“Good man,” Duncan said, and clapped Casey on the shoulder.
“I’ll ask Vince to do the old swab too. Something to compare my results against, since he’s never had any problems.”
“Sounds wise. Always best to go into things with your eyes wide-open.”
“That’s what I figured.” If he was going to do more than just resolve to become a grown-ass man, and actually become one finally, he had to quit running from the truth. Until now, he’d told himself that not knowing was best. And operating under the assumption that the verdict was going to be bad had given him permission to live selfishly, day by day, chasing money and pleasure.
Plus, in a very real sense, finding out he was doomed to whatever it was his mom had was a death sentence, because Casey had no intention of carrying on long enough to become a burden to anybody.
Nope. If he had five, ten more lucid years left, he’d live the holy hell out of every single day, then go up in spectacular flames, on his own motherfucking terms.
“I ordered the kit,” he admitted. “Should be here within the week.”
Duncan turned back to the register, separated the bills and receipts into piles and began checking them against a tally sheet. “Will you even be able to get your mother’s sample analyzed? Is she competent enough to sign whatever consent form must come with the test?”
“Yeah, she has her moments. I’ll have to lie to her, though, tell her she’s signing my report card or something—she still thinks I’m in high school half the time.”
Duncan winced. “How awful.”
“You get used to it.”
“I suppose that’s one upside to having no parents at all—I’ll never have to watch them decline.”
“Amen.”
Duncan left for the bank shortly, and Casey got to work, sweeping and mopping, squaring up the tables, organizing the pool cues and chalks. The contractors tidied away the fresh dust they’d produced and headed out.
Man, there were moments when Casey missed his old life. Working ’til dawn, rolling out of bed at noon, living for weeks on a single payday. No responsibilities heavier than making the rent and fudging his taxes. No attachments.
And yet those moments were fleeting. Doing the right thing these past few months was exhausting, no doubt, and stressful, and anything but leisurely. But it was satisfying, too. He liked himself more, if he was honest. Probably in no small part because he was doing what his dad had failed at: stepping up.
After he unlocked the door and flicked on the lights, he wandered out into the empty front lot and looked up at the BENJI’S SALOON sign. Its neon glow was all but invisible in the bright afternoon sun.
I fucking own this place. The goddamn heart of the town; one of few things worth preserving when the casino and all its attendant change descended. Just as Abilene had said last night. Even in Casey’s old life, amazing as he’d been at his job, as indispensible a member of the team as he’d become . . . it wasn’t as though he could go telling anybody about it. For all the greater world to see, he’d been nobody back then. Just some thirtysomething guy living in Lubbock, in a decent apartment, driving a Corolla, occasionally getting laid. But here . . .
Abilene was right. In Fortuity, he was somebody. Somebody important, in a way. An employer, a partner to Duncan, an active son to his mom, finally. And whatever he was to Abilene and the baby—something kind of shapeless, but definitely something.
“Fucking Fortuity,” he muttered, staring down Station Street toward the tracks. His hometown, the one he couldn’t fucking wait to escape when he’d been twenty. The town he’d avoided coming back to for nearly a decade. The town he’d thought he left behind forever, and good riddance.
Last fucking place he’d ever expected to feel himself getting attached to.
• • •
Abilene woke early. For half a breath, she was lost in the memory of that kiss—just long enough for her body to go warm, her eyes to shut, long enough to feel his mouth on hers and his excitement in her hand . . .
But the heat was gone in a breath, as the larger, colder reality intruded. James was out. He was out, and he might be in Fortuity by now, for all she knew.
She’d slept poorly, and for once she couldn’t blame it on Mercy—Casey had set the crib up in the den, volunteering to be on baby duty. She’d taken him up on the offer, thinking her daughter could probably use his calm energy right about now, more than her mama’s jitters. It seemed she’d been right, too. The sound of crying had roused her only once, and faded as quickly as it had started. At least one of them would face the day well rested.
She took a quick shower, then went downstairs, finding Mercy dozing in the crib, but no Casey. Voices drifted from the kitchen, and she moved to the threshold.
“It’s good and it’s bad,” Casey was saying. He had his back to her, sitting at the table.
Christine was busy at the coffeemaker in her robe and sweatpants, long gray-streaked hair twirled up in a fat turquoise barrette. “How so?” she asked him.
“Good that he didn’t come around looking for her at the bar,” Casey said, and Abilene took a step back into the hallway, knowing they were talking about James. She was curious how they’d speak of him, not knowing she was listening. How they’d speak about her.
“But bad, too, since we’re no closer to knowing what mood he’s in.”
“I see what you mean,” Christine said. “You sleep okay?”
“Not too shabby.” It was a lie, and Abilene knew it. She’d heard him downstairs, picking out chords on Don’s old acoustic guitar well into the wee hours.
“You need any help?” he asked Christine.
“I could use loads, actually, with six of you about to descend. Would you fry up some bacon while I get the pancake batter mixed?”
“Sure.”
“What’s the meeting about, anyway? The Abilene situation?”
She heard the fridge door open and close. “Yeah. Mostly just hammering out a schedule, I think.” There was a pause; then he asked Christine, “What?” as though she’d shot him some kind of meaningful look.
“I really wish she’d contact the Sheriff’s Department.”
Abilene flushed.
“She couldn’t get a restraining order, though—it’s not like he’s outright threatened her,” Casey said. “I doubt there’s some box you can check for ‘He’s just a scary guy.’”
“I’d still feel better if they were aware of the situation. They could be on the lookout for him, alert us if he’s seen around.”
“I know, but she refused. I think she’s worried about pissing him off any worse than he might be already. Plus it’s hard enough for her, having all of us knowing her business, and you know Fortuity—if this shit makes it to the BCSD, the whole town’ll be discussing it by sundown.”
It was a lousy option for other reasons, too, ones she didn’t want Casey knowing about. Forms meant using your legal name, and Abilene using her legal name could make for some uncomfortable questions. She didn’t know what exactly counted as identity fraud, but she cashed checks issued to a fake name, using a fake ID.
“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” Christine said. “Pride never got anybody anywhere worth going.”
“Well, you try talking to her, then.”
“Believe me—I did. She was trapped in a car with me for four hours yesterday. We made it to Elko and back but the topic went absolutely nowhere. She trusts you and your brother, though. I’d hoped one of you might change her mind.”
Casey laughed. “Girl’s got more problems than we realize if she thinks us Grossiers are the pillars of wisdom and reason.”
With things taking a lighter turn, Abilene chose that moment to intrude. She stepped into the kitchen. “What’s so funny, so early in the morning?”
“Just ripping on the family name,” Casey said, opening a package of bacon. “Baby still asleep?”
“Out cold.”