Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Piper Karel. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“Babe, it’s me. Where are you? I’ve been calling you for hours. Not sure what’s going on. Call me when you get this. I love you.”

My hand shakes erratically as I end the call. Ashes spill off the cigarette I’m holding and sprinkle onto the hotel carpet.

I hold the butt to my lips and suck it like I’m syphoning for air. I hold the smoke in my lungs. Let it fill my hollow void, then let it out.

I pace the room. Exactly six steps to the balcony. Exactly six steps back to the edge of the bed.

Six.

Six.

Six.

Piper always answers my calls. She’s a creature of extreme habit—always at the same place at the same time of day every day. She’s the one and only thing that doesn’t fuck with me or confuse me.

It’s five p.m. there.

It’s ten p.m. here.

I woke at six a.m.

Didn’t I? What day is it?

Does that even fucking matter?

Where is she?

Ladybug, have you finally flown away from me?

I light another cigarette. Now I’ve got one in each hand.

She’s gone.

No more soft voices. No smiles. No love. No more hope.

No more peace. No more normal.

The silence is maddening, thrashing in my brain like a wild animal.

The emptiness is turning my blood to liquid ice.

I’m shivering from the cold.

She left you.

They all left you.

No.

Drink. It will melt the ice. You need the warmth and the heat in your veins.

No.

The drugs will cure you. You’re sick. It will numb the pain. Silence the silence.

No.

No one will know. You’re alone. You’re always alone. You only have me. I won’t tell.

No. They love me.

You disappoint them. They deserve better. They’ve run away. To hide from you.

They wouldn’t do that.

Evan, you dumb fuck. They already have.

Go away. Please just go away.

Fly away from it all. You know you have wings. Use them. Come with me. Stand on the balcony. Just six steps. Fly with me. You’ll never hurt again. You’ll be free, just like me. Watch me fly. Do what I do.

No. I don’t have wings.

Shhh. You can sing and fly just like me. I won’t let you fall.

No. You’re not real.

I snatch up the phone again and smash my finger on the speed-dial for Piper’s house.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hi, we’re not home right now. Leave us a message. Thanks!”

Fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

I struggle to use my calm, sober, I’ve-got-it-together, nothing-to-worry-about-here voice.

I’d probably have an easier time singing the fucking National Anthem right now.

“Piper…I need you, baby. Where are you? I can’t find you or Lyric. Please don’t do this. I’m better now. I love you. Please come back.”

I pace again.

I walk.

Out the door and down the stairs.

So many fucking stairs, I can’t even count.

Every time I tell them don’t give me stairs and yet, they still give me all the fucking stairs.

I’m walking.

Out into the night, into the cool, open air.

My heart is aching, my fingers are numb.

My vision is blurred at the edges like a burnt photograph. Everything is fading away.

I walk.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

One, two, three, four…

Every step grounding me. Clearing my mind. Moving me forward. Away, away, away from the voices.

Walking.

For as long as it takes, as far as it takes.

As long as I’m walking, I’m not able to fly.

Chapter Forty-Five

The doctor’s words are still ricocheting around in my head, even though I’m sure a full five minutes has passed since she spoke them in her soothing voice.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Karel. There’s no heartbeat. It appears the baby stopped growing at approximately nine weeks.”

Three weeks ago, my tiny baby left me.

I didn’t even know.

How could I not know?

And Blue, my love, never knew that a baby was waiting for him to come home. A baby that I wanted to surprise him with, in person, so we could do it right this time. Together.

A baby that he was never supposed to miss a moment of.

Gone.

Pain ripples through me and I shake my head as tears spill down my cheeks, and I hug myself, clutching my stomach.

My sobs are muffling the doctor’s voice, drowning her words as she continues to say things no mother should ever hear.

“Are you sure?” I ask desperately as the nurse helps me sit up. “I’ve been fine. Totally fine, actually. I haven’t been sick or had any cramps or bleeding or anything. I think it’s a mistake. Or maybe the baby is tiny? I’m very petite, and so is my daughter. She was just barely five pounds when she was born. At full term.” I gulp and try to catch my breath. “Can you check again?”

Dr. Powell offers me a sympathetic shake of her head, snapping off her purple latex gloves.

“I’m sorry, Piper. There’s no doubt. I know how devastating this is for you, and I’m so very sorry.”