Casey’s voice. “It’s only me.”
Only. Only the person she wanted to see most in the entire world. “Come in.”
She sat up straight, flinging the magazine she’d been browsing under the bed. It was an old copy of Glamour that she’d “borrowed” from the pediatrician’s office more than a month ago. She’d bring it back next time Mercy had a checkup, but for now, it felt like a lifeline to the outside world. Or actually, no—to the past. To simpler times. She’d had subscriptions to about five of those dumb magazines when she’d been fourteen, fifteen—sent to her grandma’s house, since her dad would never have approved of all that makeup and such short skirts. She’d pored over them the way she once had her Picture Bible, fantasizing that someday she’d be skinny and fashionable and have a cell phone and kiss boys.
Casey closed the door softly behind him and walked to the crib to peek over the edge. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Little Miss Beautiful had a huge meltdown, so now she’s out cold. You don’t need to whisper.”
“You about to steal some sleep yourself?”
She tried to read his expression. There was intensity there, but not lust, she didn’t think. “I don’t have to.”
“Cool if I hang out?”
“Of course.” If Abilene had her way, his sleeping in her bed would be the default.
“I heard I missed your home cooking tonight.”
“No big deal.”
“I would’ve liked to have been there. You Texas girls can cook.”
“The trick is to never drain the fat out of anything,” she teased. “Did any of the deputies down the road give you grief on your way back here?”
“I got stopped, but they just checked my ID and called Don, got the go-ahead. Small price to pay for a little peace of mind.”
That gave Abilene pause, and she hoped she wouldn’t find herself in a similar position. She had no clue if her fake license was good enough to fool an actual cop, and to boot it didn’t match the name on her registration. She’d have little choice but to show them her real one, and that name wouldn’t ring any bells if they called Don. Allison Beeman? Never heard of her.
“Did you have that call you’d mentioned?” She asked it casually, though Casey had implied that whatever the conversation was about, it was miles from trivial.
“Yeah.” He joined her on the bed, sitting beside her with his back to the headboard and spreading his legs. He patted the space between them. “C’mere.”
She relocated, smiling broadly and glad he couldn’t see how goofy she must look. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his chest warmed her back through their T-shirts.
“So what happened?”
He wrapped his arms around her middle, linking his fingers at her belly. A few days ago, such a thing would’ve made her self-conscious, but he liked her body, just as it was. She trusted that much.
“This’ll be between you and me,” he said. “A few people know, but not many.”
She laughed, nervous now. “You’d better tell me before I start jumping to wild conclusions.”
After a deep breath, he did. “When I was about twenty, my mom started going crazy.”
“Okay.” She knew the gist of the situation, but not much. She covered his hands with hers, rubbing his knuckles. “Is this to do with her? Like a diagnosis or something?”
“Not exactly. But the backstory is she has some kind of early-onset dementia. She was just starting to get spacey and forgetful around the time I moved away. Now she’s pretty much checked out of reality, twenty-four-seven. Spends all her waking hours watching TV.”
“That happened to my great-grandma, but not until she was almost ninety. I’m sorry. I know how sad it is.”