I lower my hands and let out a sigh. “I know. I just can’t stop thinking about these.”
My leave of absence from work was supposed to be about giving me time to relax after the last two cases. My supervisor, Creagan, gave me his blessing and told me to take all the time I need. Of course, he’s told me that before. He thought I was taking vacation two months ago, when I ended up back in my hometown of Sherwood after the sheriff called to ask for my help. To say he was less than pleased to find out I wasn’t sprawled on a plastic lounge chair at a Florida waterpark and instead was hunting a serial kidnapper is an understatement. The therapist he compelled me to start visiting after the case I handled earlier this year took his side. But that means they were both supportive when I let them know I’d been staying in Sherwood for a while.
Seven years passed since the last time I was in Sherwood to when I arrived to help investigate the kidnappings. Seven years since I said goodbye to the man I knew I’d give away my future to be with if I didn’t tear myself away when I did.
I stayed to work through everything I left behind. Which includes Sheriff Sam Johnson sitting beside me on the couch of what was my grandparent’s home. Rediscovering him has been like settling into the house again. They are both so familiar, steeped in memories of when I was younger, and at the same time, different. Sometimes those differences are easier to deal with than what is familiar. They don’t bring up the pain. Other times, seeing the change takes my breath away.
In my mind, everything had stayed the same. I walked away from Sherwood and into a different life, locking that one in place. When I put it behind me, everything stopped, and I didn’t think about any of the ways it might no longer be the same. Everything that is just as it was when I saw it through the sheen of tears that last day feels like I didn’t leave. I can look into Sam’s eyes and not see the years. I can walk through the house and see my grandparents’ home. It’s when I have to face the changes that I remember.
Seeing the slight streaks of silver already appearing around the edges of Sam’s hair still makes me pause. His father had streaks like that in his hair when we were children. He was a young man then, just like Sam is now. But age started to creep into his hair when he was barely thirty. The first time I ran my fingers back through Sam’s hair and discovered those shimmering strands, it made my breath catch. That was a change I wasn’t ready to see. I know the time has passed for him, too. I haven’t totally convinced myself I put Sherwood into some sort of time-locked snow globe that stopped everyone within it from changing or aging. But seeing it makes me really face all those years that separate us.
It isn’t just seven years since I said goodbye to Sam and walked away without planning to ever come back. It’s seven years of days that went by without hearing his voice or finding a note he left me. It’s seven years of nights without good night wishes. Seven years of missed birthdays, fireworks, and Christmas trees. Seven years of laughs forming little lines by his eyes and tears we weren’t there to help each other through. When I look at him and see the changes, it hits me just how much I’ve really missed.
I moved on into a life I believed was the right one for me but didn’t let myself think about the one he would live after that moment. Now I have to, and it’s harder than I could have expected.
Even harder than just facing it is the reality that I still don’t know what this means. We haven’t talked about it. I don’t know if we will. I’m here in Sherwood for my leave of absence, but I don’t know how long that will last or what will happen when it’s over. My career and the life I built is still back there. Back in the house I inherited from my father. Back with the friends who have seen me through the last seven years. Back with the career I devoted my life to at the expense of everything else.
At some point, I’m going to have to stand at that line and decide what I’m going to do next.
Eating through the elaborate assortment of Chinese food Sam pulled from the paper bag lets me take my mind off the necklaces and listen to him tell me about his day.
“I’ve told her at least twenty times if she doesn’t want the cat to keep getting up onto the roof of her garage and getting stuck there, she should move the ladder, so it won’t climb up it. But she insists Mr. Fluffy will learn to come down the ladder one day, and she will have enriched his life,” he’s saying.
I shake my head as I reach for another egg roll.
“Maybe she shouldn’t have given him a name like Mr. Fluffy. If that was my name, I might try to isolate myself on the roof of a garage, too,” I shrug through a mouthful of rice. “But she was about a hundred years old when I was six, so maybe I’m missing some sort of generational significance.” Sam laughs as he licks a drip of brown sauce away from his finger. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just so serious about things sometimes,” he says.
I shrug. “Happens. Consequence of my line of work.”
He slides over and touches a kiss to the side of my head. “Which is why you’re here. Taking a break.”
I can’t help but smile; then something pops into my head. “Speaking of which, are you still up for game night at Janet and Paul’s tomorrow?”
He nods. “Absolutely. I’m voting for Clue.”
I roll my eyes and stab at a piece of broccoli in the nearest container.
“I’m terrible at Clue.”
“Exactly. No game night is as much fun as watching someone who hunts serial killers not be able to figure out which of six fake people killed another fake person in an oddly square mansion,” he teases.
I poke the broccoli at him. “Just keep it up. One of these days, they’re going to choose Twister, and I’m going to dominate.”
He looks like he’s going to say something, but his eyes flicker over to the TV. I forgot I had it on. It’s been on mute since a particularly annoying commercial played for the third time during the show I was watching while waiting for him. Getting sucked into staring at the necklaces made me forget it was even on. Now the newscaster on the screen stares ahead with a cold, stern look on her face, and a bright red banner across the bottom announces, ‘BREAKING NEWS’.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He shakes his head and reaches for the remote to turn the volume back on. “I don’t know. But it looks serious.”
“…twelve deaths and at least sixty life-threatening injuries have been reported. This number is expected to continue to rise as the dozens brought to local hospitals are examined. Responders have put out emergency calls for assistance to search for anyone who may still be trapped in the destruction. We’ll update with further developments as they come in.”
Footage from a destroyed building fills the screen along with an information bar.
“The bus station in Richmond,” I murmur.
“Why would someone bomb a bus station?” Sam asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
But a churning feeling in my gut tightens to a burning knot as I watch workers crawl through the crumbled concrete and shattered glass. Issues with the media and conflicts of interest made the courts issue a change of venue for Jake Logan’s trial. I’ll be in Richmond for a hearing in two weeks.
Chapter Three
Him
He never thought he would find her there. When she wasn’t in Florida for her vacation and hadn’t returned to the house, he didn’t know where to look for her. Of all the places he thought of to look for her, this didn’t even cross his mind. Perhaps it should have. In a way, it was so obvious. And at the same time, it was the farthest thing from his mind. She wouldn’t go back. She hadn’t in the years since she left. Not back there, not back to Sherwood.