“You haven’t been replaced.” I reached for Ashley as Shelly and Claire moved to one side, giving us some space. I pulled my sister into a hug, and teased her back. “You’ve been supplemented.”
“Fine. I see how it is.” She laughed, leaning away, her hand sliding to mine. “I love you, Beau.”
“I love you too, Ash.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Just not quite yet.
Ash’s attention moved to where Shelly and Claire stood a short distance away, their heads together. “I was thinking about our conversation, back in October, about how things change. It seems to me things are changing so fast, every time I blink, something crucial is different.”
“And some things never change.” I squeezed her fingers. “Like how if you’re not happy, then no one gets to be happy.” I shifted my eyes meaningfully to Drew.
My sister laughed, the joyful sound raising my spirits as she followed my line of sight. “Oh, I’m happy. Probably more happy than I deserve to be.”
I disagreed. My sister—my sisters—deserved every happiness, and I wasn’t above meddling to make sure it happened.
We all moseyed toward the parking garage after that. None of us seemed to be in any hurry to leave or get on with the business of our day.
Claire, Shelly, and Ashley were trying to find a mutually agreeable date to make soap. Apparently, Jennifer Sylvester—who was currently in New York—had offered to teach Shelly. Mrs. James chimed in that she’d like to learn as well. Sienna and Jethro then asked if they could tag along.
The Sheriff, Roscoe, and Billy were talking about politics—local, not national—and I caught them saying something about the Paytons. At intervals, I also noticed Billy’s eyes stray toward Claire. She was walking next to me, so at first I thought it was me he was watching.
But, no. It wasn’t me. It was my sister.
Hmm . . .
Drew and Cletus were discussing Cletus’s recent boar hunting trip. He’d just returned the previous night. Duane and I had used the small window of time to fill him in on our meeting with Christine. Cletus had told us to let him handle Darrell and not worry about it. He’d also told us to keep the news to ourselves about Darrell being up for parole soon.
I trusted Cletus, but I couldn’t help worrying about it.
As we strolled past the checkin counters, I wasn’t so lost to my thoughts that the flash of a familiar face escaped my notice. I did a double take, and then I stiffened, my steps faltering, as the face came fully into view.
Repo, one of the highest-ranking members of the Iron Wraiths, was leaning against the wall just past the corner of the checkin, his eyes lowered to the floor. He was standing conspicuously close once I caught sight of him, but inconspicuously far away until I had.
Maneuvering next to Cletus and Drew, I whispered, “Hey. Why’s Repo here?”
“What? Where?” Cletus cast his eyes about.
“Stop it. Don’t look. He’s over there, to the left, by the Delta line.”
Drew was much better at acting natural than Cletus. The big guy turned slowly, like he was checking his pocket for something, then glanced up.
“Yep. That’s him.”
“Do you think this is about Christine?”
“No.” Cletus shook his head, following Drew’s line of sight and lowering his voice. “Repo being here has to do with Jess. It’s not about you, or Duane, or . . . that other matter.”
“Jess?” I looked from Drew—who also seemed confused—to Cletus. “What does Repo have to do with Jess?”
Cletus placed his hand on my shoulder and began in an instructional air, “You see, my dear boy, Duane and Jess have a lot in common.”
“Meaning?”
“I suspect Repo is her daddy.”
“What?” I jerked back, but managed to keep my voice quiet. “What the hell?”
Clearly there was more to understand about the Wraiths than I wanted to know.
Meanwhile, Drew sighed. “I’m going to need a chart to keep up with y’all. I can’t remember who is related to who these days.”
* * *
“Socks, underwear, jeans, boots, and an extra coat.” She ticked the items off a printed list.
“Leave them there.”
“What?”
“Your underwear.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
Shelly tilted her head to the side, her gaze flickering over me. “Why would I leave my underwear in Chicago?”
I was lying in the bed on my side, watching her. My pillow was folded behind my head, hers was clutched to my chest. “All they do is get in the way.”
She threw three pairs of underwear at me.
I laughed, pulling them away from my face. She had good aim.
Shelly was packing for Chicago. She’d promised to spend Thanksgiving with Janie, Quinn, and Desmond, and so she was keeping her word. She’d only be gone five days, but I was going to miss her.
“T-shirts, extra T-shirts, sweaters, extra sweaters. Floss, toothbrush, toothpaste, night guard—”
“Night guard?”
“It’s the thing I wear to keep from grinding my teeth.”
“Oh. Right.” I twirled a pair of her panties around my index finger. It was blue and lacy. Just looking at it turned me on. I stopped twirling it.
“Moisturizer, cotton balls, Q-tips, shampoo, conditioner, brush. Yarn for Janie, whiskey for Quinn, thankful journal, two pens, graphite pencils, sketchbook, book for flight.”
“What’s that?” I sat up, inspecting her suitcase.
“What?”
“Thankful journal? What’s that?”
Shelly reached into her grey bag on the floor, pulled out a composition notebook, and tossed it to me. “This.”
“You have a diary?” I didn’t open it.
“No. Dr. West said a diary wouldn’t be a productive use of my time. That’s just a book of lists.”
“Oh.” I glanced at the cover; she’d written Thankful Journal in black sharpie, all caps. “What do you mean, lists?”
“Things I’m thankful for.” She scratched her forehead distractedly. “I’m going to bring LUNA Bars, in case I get hungry on the plane.”
“It’s your brother’s private plane. He’ll probably have food for you. And by lists, do you mean a running list? You keep a running list of things you like?”
“No. Every day, a list of—just look at it. You’ll see what I mean.” She grabbed her checklist from the dresser and strolled out of the room.
I watched her walk down the hall, and then turn right, into the kitchen. She was probably grabbing those LUNA Bars.
Smirking at her stubbornness, I flipped open the journal and scanned the first page. It started spring last year and it was just what she’d said, a list of three things under each date.
April 6
1. Pepper
2. Awls
3. Stoneware mugs
* * *
April 7
1. Sunshine
2. Rain
3. Mud
* * *
April 8
1. Ivan
2. Laika
3. Oliver
* * *
Flipping ahead, I skimmed pages until something caught my eye toward the middle of the book.
* * *
September 22
1. Auto lifts
2. Air compressors
3. Beau Winston
* * *
I looked down the hall again, heard a kitchen cabinet open and then close. Then I glanced back to the book, flipping another page, then another, automatically scanning it for my name.
* * *
October 8
1. Silver forks
2. Switchbacks
3. Beau Winston
* * *
October 18
1. Classic cars