Within seconds, Riley came hurrying over, the sight of extreme worry flushing her face. She embraced me without getting a response, her body convulsing gently against mine as she wept. When she pulled back, her streaked face and watery eyes begged for answers. “Where were you?” she asked. There was no confrontation to her tone, just worry. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words failed to come. “I was fucking scared something happened to you, Cam,” she said, and then hugged me again. “I called Melinda and Gordon, I tried Raj, I even called you!” And then, as if she suddenly remembered the numerous calls I had ignored since Friday, she stepped back again, and the worry morphed into rage. “Where were you?” Stepping away from her, I tried not to think about returning to Hope’s hotel room this afternoon, about finding it empty, abandoned. I had intended on debating whether to come home to Riley and challenging Hope on her depressing view of life.
