The Ruth Valley Missing Read Online Free PDF

my
shoulder to find Jack standing there. “There’s a spot up there.”
    I followed where he
was pointing. There was the empty spot. Three rows from the front. I looked at
Jack and grimaced. He grinned, “You’re lucky. Someone must be sick. And maybe
next week you’ll be on time.”
    “I am on time—”
    “You won’t be if you
don’t get up to your seat instead of standing here talking to me.”
    He was right. The walk
to the front was a long one and I’d be lucky if I had 30 seconds before Mass
began. I turned back to Jack once more with a pout, fighting the temptation to
stomp my foot like a child. He rolled his eyes and leaned in, “Or you can have
my seat over there.”
    He pointed to the end of
a pew a few rows from the back. I gave him a grateful smile, and mouthed
‘thanks’ as I stepped quickly over to my seat. I sat down, receiving a few
frowns of disapproval from my fellow pew occupiers. I had obviously forgotten
to do something, but years had erased the order of things from my mind. I
didn’t have much time to think about it before everyone was standing again.  
    And singing.
    With so many people, I
figured my voice wouldn’t be missed, so long as I edged away from the woman
next to me and moved my mouth. When the hymn ended and the priest began, I
found myself trying to fake my way through various back and forth. My childhood
memories had betrayed me, as I didn’t remember Mass being so interactive.
    I was beginning to get
the rhythm of response, starting to feel slightly less uncomfortable, when I
felt the pew vibrate. And ring.
    I shut my eyes and
held my breath, silently cursing whoever was on the other end of the call
trapped in the deep pocket of my skirt. Sitting there, I couldn’t get my hand
far enough in the pocket to shut the phone off. I wouldn’t look up, since I
knew there must be a hundred eyes searching for the source of the sound, and I
could hear that the priest ceased from whatever he was reciting.
    I hopped up and headed
for the door, catching a few dirty looks on the way out.
    I wrangled the phone
from my pocket as I was halfway down the steps and was at the bottom as I
answered the call.
    “Jameson, where are
you?”
    It was Dylan’s voice. Now
I was cursing myself for rushing to answer without seeing who it was.
    “What?”
    “Where are you? I’m
standing in front of your door. You’re always home on Sunday morning.”
    “I don’t live there
anymore.”
    “What?! Don’t you
think that’s something you should’ve told me?”
    “Not particularly.”
    He was silent for a
moment. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    I rubbed my forehead
and sighed before answering. “We’re not together anymore, Dylan. Remember? I
broke up with you.”
    “No, I remember you
being in one of your moods and telling me to leave.”
    “One of my moods?”
There was a slight quiver in my voice. I didn’t let my anger show often, but
when it started to rise, it was difficult to disguise.
    “You are so dramatic I
mean, seriously, you got mad at me and moved? Probably to an apartment with
more ‘character’.”
    Dylan spat out that
last word. He never liked my old apartment, but I adored it. It had its issues,
but it was old and had history. It wasn’t like his spacious high rise loft, all
straight lines, black and white and impersonal.
    “This is why we aren’t
together Dylan. You think everything is about you. I didn’t move because of
you, I moved for me. If you had shown as much interest in me as you do in, I
don’t know, your hair, you might understand why I left.”
    “Well, whatever. I
can’t find my wingtips, and figured I left them at your place. Did you happen
to see them when you were packing?”
    “Unbelievable. Don’t
call me again, Dylan.”
    I ended the call,
deleted him from my contacts, and sat at the bottom of the church steps,
hitting myself in the head with my phone trying to figure out how I let myself
date him for so long.
    “While a ringing