Free A Seahorse in the Thames by Susan Meissner

first.
    It isn’t until I finish eating leftover macaroni and cheese that I remember Stephen had his MRI this morning. As I place my bowl in the sink, I am torn with wanting to go see him and wanting to call Priscilla before it gets too late.
    I decide to make the call. It’s Saturday night in London. In all likelihood Priscilla will be out and I will miss her anyway. We email each other once a week, but I usually only call Priscilla twice a year, on Christmas and on our birthday. She’ll be surprised to hear my voice. She’ll also be surprised to hear that Rebecca has run off. But she won’t be worried like me or detached like our mother. She will be realistic, like our Dad. That’s the ironic thing about my father and Priscilla; those two who refuse to speak to each other. They are so much alike.
    When the call goes through and Priscilla’s voice picks up on the other side I’m almost expecting to hear the rest of an answering machine message. But it is Priscilla on the other end, not a machine. She’s at home in her flat that overlooks the Thames.
    “Good Lord, Alexa, what’s up?” Seven years in London has rubbed off on her. She sounds British. It was bound to happen. Priscilla is a master at languages. She speaks fluent French, Spanish and Italian and she recently learned to read and write Mandarin. It’s why she is paid so well at the import company where she works as a translator.
    “I know it’s kind of late, Pris, but I need to talk to you,” I tell her the whole thing—all of it—including Rebecca’s mysterious note. I even manage to sneak in the news of my benign tumor and the injured man I’ve unbelievably fallen in love with, an injured man who just might have has cancer.
    “Anything else?” She says it half in jest and half not.
    I offer a tired laugh. “No, that’s about it.”
    “Well, first off Lex, why don’t you subtract your tumor off your list since it was benign and you are healing well, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “And the prognosis is favorable?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then let it go. And as far as Rebecca goes, I hate to say it, Lexie, you know I do, but you can’t find someone who wants to be absent, especially if that person is of reasonable intelligence.”
    “But she is gullible and naïve,” I counter.
    “So are most high school graduates and yet we hug them, wish them luck and send them on their way with a lot less than a suitcase and headbands.”
    “Aren’t you the least bit worried about her?” I ask, a bit miffed.
    “Of course I’m concerned. But face it, Lex. She wasn’t abducted. She left. With a suitcase. She may not want to be found.”
    “I just feel like there’s got to be something more to do than just wait.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, like go through her room. Go through her trash, her pockets, and her closet. Maybe there’s something hidden away that will tell us where she went. Maybe this ‘thing’ she wants me to find and throw away is a clue as to where she went.”
    “I guess it can’t hurt. If it’s what you want to do and if you think it’s best, you should do it.”
    Priscilla’s voice, so like mine and yet so not, is soothing to me, despite her flair for being shamelessly candid. I so wish she were here. The wish falls from my lips before I can catch it and analyze it. “I wish you were here, Priscilla.”
    “Do you really?”
    Her response surprises me. I expected her to say how we all need to find the place where we bloom best and how she’s found it.
    “Yes. Of course I do. I always do. But especially now.”
    “It’s interesting you should say that because I’ve actually been thinking of coming out for a short visit. I have been thinking about it for quite a while. This may actually be a good time. There’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”
    I don’t know which statement to address first. Coming out for a visit? She hasn’t been home in four years. This may a good time? A good time? Has she been looking for a