.
I type out a group text to my friends. It should be simple, but it makes my palms sweat.
I call my friends to hang out, sure, but to specifically ask for emotional support?
I never wanted to burden them with real things, even as I was thrilled and honored to be there for their ups and downs.
That little girl in me wants them so badly, but remembers how often she was rebuffed or ignored altogether.
I ground my “please help me” text in no pressure and only if you have time .
But when the responses immediately come in with hearts and love emojis and a “Finally!!!” from Lana, I can’t help the happy tears that spill out.
I guess now I’m someone who’s learning how to let people in.
Who’s learning, thanks to Hopper, that I’m lovable, even with all my scars.