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Her words sting, because I know she's right. I don't know that Emma will be okay, and I can't shake off the guilt of the stress I've added to her day with our failed date. But I need to push my regrets aside and focus on the road ahead, on being the friend Lila needs right now.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “For all of this.”
“It's not your fault.” She sounds sad as she continues looking out her window, searching for her lost sister.
We both see her at the same time, a figure up ahead that - from a distance - looks like it could be Emma. I press down lightly on the accelerator, my heart thudding with hope. But as we get closer, both of us realize that it's just another girl walking alone, and Lila’s shoulders droop. She lets out a sigh, deflating in the seat next to me.
“Thank you for helping me,” she says as if she’s lost all hope and knows this search is over. I can hear the genuine appreciation in her tone, and I’m stunned. After everything I’ve done to hurt her, she’s still kind.
“Hey, you don't need to...” I say, struggling to find the right words to convey my thoughts... or my guilt.
“I don’t need to what?” She's watching me again, confusion knitting her brow as she searches my profile for answers in the alternating light and dark of the streetlights.
“You don’t have to be nice to me,” I say, feeling a bit bad for everything I’m doing to mess up her life. I’m not part of the Emma drama, but I am part of other things she’ll learn about soon enough.
She exhales and looks away. “I don’t hate you, Fredrick. I mean, I want to. I wish I could. But I don’t.” Her honest words claw at me, and I manage not to wince. But she’s not done. “After how you ended things, the fact that you’re engaged, and now you’re being that friend I remember...”
She trails off and silence settles between us.
We continue searching in the dark for her sister, but I’m the one who feels lost. Lost in this web I’ve spun, in my own plans, in this moment here with her. But it’s too late to fix things; I can’t go back and undo what I’ve done.
“I just can’t be part of your life now,” she says into the silence. “Not after everything we were. I can’t be friends with someone I was in love with.” Her arms tighten around her knees, straining her seatbelt as she looks out the window, refusing to meet my gaze.
Her confession hits me like a kick to the dangly bits. She was in love with me? I had no idea. I knew we were close, we were good friends, and I was her first kiss, but love? Love never played into the equation... or so I thought.
Until now.
My jaw flexes as my teeth clench together. Her words only make me feel worse about everything. I try to focus on the world flying by instead of her words. The alternating light and dark feels like the town’s pulse, but the streets are empty.
The problem with these small towns is that they close down so early; there aren’t a lot of options for her. Maybe the pancake place that’s open 24 hours and caters mostly to hungry and tired truckers. But would she go someplace like that with a bag of things? Leaving with a bag implies she has a plan.
“Has she been talking about any friends or anything lately?” I ask, hoping that Lila has some clue that she hasn’t thought about or doesn’t know she has.
She shakes her head. “She’s been quieter than usual lately, to be honest. I mean, she’s not much of a talker anyway, but she’s been more tight-lipped these last few weeks.”
I sense she’s kicking herself for not putting all the pieces together. “This isn’t your fault,” I say. “You couldn't have stopped her if this was her plan all along.”
She tilts her head back, blinking rapidly as if to keep her tears from escaping.
Needing to smooth things over and help calm her down, I change the subject. “So, tell me about work,” I ask, curious about May and how the place wound up with Lila’s name on the sign.
I’m doing my best to cling to any sense of normalcy between us, to bring her back to a safe place. When I glance over, she’s pressing her forehead to the cold glass. “What happened between you and May after I left?” I ask into the silence.
“I know you’re trying to take my mind off things,” she says in a voice that’s somehow both grateful and flat, “but it’s not going to work.”
I sense that conversations about mundane topics won’t distract her while her sister is out there somewhere in the world, possibly scared or in danger. Her phone vibrates and lights up. She scrambles to grab the device, her eyes on the words on screen.
“It’s Emma,” she says, breathless, “She says, I’m safe, don’t worry.” But as Lila lowers the phone, her forehead creases and her teeth bite down on her lower lip. She’s more worried than before she got the message.
She turns toward me. “What if it’s someone using her phone?”
Her words leave me aching, because I know that’s also a possibility. How do I put her fears to rest while acknowledging that they’re very valid and real? “That’s possible,” I say, at a total loss for how to support her in this moment besides just being here. “Do you think it’s her?” I ask. She’d know her sister better than almost anyone, especially me.
She lifts both shoulders. “I mean, there’s not much to go on, but that’s how she’s been talking lately. No details, just short and to the point conversations.”
I sense this revelation is painful for her, and I stay quiet to let her work things out. “It’s possible, but I just don’t know.” Her words are tinged with concern, and I glance over, trying to read the situation in her body language.
She’s still curled up like a flower whose petals close up tight for the night. The tip of one thumb is in her mouth as she stares at the screen, clearly trying to decode the terse message. “I don’t know what went wrong. We were all so close after-”
