I’d only discovered it last night when we drove into Charleston for Mom’s concert, back into cell reception range. There were a lot of worrying things about it—but the thing that troubled me most was that he’d left it four days ago, on my cell phone. It was too spotty for me to even begin to figure out why there hadn’t been any calls since. Why, for the past four days, he’d skipped our nightly check-ins, letting my calls go straight to voicemail. Why he hadn’t picked up when I tried him again late last night, or this morning.

For all I knew, that message was a breakup.

A new text popped up, from Jules: When are you back? STOP IGNORING ME.

I sat on the edge of one of the seats by my gate, crossing my ankles to keep them from jittering as I dialed him.

Straight to voicemail. Again. I put my phone away and started to board. He’s busy getting the marching band together.

When the plane took off, my body went still and calm, recapturing the feeling I got sitting on the dock—light on water. I peered out at the vista below, the marshes, the ocean, the endless expanse, the whole world one big curved horizon.

I didn’t need a clear path forward. I just needed to remember this view.

•   •   •

No band on arrival, no balloons, no Oscar at all. I scanned the waiting crowd as I walked out of the terminal, past security, into the baggage claim area, but then succumbed to reality. He hadn’t shown.

I stepped to the side of the escalator, scanning now for a man in a suit holding a sign with my name on it. Dad would have sent a car if Oscar wasn’t picking me up. But I didn’t see that either.

Which was fine! This is all fine.

I pulled my bag off the conveyer belt, fighting growing disorientation, like I was in an old Twilight Zone episode—I’d stepped off an airplane and into a world in which I’d never been born.

I tried Dad on the taxi ride into Manhattan. His phone rang but he didn’t answer. I pressed my knees together as the cab lurched its way to my neighborhood, dread spreading from my stomach until every breath I took seemed infused with it.

As I passed Oscar’s low window, I peeked inside. The room was dark, AC unit off. He wasn’t there, so I let myself into the house, hauling my roller bag behind me.

“Hello?”

Upstairs, Dad’s clock ticked.

I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for somebody to walk in. Something to happen.

They were probably at Amberley, hard at work. I could unpack, get changed, unwind. Give them space. Extend my vacation from music that much longer.

I bolted out the door.