22. Nicole

Michael's rental car drives smoothly, absorbing the shock from bumpy roads and streets riddled with potholes. I think that's how his life has been too, equivalent to a ride in a luxury vehicle, untouchable from the ups and downs of existence. I haven't owned a car in a while, but I did have an old Toyota Camry, before I couldn't afford the insurance or even the gas in the tank, and I remember the drives were never smooth.

His hand rests on the bottom of the steering wheel while his other lies in his lap. There's no tension, no worry, nothing. It's all very laid-back. We're maybe five minutes away, and we haven't spoken the whole ride. I'm not sure either of us know what to say. What do you say to a person you used to know? It'd be easier to talk to him if I didn't know him at all.

"Thanks for coming," I finally land on.

Michael glances over at me. "Of course. I couldn't let you go alone."

"Beth could." I briefly meet his gaze before breaking away and looking out the passenger-side window.

A blur of harvested cornfields and pastures scattered with dairy cows pass by. The sky is a light gray, like a dirty sheet has been pulled over it. It's looked like that since Mom passed. Maybe she took the sunshine with her.

"I wouldn't take it personally," he says. His eyes are back on the road ahead.

"How else am I supposed to take it?"

"Did you take it personally when I stopped coming around after Dad went missing?"

It's the first time he's mentioned his absence.

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

"Why?"

"Because we're family, and we needed you."

"Mom didn't."

I study his profile. He has Dad's nose and chin, strong and pronounced. His eyes are a mix of both our parents', not blue, not green, but hazel. His hair is dark like Dad's with specks of gray, but he keeps it cut short on the sides and a little longer on top.

"What do you mean Mom didn't?"

He clenches his jaw slightly, like he's chewing on the words that he hasn't uttered yet, clasping them with his back molars and deciding whether or not to release them.

"She told me not to come back," he says.

"Why would she tell you that?"

He swallows hard; his Adam's apple rocks up and down, covering nearly the full length of his neck.

"Because when she called to tell me about Dad leaving, I said it was probably for the best."

"Why would you say that to her?"

"Why wouldn't I say that? She said he left a note. That means he chose to leave, and honestly, he and I hadn't been good for a long time. Ever since I moved out to California, he lost interest in my life. I think he resented me for doing more than he ever did, which is pretty fucked up. Our parents pushed us to be the best, but when I did better than Dad, he shut me out."

I deliver a sympathetic look but Michael doesn't see it. His eyes are focused on the road. I didn't know there were issues between him and Dad.

"I'm sorry, Michael," I say.

He shrugs and mutters, "Thanks."

"If it makes you feel any better, you get the same treatment if you do worse than your parents too," I say.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I hadn't seen Mom in over a year before her death."

"Why?"

"She told me not to come back too... not until I had a chip." A tear escapes the corner of my eye. "The day she died, I was one day away from getting my chip, the closest I ever was to it. But she passed before I could get it, before I could see her again. I tried. I really did." I shake my head. "But I was too late. I was too fucking late," I say, nearly choking on my words.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Nicole."

I wipe away my tear and attempt to compose myself. "It makes sense now, why Mom donated the money you gave her to the Missing Persons Foundation."

He makes a humph sound, mixed with the ha of a laugh. "Even in death, she just had to teach me one last lesson."

"Same here. I almost feel like she knew I was one day away from being clean, so she died on purpose as a way of saying, ‘You should have tried sooner and harder.'"

"You really believe that?" he asks, raising a brow.

I let on a small smile. "Not really."

He smiles back and slows the car down, turning into a gravel driveway that leads to a ranch-style house. The shutters have fallen off the windows, and several are boarded up. The grass is unkempt, patchy in some areas and overgrown in others. It looks abandoned. I bite at my lower lip. It's chapped, and my teeth tear off a sliver of dry skin.

My breathing changes, switching to short and fast.

Michael shuts off the engine. "This is it," he says.

"It looks like no one lives here."

"Which makes it the perfect place to hide out." He raises a brow, opens his door, and gets out of the vehicle.

I exit on my side, and our shoes crunch over the gravel as we walk toward the house. Michael knocks on the door, but it's already ajar. The force of his knock pushes it farther open. He pokes his head in and calls out, "Hello." The sound echoes throughout the empty home.

I force my way past Michael, running into the dark, quiet house. It smells stale and musty. There's an old stained mattress on the living room floor, like someone had been camping out here. Empty food wrappers and cans of soda are scattered around. Cobwebs cling to every corner and light fixture.

"Dad," I call out, running room to room, each one emptier than the last. The house repeats Dad each time I yell it, taunting me. I stand in the center of a room at the end of the hall. I'm sure it used to be a bedroom, but without a bed it's just a room. Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. The craving is strong... stronger than it's been in a long time. I imagine the tip of the needle disappearing into my skin. Pressing down on the plunger. And then that almost instant euphoria. Like being bathed in warm honey. Feeling everything and nothing at the same time. It's the closest I've gotten to heaven or at least how I picture heaven to be. My heart races. My skin tingles and perspires. And then there's a tremble so deep inside of me. It starts off small, but I can feel it growing...

"Nicole," Michael says.

I open my eyes and turn quickly to find him standing in the doorway.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"You said he'd be here." My voice cracks, exposing my weakness.

"I'm sorry, Nicole. Tracking IP addresses isn't black-and-white. They're not always accurate. He could have used a VPN or something else." Michael presses his lips together and looks down at his feet.

Every muscle in my face is pulled tight by deep disappointment. It almost feels like each ligament could snap at any moment. Or maybe I will.

"Are you okay to head out now?"

I shake my head and tell him, "I guess."

Michael starts down the hallway.

"Hey," I call out. "Mind if we make a pit stop in Beloit?"

He pauses and turns back. "For what?"

"I was staying with a friend at a motel there. Just temporarily until I could find something more permanent. She texted me earlier saying she was leaving and that I should come get my stuff, if I still wanted it. It's just some clothes and personal hygiene items and whatnot."

Michael nods. "Yeah, that's not a problem."

"Thanks," I say, not making eye contact. Because if I do, he'll know I'm lying.