Page 39 of Camp Bliss
Not Isaac. Too unreliable.
A friend?
We still keep in touch with guys from Sigma Chi. A few of them even live in town. The week after I moved down, we met up with Hunter and Evan at Jefferson Street Pub. They know all about our big plans. Yeah, they thought we were both crazy, but they were impressed by the vision at least.
They would come if Josh called, but if they knew what he was doing—running away from this dream and leaving us in a lurch—they would have done something. Intervened. Tried to talk him out of it. Told me or Greta. Something.
Right?
I type out a quick text to the guys.
Anyone heard from Josh today?
It’s almost six o’clock. Before our little reunion, I hadn’t seen Hunter or Evan in years. Hunter hadn’t changed much. He still looks like he spends most of his free time at the gym. But Evan’s a dad now.A dad.He has a wife, two little girls, and a dad gut.
So if I had to guess, I’d say Hunter is already at Red’s, getting in his workout. And Evan is probably at home with his little family. So I’m not surprised when Hunter texts back first.
Uh, don’t you live with him??
I stare at the phone and debate how much to tell him. Honestly, this is fucking embarrassing. And it has to be worse for Greta. Humiliating.
Just like that, I’m back to being pissed.
Me: He’s pulled a disappearing act.
“The sonofabitch,” I mutter to the empty room as I press send.
Hunter: Yeah, he’s good at that. Ditched us halfway through Evan’s bach party in NOLA. Didn’t see him again until the rehearsal dinner the next night.
I frown at the text. I never heard about him going MIA for Evan’s bachelor party. That was years ago. I was invited, but it was just days before the start of a trial. Even if I could have lined up flights to get me there and back to Boston before court, I couldn’t have spared the time. Or the energy.
Evan chimes in.
Still mad at him for that. Dude can’t send a text? We left Belle Époque at 1 a.m. and realized halfway back to the hotel that he wasn’t with us. Turned around and searched down side streets and behind dumpsters for like an hour. Asshole bailed on us. Told us the next day he’d gone back to his room. WTF?!
Yeah, Josh is known for his little disappearing acts. Ducking out of the party if the crowd is too loud or if he feels low when the energy is high.
But this is different.
He hasn’t just retreated to a corner. He’s gone. He took his stuff.
And it’s clear Hunter and Evan have no intel.
Me: Let me know if you hear from him.
I don’t have the heart to tell them he’s packed up and left us with no clues to follow. And maybe it’s not heart I’m missing. Maybe it’s guts.
Because the thought of telling them—telling anyone—what he’s done makes me sick.
At least I can rule them out. If he didn’t call them, how did he leave? As far as I know, he wasn’t close with any of his old co-workers. If we were anywhere else, I’d assume he got a Lyft or an Uber. But we’re miles out of town.
Can you even get an Uber out here?
I open the app.
Where to?
The last place I Ubered was to Josh and Greta’s rental on St. Landry. I tap the address history. And I’ll be damned. I can get a ride in fourteen minutes.
