The skies were clear, and the breeze was nice. Minus the heat causing near suffocation on my body, I was surviving to say the least. Being that her air conditioner is broken, I had to rely on the wind coming in from the windows, which I had rolled down.
"Tell me about it, Rick. That heat wave is no joke!" The radio played on low. All I could hear was the anchorman and the weatherman joking back and forth with each other. As any other day, I rolled my eyes, proceeding to suck the remnants of my ice cream off my spoon. Then, I pushed the few curls that managed to escape my messy bun out of my face. The familiar street signs came into view as I drove around the corner of the block.
"Just two more blocks to go," I said to myself. The narrow streets widened, the further I drove down the strip.
I'm surprised our ice cream hasn't melted yet. She's lucky I love her enough to bring her back an ice cream—even though, she ate mine. Scoffing under my breath, I shook my head. Relief swarmed my chest when my house came into view. As I drove into park along the sidewalk, I shut the engine off and took my keys out of the ignition. The sound of silence filled my ears as I stepped through the front door. It was peaceful. And I hoped it'd remain that way for the rest of the evening. Hopefully, she would leave me alone now that I've gone for a drive.
"I'm back!" I placed her ice cream on the counter and took a top from the rack, to cover it. There was no reply, but I could hear the faint sound of the shower running in the upstairs bathroom. Oh well, if she's showering, I'll just put her ice cream in the freezer. And that's exactly what I did. I then threw the car keys on the hook and headed for my room.
"Hey, mom. I'm back, just wanted to let you know." As I passed by the bathroom, I gave the door two gentle knocks. Once again, there was no reply. My eyebrows knitted in confusion.
I leaned into the door, pressing the side of my head against it. "Mom are you okay?"
When I didn't get an answer for the third time, I twisted on the knob—to my surprise—opening the door. A cloud of steam rushed out, causing me to shrink back. Though there was steam, I could still see there was, in fact, no one in here. The shower curtain had been opened slightly, displaying the emptiness of the bathtub, with only the water running.
"Mom?" I backed out of the bathroom, calling out for her again. There was a sudden jolt in the speed of my heartbeat. I ran towards her room, ready to knock on the door. But I stopped myself as I stumbled upon a cracked door rather than a closed one. From what I could see through the crack of her door, the shades were wide open, allowing the sunlight to illuminate her room.
Slowly, I pushed the door further, revealing the empty room. Everything seemed as if it's been untouched. The dresser was neat and closed, as was her bed, which had a stack of blankets neatly folded on top of it. Then, there were her shoes, aligned properly against her dresser. Everything was organized. So, where the hell is, she? I grunted and ran to my room. Of course, she wasn't in here either.
I could only look around helplessly, as the realization my mom wasn't home settled in. She's not supposed to leave the house unattended. What the hell is she thinking!?
"Come on, pick up, pick up."
"You have reached the voicemail box of—" Shit. I threaded my fingers through my hair, sucking my teeth. That's when I noticed the small black phone, sitting on top of her nightstand. Of course, she doesn't have her phone. I quickly scrolled through my contacts and pressed dial on the first number I saw.
"Hey, Uncle Jesse! Have you heard from my mom?"
"Eh, no, I haven't. You can try calling Aunt May. I think she spoke to her earlier." His deep voice rung through my ears. There was a hint of rasp, indicating he'd just woken up.
YOU ARE READING
Follow Me Home ✓Teen Fiction
Hope Cohen has always been one for adventure, no matter the distance. But her time of adventuring comes to an end when Reece Hilton is suddenly no longer referred to as her best friend; just the boy next door. Now, three years later, only cold night...