Page 90 of Between Now and Forever

It turns out there’s no zombie apocalypse. But there has been a terrible hurricane on the Eastern Seaboard that decimated entire communities. And there’s a story about a girl who brought down the entire administration at Princeton for some embezzlement scheme.

Her interview rivets me. She’s tiny, with these fierce gray eyes and jet-black hair, and she’s ranting at the news cameras.

Hilde grabs the remote and hits mute.

“It was just getting interesting,” I complain, as I put the final crimp in the pie edge.

She gives the television a derisive frown. “Girls like that are a disgrace to her parents.”

“Why? She broke up some crime ring.” I cover the tray of ready to freeze pie shells with a cloth and move them to the rack where the others are waiting.

“She should be less boastful. More humble.”

“I think she was very brave,” Serene says quietly without looking up from the pecans she’s chopping.

“Brave?” Hilde says scornfully.

“Yes. I read an article…” Serene says.

“Oh, I should have known. Don’t go reading. You’ll get ideas,” Hilde says.

I lay a dramatic hand over my brow. “Ideas. The horror.”

Serene and I burst into laughter and Hilde scowls and turns the volume up again.

We are still giggling when I hear something that makes me look back at the television.

“The young pianist appears to be crying as he sings his heart out.”

It’s Carter on TV. It’s a video of him, naked, with a cigarette between his lips, sobbing as he sings and plays the piano. My heart lurches in my chest. Oh my God.

I grab the remote and turn the volume up. Just then, the tape cuts back to the two anchors.

“Grrrr,” I fumble with the remote.

“Can’t you rewind on this thing?”

“The musician has recently suffered the loss of his father. We knew it was a hard time for the family, but we had no idea how rough.”

“How do you rewind?” I ask frantically as they move on to the next story.

“There’s no rewind.” Hilde snatches the remote from me.

“What’s the matter with you?” she snaps.

“I…” I stare at her and try to calm down before I say something I shouldn’t.

“Nothing, I just like his music, that’s all.” I turn back to my work and have to flex my fingers a few times to get them to stop shaking.

My mind is racing while I roll out the ball of dough on the marble countertop.

His father died. Oh my God. When? Was it recent or has it been months? He would have called to tell me. And if he’s singing and crying at a piano stark naked, then he’s clearly not handled it well at all.

My stomach churns with worry. Oh, poor Carter. He loved his dad. My heart hurts even more when I remember the kind man who came to pay his respects to my brother.

How can I get my hands on a phone? I wrack my brain.

I can’t.

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