Page 78 of Untruly With You

Mom chuckles. “And to think, you thought you would never get a ‘real’ job, and you thought you would never change your hair. And here you are, doing both in one day.”

My laugh dies halfway through, like a car engine sputtering. I’m not entirely sure what I respond, but whatever it is, it isn’t very convincing.

“Aren’t you excited?”

I’m glad nobody around me on the sidewalk cares enoughto pay a second thought to my weak smile. “It is a big day. It’s just…weird to not be telling Sutton about it.”

Mom says nothing. I can perfectly picture her pursed lips as she bites down on her advice.

I, for the thousandth time in the past ten minutes, run my fingers through my hair. It feels alien, like it belongs to someone else entirely. “Do you think I should call him?”

“I think—” She cuts herself off and starts again, clearly trying to give me space to make my own decision. “I think you know what’s best.”

We talk for a minute longer, and I find my way to Washington Square Park. Somehow, it’s even louder than it was on the street. I tuck myself into the corner of the park, the closest thing I can find to a secluded spot. After my mom hangs up, I stare at my phone. Then, with hesitant movements, I navigate to my contacts. Then to my starred favorites. There’s only one name there aside from my parents, and I stare at those six letters for so long they blur into one terrifying shape. My thumb hovers over his name.

But right as I’m about to push down, another call comes on my screen.Frankie.Seeing it makes my heart both swell and crack, and I answer quickly, a feeling that I can only describe as homesickness settling in me.

Before I can greet her, Frankie’s voice rings out so fast the words string together. “Sutton’s been in an accident.”

36

LAINE

I stand,sit, and stand again. “What are you talking about?” My voice sounds distant, like I’m hearing it through a closed door.

Frankie takes three heavy breaths, and they feel like an eternity too long. “He and Wells went out today to check the trails. There was a flash flood. Nothing major, but Sutton’s—Duke’s—horse got scared. He took off, and Sutton was thrown from the saddle.”

“But—but how is he doing? He’s okay, right? I mean, he has to be okay,” I say, trying to convince myself that if Sutton wasn’t okay, if he was…gone, I would feel it.

“I think he’ll be okay,” she says, choking on her words. “He doesn’t look great.”

Thoughts whirl, ticking by so impossibly fast I can’t register any individual one. “Is he seeing a doctor? How is he hurt? Did he hit his head? Where is he now?”

My panic seeps into Frankie, and her breathing shudders. “They’re taking him to a hospital in Missloula. We won’t know how bad it is until they run some tests.”

“He’ll be fine,” I say, equally for Frankie’s benefit and for mine. “He will be fine.”

Frankie’s dry swallow is loud enough for me to hear over the phone. “I hope so.”

We turn into a chorus of “It’ll be okay” and “He’ll be fine” until a hush falls. It’s clear neither of us is quite sure what else to say, so we mumble out our goodbyes. Then, in true Laine fashion, I open Uber without a second thought.

Just like the first time I flew to Missoula, there aren’t any direct flights from New York City. But as a small sliver of grace, the ticketing agent at the airport finds me a route with only one layover. After I get through security, I barely have enough time to tell my parents about the accident—and my subsequent decision to check on Sutton myself—before boarding the first flight.

I only have my purse with me. Inside, I have my wallet, phone, loose change, single bills, and a scratched pair of sunglasses, the protective case for which I lost ages ago. I spend the entire first flight staring at the screen mounted in front of me. Even if I had headphones, I wouldn’t want to watch a movie. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on the live flight map, watching our little cartoon airplane make its painfully slow trek to Minneapolis.

My hope of getting an update from Frankie by the time I land is in vain. No word, no call or text from anyone in the Davis family. By the time I’m off the first plane and to my next gate, I have just enough time to grab a random armful of snacks. However, on my second three-hour flight, I don’t eat any of them. I just sit, writhing, willing the plane to move faster.

It doesn’t.

The Missoula airport is eerily quiet as I disembark from my final flight. That stillness I craved when I went back to New York feels haunting now. With it being just pastmidnight, the dimly lit terminal is nearly empty. The lights overhead cast long shadows, and for a moment, it feels like I'm the only person left in the world.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I snatch it out, my heart leaping into my throat. But it’s not a message from Frankie, just a notification from the airline, letting me know my flight has landed. I stare at the screen, willing it to light up again with some news, anything that might give me a clue about what’s happening with Sutton. When nothing happens, I shove the phone back into my pocket, fighting the urge to scream.

I head toward the exit, the automatic doors swishing open to a blast of cold air. The night is quiet—the kind of quiet that presses in, reminding me of just how alone I am.

The ride to the hospital is a blur. Before I can fully process it, my Uber parks outside the main doors. My stomach flips as I struggle with my seatbelt, my hands shaking so badly it takes me three tries to unbuckle it. Finally, I stumble out, glaring up at the building overhead, and let out a curse at the sight of it. How can a hospital this small possibly provide everything Sutton needs? If only we were at New York Presbyterian or Mount Sinai, where thousands of employees would be right within reach.

The hospital doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and I’m greeted by the smell of antiseptic and the harsh brightness of fluorescent lights. The receptionist looks up as I approach the desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in my disheveled appearance.

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