He smiled softly, looking sad. “I never needed to know those things, Abilene. Whatever it is you’ve done, it couldn’t change how I feel.”
Tears brimmed at that. “Even if we weren’t meant to be,” she offered, voice just on the edge of breaking, “it was real nice, for what it was, even just for those few days.”
“It was.”
“And even if we weren’t meant to be, at least you’ve still got your mental health, right? Nice long life ahead of you?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
A nice long life, she thought, and in time, other chances at love. Other women, and eventually one for keeps, one who could either forgive his crimes or else live peacefully not knowing the details. The thought filled her up with sadness, and jealousy, too. But deep down she was proud of herself. She’d grown up today.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“Go inside. I’ll see you soon, tonight or tomorrow. If you want to avoid me for a while, I won’t be hurt.” His eyes said otherwise.
“See you around, I guess.”
And with another tight little smile, he backed his bike up, woke his engine, and rode away.
She watched until he was out of sight, nothing left but a settling cloud of dust lingering in the waning sunlight. She watched the best man she’d met in ages disappear before her eyes.
A good man in many ways, but still a criminal.
Chapter 22
Monday morning found Casey up early once again, though more for a lack of ever managing to fall asleep than anything else. He’d returned to the ranch around ten last night, knowing Abilene would likely be in bed and wanting to give her space. And yeah, to spare himself the sting of whatever he might see in her eyes—pity, or regret, or worst of all, disgust. That was what she’d thought of his past, after all, and in hindsight, he couldn’t blame the girl. Though that didn’t ease the ache in his chest any.
He’d hung out downstairs while Miah had gone out on a late-night patrol of the property, on the off chance any of the hands came rushing over with news of another creep sighting. Nothing on either count, and nothing from the deputies stationed along the highway, and he’d fallen into a restless sleep on the couch around one.
He’d heard Mercy wake an hour later, wailing, and his muscles had tensed, poised to get him up and moving toward the stairs. A reaction more instinctual than intentional, and he’d had to remind himself in that second to stay on his back, stay down here.
He’d gotten to a point where that baby’s needs felt like they were half his to meet. And he’d be smart to knock that shit off and content himself to help only when asked.
If she ever asks again, that is.
He’d never purported to be a good guy, never told himself there was anything redeeming about what he did in order to sleep at night. He’d slept just fine, knowing he was one of the bad guys. Not a terrible person, but no Boy Scout. Not unless fire starting had its own badge.
He did regret it all now—how couldn’t he, when just as he’d been poised to step up and become the man he’d been wanting to be, it all came around to bite him in the ass? In the deepest pit of his heart, he felt a little broken, a little sick, to realize he’d always reserve a fond, nostalgic place in his heart for those three years’ work. He’d enjoyed every second of those jobs, from the promise of a new gig through the planning and the sweet, torturous anticipation of a thousand Christmases, the adrenaline of the nights themselves, the euphoria of success, the trophy of the payout.
He supposed, for that reason, there wasn’t much arguing with Abilene.
Fuck, this shit burned. In the fashion of every lame metaphor he could think of, his heart hurt. Like a cut, a vise, a bruise, a hole. All of them.
He’d fucked up a lot of things in his life, but never anything this good, and never anything he regretted half as much. So there was her remorse, right there. If only it weren’t such a selfish strain of the stuff.
He hauled himself off the couch, knowing these thoughts would be following him for days, maybe weeks, trailing after him like a bad smell, asserting themselves the second he stood still long enough to catch a whiff. Keep busy, he thought. Keep your mind on other things. More useless advice he’d never given himself.
Perspective was key. She’d be working with him again soon enough, and he intended to help her move out when she was ready. Beyond that, he’d meant what he’d said—he was her friend, whether he got to sleep with her or not. It would hurt like fuck for a while, but Casey consoled himself with the lie that it wasn’t as though he’d been in love with her. He’d never said it aloud.
Of course in the back of his head he knew he’d intended to, had yesterday’s talk gone according to plan. It had been scrawled between every single sentence in giant pink glitter letters when he’d told her how much he cared for her and Mercy.
At least he had plenty to keep himself busy. He’d collect his crap from around the farmhouse and take it back home. Vince and Kim had dropped Abilene’s car off in the front lot last night, so she wasn’t stranded anymore. Casey’s stomach dropped as he remembered that the baby’s seat was currently set up in the Corolla. That thing was a pain in the ass to take in and out, but today the chore would unleash some pangs a little closer to his heart.
He went around the house, finding his shaving bag, toothbrush, his hoodie from the front hall, a few items of clothing that had made it into the last wash and been folded and left on the dryer for him. Man, his apartment was going to feel like a tomb after this place.
He waited until he heard the shower running upstairs, then crept into Abilene’s room. He found a shirt and a pair of his shorts. The ball of red tissue he’d given her sat on the dresser, looking unopened.
Better there than in the trash, he consoled himself.
Before leaving, he crossed the room to stand over the empty crib, running his hands along its rail and the yellow fleece blanket draped there. At first he’d found that soft, sweet scent of baby things alien and a little unnerving, but lately he hardly noticed it. Until now, that was, knowing he’d be catching it less and less.
They’re not dead, you sad sack.
Then how come this felt so much like mourning?
He went back downstairs to pack his duffel. By the time he’d stowed it in his car and gotten the baby’s seat out, the lights were on in the kitchen and he could smell the coffeemaker doing its job. He left the seat in the front hall and headed for the light.
Both Christine and Miah were up. She was pulling butter and bread and jam out of the fridge, and he was stretching his back, arms overhead, tugging at each wrist in turn.
“Morning, old man,” Casey said, passing to take a seat at the table.
Miah turned, looking surprised. “Was it you who’s been creeping around since four thirty?”
“Didn’t realize it was that early, but yeah.”
“Baby wake you up?”
He lied. “Yeah.”
Don appeared, heading straight for the old laptop he kept on the hutch with a mumbled good morning. A radio farm report of some sort was streaming shortly at low volume, though Casey couldn’t guess what the man got out of those. In Fortuity, it felt like the forecast was just about always the same. Dry and sunny.
Though today was different, it turned out. At the very end of the segment, the droning weather guy closed by saying, “And don’t forget to look skyward just after one p.m. this afternoon.”
“That’s right—the eclipse is today,” Christine piped in, toast in one hand, mug in the other. “We should all take our lunch breaks late and enjoy it.”
“I plan to,” Miah said. “The hands have organized some kind of picnic, so I should probably check on them anyhow. No doubt somebody will pack beer.”