Page 88 of Fool Moon First Aid

I pause as we near the garage where she was found, my eyes catching on the grimy window of the garage door, once white. To the left, a narrow walkway leads to a dilapidated chain-link fence, and beyond that, a yard where the grass has given up and a back porch that seems to be holding its breath, ready to collapse at any moment.

“Here?” Ethan’s voice pulls me back to the present.

“Yeah, I think so.” I point to the faded numbers on the side of the garage. “Nine Merger Ave. That’s the address from the file the PI gave me. It was the only piece of the puzzle I was missing.”

The backdoor of the adjacent house is tightly shut, its pink curtains a flimsy barrier against the prying eyes of the world. Every light is off, shrouding the place in mystery, and a broken window above the porch speaks of untold stories.

“I often wondered who lived here,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath in the night.

“I can try to find out if you want,” Ethan offers, determination coloring his voice.

“You’d do that for me?” I meet his eyes, a flicker of hope igniting within me. “My PI hit a wall while trying to figure that out.”

He grunts, a sound laden with skepticism, and honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m skeptical too.

Curiosity drags me toward the garage window. Peering through, I see a car, an unremarkable relic at first glance, but something about it tugs at me, a strange knowing that unsettles my stomach.

As the scent of oil and dust fills my nostrils, I do the unthinkable—I slide the garage door open.

“Ava.” Ethan’s voice carries a note of warning, but I’m beyond hearing, stepping inside as the door grinds to a halt. Dust motes dance in the stale air, celebrating their release after years of imprisonment.

My eyes are drawn to the car, and a cold realization washes over me.

“Ethan.” I gasp, my breath catching as I pull the car door open.

“What is it?” He closes the garage door behind us, the dim light casting shadows across his concerned face. “Ava?”

“It’s my mom’s car.” The words tumble out, heavy with emotion, as I slide into the driver’s seat. There, in the cupholder, lies the candy Mama and I shared the Sunday before she vanished. “We picked this up the Sunday before she died.”

I lift the candy, my fingers trembling as I brush off the layer of dust.

“Ava.” Ethan’s voice is a mix of caution and concern. “Why is your mom’s car here, and how did it slip through the police investigation?”

“Why is it still here?” I counter, because that’s the question burning in my soul. After all these years, why does it linger like a ghost? “Let’s go home, Ethan. That’s enough for today.”

“Of course.” He reaches for my hand, his gaze scanning the garage, missing nothing.

He doesn’t have to say it out loud, but I know Ethan Hughes isn’t one to let mysteries lie dormant, and in that realization, I find peace.

I’m not alone, and for now, that’s the lifeline I cling to.

Ava

It’s different this time, as Ethan pulls onto their lane. Despite the surroundings remaining unchanged, everything feels different. Not a single thing is alike, because I am not the same person I was just days ago. My feelings have evolved, and my circumstances have shifted dramatically.

The doubt that once drowned me, and the excuses I made for my father, have all dissipated. Something inside me fundamentally changed when I shifted, as if those burdens simply drifted away, rendering my father’s actions and words powerless to me. Now I see clearly, choosing their impact on me with a sharpened sense of the world. Even cocooned in the car, I can feel the Earth’s heartbeat under my feet.

As we approach our home, only a few lights punctuate the darkness, and on the porch, Tyler shifts restlessly, as if the concept of standing still is alien to him. “Looks like he’s been waiting for you,” Ethan observes with a light chuckle, just as Tyler launches himself toward the car.

Tyler flings the passenger door open before Ethan fully stops the car, exclaiming, “Butterfly,” as he leans in to unbuckle my seat belt. “I missed you,” he murmurs, his fingertips grazing mine.

“It’s only been two hours.”

He lifts me from the car, cradling me in his arms.

“I can walk now,” I gripe, even though a part of me loves being held like I’m his most cherished possession. The notion of belonging to someone bristles against my newfound independence, and yet I don’t completely hate it either.

“I’m under strict orders to clean this wound,” he deflects, focusing on his task rather than my hint to be set down.

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