“Eclipse,” Don muttered. He’d shut the laptop and was rooting through the hutch’s drawers. “Can’t stand that word since the goddamn casino referendum passed.”
Steps came down the hall, setting Casey’s pulse on edge. A moment later Abilene joined the assembly, baby strapped to her front. She returned the Churches’ greetings, looking shy, eager to blend into the background. Casey had to work hard to keep his eyes off her and his ears focused on the conversation.
“You have to watch, Don,” Christine said.
“Yeah,” Miah added. “The paper said the next total solar eclipse Fortuity will see won’t come for nearly seven years.”
“Seven years is nothing at my age. But forty-two grand is—somebody wants to come and look at that ancient John Deere that’s been collecting dust in the junk barn.” He meant the biggest of all of Three C’s barns, a drooping wooden behemoth, its flaky red paint faded nearly to pink. Casey and his friends had wasted long summer afternoons poking around in there, climbing all over the disused vehicles and otherwise trying their level best to break their necks.
Don straightened triumphantly with a set of keys. “I need to make sure the engine still starts before they come by.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”
“You knew that when you married me. Right. I’m off.”
“Me, too,” she said to the room at large, setting her plate in the sink. “Got business to tackle now if I want to enjoy the natural spectacle of the universe.”
That left Casey, Miah, Abilene, and the baby. Casey couldn’t decide whether he was eager or petrified for Miah to take off and leave him and Abilene alone. There was so much he still wanted to say . . . though he doubted a word of it would do much aside from make him feel more helpless.
Perhaps for the best, the baby began to cry, and Abilene excused herself to change a wet diaper before her toast even got a chance to pop up.
Miah watched her go, then looked to Casey. To the hall. Back to Casey.
“What?”
“Something’s up with you two.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Usually she’s got stars in her eyes every time she looks your way, but just now, I don’t think she glanced at you once.” That stung. And Miah’s brain was usually too crammed full of to-dos to notice stuff like that, so the cloud in the room must not be confined solely to Casey’s head.
He shrugged. “I don’t think she slept well.”
Miah walked over with a fresh coffee and straddled the bench, facing him. “You fuck something up, Case?”
He heaved a heavy sigh. “In a way.” In another way, he’d done the right thing. Been honest. But he’d fucked up what they’d had, that was true.
“You guys didn’t . . .”
“We already had been.”
Miah looked to the ceiling as though beseeching a higher power for strength.
“Like you’re even surprised,” Casey said.
“No, maybe not. For how long?”
“Only a few days.”
“Jesus, Case—now, of all times? Must be the most chaotic week of her life. Tell me you didn’t break it off last night. Because the last thing that girl needs is another man letting her down.”
“No, no. She ended it.”
“You give her a good reason to?”
“Yeah, but not like you’re thinking. Things were at the edge of maybe getting serious. We needed to tell each other about what our lives have been like, before we both wound up in Fortuity last summer.”
“And she didn’t like what she heard?”
“No. No, she did not.”
Miah frowned, looking more sympathetic than judgmental now, at least. After a sip of coffee he asked, “What have you been up to, Case?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Considering all the dumb-ass shit we got up to when we were kids, the fact that you don’t want to tell me isn’t a good sign.”
“Trust me—it’s better if you don’t know.”
Miah was an upstanding, law-abiding sort of man. He wouldn’t rat Casey out to the feds if he knew the truth, but Casey would no doubt lose a chunk of the man’s respect. And he had to admit, that shit mattered to him now.
“She gonna be okay?” Miah asked, getting to his feet.
“I think so. Neither of us had promised anything to the other.”
“That’s something . . . I probably don’t need to tell you, that sucks all the same. She’s a good girl. And she seemed good for you.”
He nodded, feeling that faint, raw strain rising in his throat—the first warning sign that he just might cry. “Yeah, she was.” And she always would be, even going forward. For as long as she was a part of Casey’s life, she’d make him a better man. He’d always look at her and remind himself to do better, to be worthy of what they’d nearly had, to maybe stand a chance at getting her back someday.
Big maybe.
Miah gave him a hard clap on the arm. “Sorry, man. But I’d better go start the day. Maybe we can drink on it, later.”
Casey nodded, happy to be left alone. He could already feel how pink he’d gone and didn’t relish an audience. He’d spent a lot of years thinking solely of himself. Seemed only fitting that he was on his own now, stuck sitting amid the smoking rubble of his choices, neck-deep in regrets.
A man makes his own luck, he thought, filling his mug when Miah had gone.
Only took ten years for mine to finally turn as rotten as I deserve.
Chapter 23
Not ready to face Casey alone just yet, Abilene hid in her room for most of the morning, poking around on Craigslist for rentals and finding the results bleak. There was her old room in Mrs. Dennigan’s basement, but it had been cramped after Mercy had arrived, and the whole idea stank of regression, of going backward.
Apart from that, there was a six-month sublet in a rough section of town—which was saying something in Fortuity—plus some houses for rent, but those were all beyond her budget. She couldn’t help but picture Casey’s roomy space above Wasco’s, with its tall windows, spare bedroom, sunny kitchen, huge living room. She’d fantasized a lot in only the past few days about what she’d do to it if he ever invited her to stay with him. Where she’d put the crib, what color she’d paint the rooms, if his landlady would allow it . . .
Stupid girl. Since when had her luck changed enough to manifest that kind of happy little dream life?
My luck has changed, though. Or her choices, to go by Casey’s philosophy. In either case, little by little, since she’d found herself in this town, things had begun looking up. She’d landed a decent job at the diner, and then an even better one at the bar. Made good friends who looked out for her and Mercy. She’d had a taste of romance—only a taste, but sweeter than she’d ever expected. It hurt to lose it, and to realize it wasn’t as perfect as it had felt, but in time it would give her hope, she imagined. There were men out there who’d treat her right, her and Mercy both.
The one you loved just turned out to be more crooked than you’d let yourself guess, is all. He’d still been good to her, for all his now-glaring faults. He’d seen something in her worth treating well, so maybe another guy would see the same, one day.
Would Casey have forgiven all the ugly things I’ve done? She might never know. But maybe some other man, some other time in her life, would be able to.
Just now, it was impossible to imagine anyone lighting her up the way Casey had.
Outside her room, the old stairs creaked. Her heart was thumping in an instant—as hard as it ever had back when she’d feared James’s intrusion—this time imagining it might be Casey. Come back to—what? Beg for a second chance, and a prescription for penance? For forgiveness? For—