Page 158 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

“I’m gonna try calling him again,” I tell them, waving my phone like it’s proof that I am, in fact, going to make a call using it. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hope everything’s okay,” Linda says, and I keep smiling and say something normal and then walk through the room full of people without tripping and back into the foyer and then, for good measure, through some French doors and onto an empty patio overlooking a dark golf course.

I’ve just hit the call button when my phone buzzes in my hand, a text message from a strange number.

Unknown:Kat? Are you at the lawyer thing?

Unknown:Sorry this is June

Unknown:Silas’s sister

Oh God. Oh fuck. My hands are shaking.

Me:Is he okay?

June: Fine! He’s fine. Shit, sorry

June: I should have led with that

I do not type YES YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING LED WITH THAT.

Me:Yeah, I’m at the lawyer thing at the country club. What happened? Did he get in an accident? Did something happen? Is he okay?

I swear, she types forever. I walk over to a bush and start tearing leaves off of it because I have to do something with my hands.

June:No accident, but nobody can find Javier. They’re all up at Wildwood. Can you make some excuses and I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes?

Me:God yes.

June:Ha. I’ll be the lady in the Forest Service truck.

Me:Thanks.

I spend the next ten minutes out there, alone, watching the golf course and the forest beyond fade into darkness. Venus is on the horizon, and I watch it for a while. God, it feels good to be alone. I wonder if I can walk around the outside of the building back to my car without having to say goodbye to anyone.

Two more sentences, Nakamura, I think. Come on.

I make myself walk back in. Smile pleasantly at everyone. Re-enter the group I was in before, and when the conversation pauses, say that I am so sorry but something’s come up, and need to leave. Silas is fine. He sends his regrets. Thank you for a lovely night.

I’m pretty sure I say most of that, at least. I might thank them for regrets and say that Silas sends a lovely night, who fucking knows.

But then I’m outside again. There’s a guy in a vest at a valet stand, and we nod at each other as I lean against a brick column, kick my shoes off, and lean back. It’s done. It’s over. I didn’t say anything incredibly embarrassing, I didn’t have another panic attack, I didn’t throw up on anyone’s shoes. I didn’t throw up at all, even though I thought I might at least twice.

Wait. What did she mean nobody can find Javier? I was so busy being glad I got to leave that I skimmed past that part, but standing here with my shoes off and relief washing over me like a cool shower, it suddenly hits me.

A few minutes later, a dark pickup truck loops around the parking lot, then pulls up. It’s got dings in every door, needs to be washed, and has clearly seen better days.

I put my shoes back on and open the door.

“Kat?” says the woman inside.

“Hi. June?” I ask.

“Careful of the running board,” she says. “It’s a little wobbly on that—yeah, there you go. Sorry. This is the worst car for that outfit, probably.”

“It’s fine,” I say, as I heave myself into the passenger seat in the most unladylike manner possible. I probably didn’t even flash anyone, mostly because there’s no one out here to flash.

When I finally settle in and buckle up, she’s looking at me, across the cab of the truck. I’m not sure how, but my stupid brain manages to dredge up just enough adrenaline to get nervous about it. God, I’m tired of myself sometimes.