chapter Thirteen
Casey skidded the bike to a stop, and Eric looked up from his perch on the front steps. She breathed in deeply through her mouth and out her nose, unsure how to proceed. She hardly knew the kid, right? She’d only met him a few weeks ago. He was young—younger than she was, anyway. He was also idealistic, damaged from the murder of his lover, and the son of a criminal. His presence here in her home town couldn’t possibly be good.
“Casey?”
The sound of his voice brought back other memories, as well. The murder of the Louisville mobster, a killer’s head exploding in front of them, and a passionate near-sex experience in the back of a darkened theater. Casey went hot, then cold. This man, with whom she’d experienced so much in such a short amount of time, stood in front of the house where she’d shared a complete life with Reuben. Complete in the sense that she’d given her total self. Incomplete in that it had lasted only a few years.
The house still looked the same. Better, actually. Ricky had taken good care of it. The lawn must have been mown just before Ricky went to prison, because it still looked fairly neat. A few leaves had scattered over it, but nothing that couldn’t be explained away by a light breeze. The paint was fresh, the flowerbeds weed-free, and the stump that had been a beautiful oak tree held a pot of rust-colored mums. It was like she’d just come home from the dojang, and Reuben and Omar would be waiting inside. The house would smell like tamales, and flour dustings would decorate Reuben’s shirt. Omar would be strapped to Reuben’s back, watching as Reuben steamed the filled corn husks. The moment felt so real Casey almost believed it.
But Eric VanDiepenbos, not at all a part of that life, waited by the steps as she walked the bike across the street and laid it in her yard, along with her bag. She stood at the end of the walk.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
He took a step forward.
She took one back. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m actually not still here. I went home. And then I came back. So the question should actually be, why did I come back?”
She waited. “And the answer?”
“I heard about your brother. I want to help.”
“What could you do?”
“I don’t know. Something.” He shifted on his feet. “Plus, I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
He gave a little laugh. “Why? Casey, do you not remember anything that happened three weeks ago?”
She looked around, wondering where Death was when she needed a hand. Or a distraction.
“That’s over,” she said.
“Not for me.”
“Right. What with your dad going to prison and everything…”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at something on the walk. “At least your brother is innocent.”
“You believe that?”
“I don’t need to. You do.”
Casey looked at Eric, his hair flopping over his forehead, kicking at pebbles like a twelve-year-old. What on earth was she going to do with him?
“You really want to help?”
His head jerked up, like a puppy expecting a treat. “Yes.”
“Fine. Come back tomorrow morning.”
His face fell. “Tomorrow—”
“I haven’t even been back to this house yet. This is the first I’m seeing it. And I can’t do that with anybody else.” She gave him what she hoped was a gentle smile. “Not even you.”
“I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. I’ll…be here for you.”
“Eric, you have no idea—”
“I know what happened to you two years ago. I know about the accident, and about your baby. I know about…Reuben.”
Of course he did. She had called him her dead husband’s name while they were ripping each other’s clothes off in the back of that theater three weeks earlier. That, obviously, had been the end of that little affair.
“Eric, look. I like you, you know I do. I’ll be eternally grateful for how you kept me out of jail. And I appreciate that you want to help with my brother—I’ll take whatever help you can give me with that. But this…” She looked up at the house. “This I have to do by myself. It has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with the life I lost. Please try to understand.”
“Can I just wait out here? In case you need someone to talk to after you go in?”
She shook her head. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“Well, I was hoping to stay here.”
Wasn’t going to happen. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You have a phone?”
“Of course.”
Of course. Like everybody had one. Well, she supposed, every normal person did. Actually…“I think the landline is still on in the house. Ricky kept everything going in case I came back. So I can call you if I need to, right?”
“But—”
“And you can go stay in my brother’s house.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Or you can find a hotel. But Eric, you can’t stay here. Not tonight.” Maybe not ever.
He sighed. “Fine. But you have to promise to call if you need me.”
“I promise. All right? Now here’s the key to his house.” She gave him directions, as well as her phone number, which was burned into her brain from Before.
He plugged the number into his iPhone, which looked exactly like Death’s replica, and scribbled his on the back of a gas receipt. “Casey Maldonado? Or Kaufmann? Or should we simply go with Smith?”
A joke. Sort of. That was how she’d first introduced herself to him way back three weeks ago—it felt like three years. And he’d told her his name was Eric Jones. Cute. A far cry from VanDiepenbos.
She glanced at the mailbox, which had the house number, but no last name. “Maldonado. My last name is Maldonado. My husband’s name.”
Eric became very busy inputting the information. “How about I use all three? That way I’m sure to know I’ll get one of you.” He shifted on his feet, looking even more like a child waiting for recognition. But at the same time like a man, with strong arms and kind eyes and warm skin…
“Goodnight, Eric.”
He looked around at the street and the house, but not at her. “All right. I’ll see you in the morning. Unless you call me.”
“Do you have a car?”
He gestured to a generic gold Taurus. Rental.
“How about you come get me at eight-forty-five?”
“I can come earlier.”
“No, that will be fine. I—we—have an appointment at nine.”
“Okay. Should I eat breakfast first? Or will we be eating there?”
The poor boy. He had no idea what he was asking. “Eat first. You won’t want even one bite at the place we’re going.”
He nodded, looking at his car, his keys, the sidewalk. “You sure I can’t—”
“Goodnight, Eric.”
He stopped speaking and studied the car key like it held the answers to the universe. “Goodnight, Casey.” He got in the car and pulled slowly away. From the shape of his silhouette as he drove, Casey could tell he was watching her in his rear view mirror.
And then he turned the corner and was out of sight.