Mike’s fingers tapped the keyboard. “Since last night. And I didn’t see her this morning, but I thought she was at Noel’s or something—it was early. But the cops came to the house just now. Aria never met them after the funeral to hand over her IDs and get her ankle monitor. And apparently she made a big ATM withdrawal at the airport.”
Hanna wrinkled her brow. “You’re kidding.” She could hardly believe Aria would do such a thing. “Do you think she took a flight somewhere?”
“I don’t know. But that would be really, really stupid.” Mike glanced at Hanna, his expression frantic. “I can’t believe she didn’t call anyone. You haven’t heard from her?”
Hanna pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “No,” she said in a small voice. She’d called Aria a million times since their fight, but it had gone straight to voicemail.
Mike’s mouth twitched. “What did you guys fight about, anyway?”
Hanna slapped her arms to her sides. “Emily, Ali . . . I don’t even know.”
She’d tried to understand the fight, but it was no use. Did she blame Spencer for Emily’s plunge into the ocean? Spencer had been the one who suggested they stay the night, after all, and in hindsight, they all should have gone home—Emily would have been the safest, not to mention they might not have gotten caught for violating the terms of their bail.
But it wasn’t like they knew that was going to happen. It reminded Hanna of the accident she’d gotten into last summer: She’d driven Madison home because Madison was too drunk to drive, but she hadn’t made A’s car come out of nowhere. She hadn’t planned to crash.
Hanna had tried Spencer’s phone yesterday, too, but she’d hung up before the call went to voicemail. She hadn’t known what to say. I’m sorry? Was she? It was annoying, too, that Spencer hadn’t called her. She should have, at least to apologize for freaking out on Hanna at the funeral. Why did Hanna have to be the one to crack first?
Mike sat down on the bed and turned his phone over in his hands. “Where do you think she went?”
Hanna raised her shoulders. “Maybe nowhere? Maybe it was just to fool the police?”
“My money’s on Europe,” Mike said softly. He rubbed his hands through his hair. “I just hope she’s safe.” Then a strange expression crossed his face. “Or you don’t think she did something horrible, do you? Like Emily?”
“We don’t know that Emily’s dead,” Hanna said automatically.
Mike cocked his head. “Han. We kind of . . . do.”
Hanna shut her eyes. She wasn’t so sure. Last night, she’d looked up all kinds of articles about people who’d miraculously survived tempestuous waters and tsunamis. The human drive to persevere was astonishing. Maybe Emily had decided, once she was out there, that she didn’t want to die after all!
Then her gaze drifted to the plushy chair in the corner of the room. The dress she’d worn to Emily’s funeral was lying there, as were her clutch and shoes and the program she’d grabbed on the way out. EMILY FIELDS, it read on the front, accompanied by several pictures of Emily through the years. There was one of Emily as a young girl, long before Hanna knew her, standing in a field of dandelions. There was another from when they’d just become friends in sixth grade—Emily at a swim competition, pulling on her goggles. Several others from junior high and high school, Emily always looking fresh and sweet and happy.
When Hanna shut her eyes, wrenching scenarios flashed in her mind. She thought of Emily’s bed, unslept in, its covers probably pulled tight, its pillows fluffed. She thought of all the things Emily would no longer touch, no longer use, no longer be part of. She picked up her phone and began to compose a text explaining how low she felt . . . until she realized. She’d addressed the text to Emily. Of course she had: Emily was always the one she could go to with raw, vulnerable feelings.
Her jaw wobbled. She sank to the bed and put her head between her legs. Mike’s hand pressed on her back. “Hey,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”
“We will?” Hanna sobbed, feeling the tears spill down her cheeks. “I just can’t believe this is my life. All of it.” She shook her head. “Emily’s gone, Spencer’s not speaking to me, and soon enough, I’m going to jail, Mike. Prison. I have nothing. No future, no friends, no life . . .”
“Hey.” Mike frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “You haven’t lost everything, Hanna. You still have me.”
Hanna wiped her eyes. “But how long are you honestly going to wait for me? I might be in prison for thirty years or more. I mean, you can’t go that long without sex.” She was trying to make a joke, but when she tried to smile, she just started crying harder.
“You’re worth the wait.” Mike’s fingers made slow circles on Hanna’s back.
“You say that now, but . . .”
Mike drew back. “You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that. I just . . .” Hanna stared blankly at the TV on the other side of the room. A beautiful Brazilian supermodel was sensuously drinking Diet Coke through a straw. “The world is full of girls, Mike,” she said softly. “And I wouldn’t want you to stop living because of me.”
He looked annoyed. “Don’t even say stuff like that. You want me to prove that I’ll wait for you?”
He shifted in front of her. When Hanna opened her eyes again, she realized he was down on one knee, staring into her eyes. “Marry me, Hanna Marin,” he said urgently. “Marry me today.”