Book #2 of Girl of Mine ✑
1957. It's the things you thought were yours. It's the lack of control and how you ought to make the most of what you have. Love for yourself or passed loves. There isn't a way to take hold of carried feelings, the actions...
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* chapter music * — Highway Don't Care — Tim McGraw, Taylor Swift, Keith Urban
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Elvis POV
The 20th of August, 1957
«Elvis, it's best you come home.» Firm to tone, unwavering, Red's chosen words held both the feeling and content of something you never wanted to hear. I'd heard those words before—when my cousin died in 56. Coming home from tour to attend his funeral, I was met by June peeking over my fence. She took care of softening my sorrow. Coming home tonight, I wanted no one softening anything—because there was no way I'd lost Sal.
«What happened? Where is Sal, and is she alright?» Straight to the point, my voice didn't quiver. We'd looked out for Sal for two hours—heading for Madison to see if we could spot her.
«Just get here. Whatever I say, you'll get...» Red started carefully, but I cut him off harshly.
«Red, Goddammit man—where's my girl?» I held back nothing. At this point, there was no need to mind the way I got told what had happened. I didn't need a consoling hand; I needed answers. More than anything, I craved to know where she was—so I could get to her.
«She's at the UAB University Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama.» Quick to give me what I asked for when I pushed for it, his words came out in one long breath—steady.
«We're in Tremont. We can get there in about one and a half hours.» All that mattered was getting to her. It was also all I could take to think of—everything else could come afterward.
«Elvis.» Warm and timid, Red used my full first name, in which I seldom heard.
«Hm?» Closing my eyes, I lifted two fingers to my forehead with my thumb resting on my cheekbone.
«We don't know how bad it is—they couldn't say.» Pressing my lips together, I nodded for no one to see but my dad sitting behind the table with a pen, paper, and a map.
«Vernon will call you when we're there,» I said, strained, as the severity of the situation tried to creep its way in. I wanted my mind to believe I was just going to get her home, but Red threatened that safety blanket.
«Take care, E.»
We'd stopped at another night open diner to catch a brief moment, unbothered by the rain, to try and map out places to check out—including this one—a game plan. Needless to say, she wasn't here. Past myself, I could hear my dad take a deep breath as I faced him. «Get your jacket.»
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Flipped, torn, mudded down, with shattered windows and far from how I remembered that yellow shape—my eyes took in what lay at the side of the road along Route 22, Coalburg. May seemed so long ago, but as I saw that car, I remembered her familiar smile on her nineteenth birthday like the back of my hand.
