Page 56 of Embers

No Cal.

I swallow hard, the churning in my stomach growing deeper, harsher. I put a hand over my belly and try to breathe through the nausea.

This isn’t—it can’t be, it absolutely cannotbe—what I’m thinking.

Cal would never do that to me.

“Rachel? Are you okay?”

It’s Faith’s voice. She must be walking toward me. I’m vaguely conscious of her approach, but my vision is too blurry to see her clearly.

“What the hell?” Faith’s pace quickens. Her voice is urgent now. “Are you sick? What’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.”

I open my mouth to answer her. Nothing comes out. Not even a squeak.

“Rachel? Tell me what’s wrong.” Faith reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. It should be a comforting touch, but I can’t stand it right now.

I jerk away. Turn sharply around and start to walk again.

This time I have no choice. There’s only one more place for me to look. I move blindly, unaware of anyone else I pass, even when they call out greetings to me. I’m barely conscious of Faith, who is following me, obviously still worried.

Part of me wants to relieve her anxiety, but it’s a tiny voice inside my head, drowned by the rising wails of grief, loss, and agony.

I still haven’t made a sound. I manage to take each step and then the one that follows.

Until I’ve reached one of the farthest outbuildings.

Behind it, out of the way of the work and life activities that happen here, Cal parked our pickup truck when we arrived a week ago.

When I make it around the corner, I pull to a stop. Blink a few times.

The grass is pressed down in lines from tire marks. But there’s no truck. Not anymore.

I start to choke. Literally choke. My throat feels like it’s closing, and I have to cough to take in any air.

The coughing hurts my throat. Hurts everything. I can’t stop it. I bend at the waist and hack painfully.

“Damn, Rachel, please. Tell me what’s going on.” Faith has come over. She’s holding one of my arms, like she’s trying to keep me from falling. “If you’re sick, you need to tell me so we can help.”

Again I try to answer. Again I just can’t do it.

The truck is gone. Cal is gone. All his stuff is… gone.

If he was taking a day trip, he would have told me. If he needed some space, he would have told me. If he had something important come up, he would have told me.

If he was planning to return at all, he would have told me.

He didn’t tell me anything. He just disappeared, taking everything that’s his. I’m not a deluded child anymore. I know exactly what it means.

He told me just last night. He believes his love is trapping me. And the rightest thing for him to do is take off, let me live the life I deserve.

A life without him.

But I can’t process it. Can’t stand it. I’m strangling on sobs that just won’t break.

It’s too much. I can’t handle it. My body and soul are not equipped for this much pain to exist inside me. Not without shattering me to pieces. I fall awkwardly to my knees, still coughing, trying to sob.

“Oh God!” Faith sounds really upset now. She’s reaching down to put a hand on my back. “Rachel, please. What the hell is going on here? You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

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