Can I keep this? It wasn’t a locket or some other pointed token of romance. It was a symbol of her misplaced beliefs, of her lost faith once again returning to her in the wake of all those desperate, squandered years. It was a gift chosen by a lover . . . but bestowed by a friend.
I’ll wear it, she decided. Not yet, but eventually. To put it on now would be too mixed a signal to send Casey, and too much to ask of her own heart, besides. But in time, once their brief but blazing romance had mellowed to a fond memory, their friendship hopefully planted on solid ground once again, she’d put it on. And she’d wear it gratefully, with humility and hope.
The house gave a rattle, the subtle clatter of doors resettling and telling her someone had just come in from outside. The murmur of conversation in the kitchen flared for a moment, then went sedate once again. She heard Christine now, and also Casey. She debated going down, pursing her lips, legs trying to commit to standing or not. But then footsteps froze her, growing louder as they reached the den, then the stairs. She knew the sound of those shoes well, and she hastily closed the necklace in its tissue and slid it under a pillow.
Casey approached the bedroom with one fist raised, poised to knock on the frame. He lowered it when their eyes met. “Hey.”
“Hi. Come in. What’s going on?”
He closed the door behind him and leaned on the dresser. If he noticed the red tissue was missing, he didn’t show it. She doubted something so trivial was on his mind now, even as that tiny present weighed on her own.
“Has anyone seen Don yet?” she asked, heart knotting between her ribs.
Casey shook his head. “It doesn’t look good. The barn was the last place anybody saw him.”
“Do you think . . . ?”
He nodded, just the barest dip of his chin.
Tears were slipping down her cheeks in an instant, as she let that fearful thought become real. “That’s . . . God, I don’t even know.” He’d been so good to her. Maybe not warm and paternal, but patient, welcoming, helpful. Caring, in his own practical, rational way. “How’re Christine and Miah?”
“I’m not sure it’s completely sunk in yet. I don’t think either one of them is ready to jump to conclusions.”
“I heard Miah talking to your brother.”
He nodded, then came to sit on the far end of the bed. “Vince heard about the fire while he was at work. Came right here . . . He had a weird feeling about it, I guess.”
“When will they know for sure? About Don?” Her body went cold, imagining people having to sift through all that smoke-stinking, dampened mess, looking for— She cut off the thought.
“Not long, I don’t think. Once everything’s cooled and the smoke’s cleared.”
“God, this is just awful.” There was no adjective that fit, none that didn’t sound monstrously inadequate. “Do you . . . You don’t think it was on purpose, though, do you? Like anything to do with whoever’s been sneaking around?”
Casey didn’t reply right away, expression clouded.
“Do you?” she prompted.
“It’s too soon to say. But I’d be lying if I said I’d be surprised.”
“Oh my God.”
“There’s no point thinking about it just yet,” he said gently.
“That’s so . . . I mean, did someone want to hurt him on purpose, or were they only trying to destroy the barn, or—”
Casey quieted her with a wave of his hand, smiling weakly. “We’ll have more answers soon. For now the most important thing is to be whatever it is Miah and his mom are going to need.”
He was right, and she did her best to block out the nagging, frightening thoughts.
“How’s she?” Casey nodded in the crib’s direction.
“She screamed herself hoarse while I was out with all the workers, waiting for the fire to die down. I don’t think she’ll be waking up anytime too soon.”
He heaved a loaded breath, slipped his hand under his open hoodie and rubbed at his chest. “I’m trying real hard to not work myself up about how close the two of you were to all that. How wrong it could’ve gone.” As he said it, his voice broke. Any fleeting worry she’d had about the fire having been anything to do with Casey evaporated in that instant.
She wanted to be close to him. Wanted his arms around her body and his soft voice in her ear, telling her it was going to be okay. Comforting lies, something to believe in while the entire world seemed to be coming apart around them.
But if she felt lost now, surely she’d only lose further track of her heart, if she let herself get too close. Clarity was in short supply at the moment, and never more so than when she tried to make sense of how she felt about this man. She pictured the necklace now hiding beneath her pillow, and that knot in her chest eased, though the tangle was as big a mess as ever.
“I need to talk to my brother,” Casey said, “but I wanted to check how you were doing.”
“Thanks. Do you think I should go downstairs? To try to help, somehow?”
He considered it. “Knowing Miah, he’ll be out of there the second he finds a decent excuse, looking for shit to tackle so he doesn’t get to think too hard about it all. But Christine could probably use the company. She’d been saying something about making coffee, for all the officials who’re taking statements and waiting for the investigation to get under way. I bet she could use some help with that.”
Abilene nodded. She’d bring Mercy down in the car seat and pray the baby kept on napping as long as possible. It was going to be a long day, and she had a terrible feeling that the answers they were all waiting on weren’t going to be good.
Chapter 25
Casey went downstairs with Abilene and the baby, the three of them joining the periphery of the scene in the kitchen. Vince, Miah, and Christine were seated at one end of the long table, talking quietly. Christine’s expression was calm, but her eyes were red and her hands shaky. Miah had a hand on her back, circling slowly, thoughtlessly, as the three traded empty consolations and theories about how Don could be anyplace—way out at the other end of the range, maybe, or who knew where. But Casey had seen the man’s truck in the front lot, as had they all, he bet. These weren’t words of comfort, merely words that gave the Churches permission to live in denial a little longer.
Casey kept quiet, standing by with his arms crossed, and Abilene set the baby in her rocker while she went to load dishes in the washer, her motions careful and quiet, respectful. Fragile.
Casey felt much the same. Felt too many things, and none of them good. Yesterday he’d felt remorse about his old life, because it had cost him what he’d found with Abilene. Less than a day later those sour feelings had turned downright poisonous. He felt as though he were standing on the other side of his own selfish choices. Standing in the kitchen that might’ve belonged to the family of some firefighter, maybe, had one of his arson jobs ever gone tragically wrong. The thought alone had his throat raw and his eyes hurting. He swallowed the feelings down. They had no place beside Miah and Christine’s grief.
The phone had barely quit ringing since Casey had arrived, and when it trilled yet again, Christine stood with a weary sigh. “I can’t ignore it forever, I suppose.”
Miah got to his feet. “Let me.”
She waved him away. “No, I could use something to do. I’ll be in the office, if any of the Sheriff’s Department folks want me. Or if your father turns up,” she added, then hit the phone’s TALK button. “Hello? Marian, hi. Hang on one second.” She offered the room a distracted, lame smile, then disappeared into the hall.
Casey eyed Miah. He was usually the picture of casual confidence, but he was hunched in his seat, fingers drumming his opposite elbows, feet fidgeting beneath the bench. Casey couldn’t think of a single decent thing to say, aside from, “Anybody need a drink?”