The Fear of Letting Go by Sarra Cannon Page B

are more.
    But Aaron's overdose and my time in rehab is a biggie.
    I'm ashamed of who I was back then. Ashamed of what I did and what I let him do. He died right there beside me while I was passed out. I did nothing to help him or save him.
    It's one of those deep, dark secrets I keep hidden inside and never let out into the light. Why did I tell Preston?
    I glance over at him and try to read his expression. Is he completely mortified? He's staring at the numbers going by on the overhead display, counting down to the first floor. Probably can't wait to be free of crazy Jenna and her sordid past.
    I honestly can't blame him.
    Most of the time, I feel exactly the same way.
    The elevator dings with each floor. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The doors open and Preston's mother rushes in and throws her arms around him. I scoot around them, anxious to get the hell out of this death trap.
    I am normally not afraid of elevators, as long as they work. Broken elevators? Well, that just makes me think of plunging to my death in a fiery explosion.
    Outside, the rain is still coming down hard, and the sky is as dark as night even though it's only six-thirty. I wonder if the worst of the storm has passed, or if there is more to come.
    “I was so worried about you,” Mrs. Wright says. She has both her hands on her son's cheeks and his face has gone beet red. “Why didn't you call us right away? I've been trying to get in touch with you for over an hour, wondering if you somehow got stuck in all this mess.”
    “I had my phone off for the meeting,” Preston says. “I forgot to turn it back on.”
    “Stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half and you forgot to turn it back on?” His mother clucks her tongue. “You should have called. I was worried to death.”
    “Hank, here, had it all under control. Didn't you, Hank?” Preston reaches his hand out to an elderly black man with gRobing hair and a nice smile. He's wearing a blue suit with a gold name-tag.
    They shake hands and Hank beams at Preston.
    “Thank you, Hank,” Mrs. Wright says with a passing glance at the security guard. She turns back to Preston. “If we had known you were stuck in here, we would have rerouted everyone to get you out as fast as possible. Who knows what might have happened?”
    His mother still had yet to even notice or acknowledge me, which was no surprise. Should I duck out and make a run for my truck? I feel stupid hovering here near the door, watching them.
    “That's exactly why I told him not to call you,” Preston says. “How are things going out there? Any news on the damage?”
    “Oh, honey, it's just terrible,” his mother says with a frown. “The Wilkes' farmhouse is completely destroyed. There's a lot of damage out that way.”
    “Was anyone hurt?” he asks.
    “One of the Powell children is still missing,” she says. “Their little girl, Anna.”
    “She's only four years old,” Preston says.
    I step closer at this news. A four year old little girl missing? I can only imagine what her family is going through right now.
    “Where was she last seen?” I ask.
    Preston's mom turns, noticing me for the first time.
    “Oh, goodness, I didn't even see you there, sweetheart.” Her eyes drop from my face to Preston's sweater, still draped on my body. She makes a slight face, but recovers quickly.
    I take a deep breath. I'm used to that kind of look.
    “Mom, you remember Jenna Lewis,” Preston says. “She's a good friend of Leigh Anne's. We were stuck in the elevator together.”
    His mom's eyebrow twitches, and I'm sure she's wondering why in the world I was here with her son. Wisely, she doesn't ask.
    “Of course, I remember Jenna.” She reaches her hand toward me. “You're the girl who took Penny to that awful pawn shop last year.”
    She says it as a matter of fact, and I cringe. We aren't exactly off to the best start. “Yes, ma'am,” I say. I have no good excuse for what I did. Hopefully she understands I was only trying to