Page 93 of Someone to Hold

“Wow.” I smile. “Somehow, I can’t see Nana at the nail salon.”

She giggles then asks, “Did your mom get her nails done?”

I try to remember back that far.

“I don’t think so.” I take Laurel’s hand in mine. “But her hands were delicate, just like yours.”

“You remember her hands?”

“Yep.” I smile because I don’t think about my mom often. Mostly when I do, thoughts of her are conflated with vague feelings of being hungry or cold or hiding in the closet when her rowdy friends came over.

But I remember her hands smoothing over my hair when she’d brush it. My mother loved the bright color so much that until I went to live with my grandparents and somebody made fun of redheads at my new school, I thought having red hair made me pretty.

We both startle as a deafening crack of thunder pierces the air. The storm has been gaining steam, and as if on cue, the lights in the room flicker on and off.

“Let’s get your brother. I’ll put this stuff away later, but I want us all together and to pull out the flashlights in case we lose power.”

I follow Laurel out of the room.

“What movie did you pick?” she asks as she pushes open his door.

Only his room is empty.

“Luke, what movie?” she shouts, turning for the stairs.

There’s no reply.

“I know you hear me.”

She thunders down the steps as I take a moment to grab the untouched plate of pizza from the nightstand. My kids shared a room up until Linda left for her trip. Luke is now in his father’s old room with mementos from Teddy’s childhood—sports trophies and adventure posters—surrounding him on the walls and dressers. But there isn’t much that represents my son besides a bookshelf filled with his completed Lego sets.

When I buy the farm, the first thing I’m going to do is let both kids pick new paint colors and themes so the bedrooms feel like they belong to them.

“Mom!”

The panic in Laurel’s voice makes my breath catch.

“Luke’s gone!”

I hurry down the stairs as fast as I can with the blasted boot. “Luke,” I call. “This isn’t funny.”

The lights flicker again. “Buddy, come out now. I know today was rough, but?—”

I head toward the laundry room, continuing to yell for him, and grab two flashlights from the cabinet across from the washing machine.

Laurel follows me. “He’s not here.”

“It’s pouring rain, plus he hates thunder. Why would he leave?”

“I don’t know, but his boots are gone.”

“What?” My heart is pounding so loud I can feel it in my throat. “What do you mean his boots are gone?”

“His cowboy boots. The ones he wears when he rides Gumdrop. They’re not by the front door. Neither is his rain jacket.” She stares at me, her eyes wide. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

“Get your shoes on. Let’s go to the barn,” I tell her without hesitation.

Even without the missing boots and rain jacket, I know enough to trust the twin bond. If Laurel says her brother isn’t in the house, I believe her.