Read Completely: A Cunningham Family Short Story for Free Online

CALDER
     
     
    When I get home from work, the apartment is dark.
    “Lily?” I call as I flick on the light. “You here?”
    There’s no response. I drop my keys on the hook beside the door and drape my coat over the nearest chair. My briefcase goes on the table. Even though I spent three extra hours at my office today, I still have a massive amount of work to do tonight. But I don’t even want to think about it until I have some food in my stomach and I’ve given Lily a proper hello.
    I step into the kitchen.
    “Lily?” I call again as I open the wine cabinet. I don’t hear the shower running. Maybe she’s outside on the balcony.
    I grab a bottle of merlot from the rack and two glasses from the shelf and head out to look for her.
    She’s not on the balcony.
    She’s not in the bathroom either. Or the guest room. Or anywhere in the apartment.
    Where is she?
    I go back to the living and set the wine on the table. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and my thumb punches Lily’s number.
    She doesn’t answer.
    “Lily,” I say when her voice mailbox picks up. “It’s me. Just checking in.”
    The apartment feels so empty without her here. Lily’s more than capable of taking care of herself—and certainly she has the right to stay out however late she wants—but I can’t ignore the worry that niggles at me as I sit down at the table.
    I call her again as I pour myself a glass of wine. There’s still no response. I drop my cell on the table with a sigh.
    Pull yourself together. It’s only eight o’clock. Lily’s been leaving the Frazer Center early on Wednesdays—to make up for the late Friday and Saturday nights she’s been having this month—but maybe she’s out running errands. Or maybe she’s out with friends, and I’ve just forgotten.
    I slide my thumb down the stem of my glass. My company has been dealing with two new, extremely lucrative accounts this month, and I’ve been putting in a lot of overtime. Too much overtime. There’s no reason Lily should spend her evenings at home waiting for me.
    But I can’t shake that feeling that something is wrong.
    I sip at my merlot and swish it around on my tongue. The taste sticks to the roof of my mouth.
    She never told me she was going out tonight. My memory isn’t perfect, but I’d remember something like that. And if she’s only out at the store, then why isn’t she answering her phone?
    I try her cell phone one more time. And then the number for the Frazer Center. Neither gets a response.
    The next sip of wine feels even thicker. It’s a struggle to choke down.
    You’re worrying over nothing , I tell myself. But three difficult sips later, I’m not so sure. She’s had issues with a psychotic ex-lover. She’s had reporters follow her—one even pushed her down the stairs and broke her arm. I have every reason to be concerned for her.
    I slide my fingers through my hair. Lily means everything to me. If something happened to her…
    I stand. This is ridiculous. It’s not that late. There’s no particular reason to believe she’s in any sort of danger.
    But it doesn’t matter if there’s a reason. If there’s even the tiniest possibility that she could be hurt, or in trouble…
    My hard darts for my cell phone, and I hit the wine. The glass flies across the table, and blood-red merlot spills everywhere. It doesn’t matter. I’m at the door in three strides, the phone pressed against my ear again.
    Still no answer.
    Normally at this point, I’d try her father’s number. But David Frazer is on a much-deserved vacation this week. He’ll have no idea where she is.
    When I get to my car, my mind races through all the places she could be: Red’s Grocery down the street, her friend Morgan’s house, that little bistro near the Center…
    Or in the hands of that violent Garrett. Or being chased down by a crowd of reporters who’ve managed to dig up some new ridiculous story about our family. Or in a ditch somewhere.
    My tires squeal as I