She closed it in her hand, felt the metal warming there.
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.