Chapter 1 ~ pg. 3

I flipped the TV off.

I picked up a different remote and hit the stereo. Some stupid Shania Twain song was playing (You know the one, The One I Want for Life) and I couldn't move. I couldn't even think. I almost-I stress almost-started crying. And I'm fairly certain if there had been a gun in the house I would have shot myself through the heart. I turned the stereo off.

So, there I was about an hour into my thirty-third Thanksgiving and it had already proved to be the worst yet. Well, the first one after my parents' death was awful, but this one was giving it a run for its money.

I packed a bag, turned the heat off, hit all the lights, and recorded a new phone message.

I pulled the front door open and was hit by a wall of cold. It was officially snowing now and everything that wasn't made of concrete was white.

I took two steps then froze. I pressed my ear to the door. The phone rang three more times then the answering machine picked up.

Click. "If this is Lacy, I'll call you in a couple days. If this isn't Lacy, stick the phone in your mouth and swallow it." Beep.

"Hi, Thomas. It's me. Listen-"

It was Alex.

I panicked. I couldn't find my keys. Then I couldn't find the right key. By the time I got the door open Alex was long gone.

I made my way to the answering machine and stared at the blinking red light. Time for a real gut check. I took a deep breath, picked up the machine, and threw it against the wall. I'd clean it up when I got back. If I ever got back.

Two hours later, I was at 37,000 feet headed for Seattle.