“What?” he asked, a lump rising in his throat.
She didn’t answer, continuing to run the cloth under the water.
“What did you do, Izzy?”
“I’m not the one you should be asking, am I? We both know Mr. Todd’s death wasn’t an accident. I just don’t want anyone else to end up like him. We have to protect Kyle.”
Twenty-Eight
PEIGHTON
Peighton sat on her front porch swing, staring into the yard. She watched as a bird landed on top of Kyle’s old treehouse, remembering the summer that Todd and Frank had built it for him. Kyle had loved the treehouse. She recalled the nights he’d attempted to make it through without coming inside because he’d grown afraid, and how so many times she’d wake up to find Todd outside with him, just to show him there was nothing to fear.
Todd had loved their son, she smiled just thinking about it. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for that boy. She could remember so clearly how the three of them would huddle in Kyle’s bedroom during a storm, eating pizza and brownies, and waiting for the rain to pass. They’d watch movies together, play board games and make shadow puppets on the walls when the power went out. Peighton could see those memories in her mind as if they’d happened only hours ago, could picture the pizza-stained chin of her eight-year-old son, hear his electrifying laughter. She could see Todd: his flannel pajama pants, brown hair that had fallen from its perfect style, and his giddy smile that always reminded her of a child. Nothing made her happier than seeing those two happy and together.
She wondered what Todd would say to her now, knowing that she’d somehow managed to lose the best thing they’d ever created together. Would he blame her for Kyle’s disappearance? She knew the answer before she could even form the question in her head. No. He wouldn’t have. Todd would’ve known what to do, he would’ve had the words to bring Kyle home. But he wouldn’t have blamed her. Todd was gentle and kind to a fault, always trusting. He’d never had an ill word to say of anyone in all the years they’d been married. He’d been hurt, sure, but his heart was pure and Peighton was convinced there was nothing in the whole wide world that would’ve ever changed that.
“I miss you,” she whispered to her husband, wherever he might be. “I wish you were still here. None of this feels right anymore.”
As if in answer, she felt a gust of warm air, the wind chime Todd had bought her for Valentine’s Day dancing in the breeze. She smiled up at it as if it were him, glad to know, to hope, that he was still watching her.
She glanced up as something in the distance caught her eye, surprised to see Clay’s truck pulling into the driveway.
She stood, holding onto the chain that held the swing to the roof and watched as he climbed out of his truck, walking up the covered path to the porch.
“Hey,” she said to him, before he was quite close enough.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly, “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Frank had to work this morning, so I came home early. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”
“I’m sorry I ran out.” He held his arms out to her.
She walked to him, burying her head into his chest. “It’s me who should apologize. I had no right to talk to you the way I did when you were only trying to help. You’ve always been trying to help.”
He placed a finger under her chin, pulling her face up toward his. He moved his lips closer to hers, touching them slightly. She opened her mouth, willing him to continue, but he pulled away, catching her off guard. She took a step back.
“What was that about?”
“It was a truce.”
“A truce?” She laughed.
“Yes,” he said seriously. “I shouldn’t have run away like I did. I needed to clear my head. It wasn’t fair of me to get so upset with you when you didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” she asked.
“Sit down,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“Okay,” she said cautiously, sitting down on the swing once more. He walked in front of her, sitting down on the white railing around the porch.
“I haven’t told you everything about my marriage.”
“It’s not my business, Clay.”
“It is,” he said, “it is if we want us to work.”
“Us?”
“Us.”
Her jaw fell open, heart picking up speed. “Since when is there an us?”
“I know what I said, Peighton, and I meant all of it. We’re messy and complicated and probably a terrible idea, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are all I think about.”
“I am?” she asked, closing her eyes for a split second to take in what he was saying.
“You are,” he told her, stepping closer. “You are absolutely all that I think about. And I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and that in the short time we have known each other we’ve gone through more madness than I care to recount…but I care about you, Peighton. And I’m willing to put everything aside and give us a real shot.” He paused, looking at her watchfully. “If you are.”
She stood up, placing her hands on his chest and leaning toward him. “We are messy.”
“We are,” he confirmed.
“And we are…way more than complicated.” She leaned a bit closer.
“We are.”
“And this probably won’t work,” she warned him.
“It probably won’t,” he agreed.
“And we’ll probably both end up hurt,” she said, her lips inches from his now.
“We will.”
“But…” she said softly, “I’m in this, Clay. I’m in this with you.”
Without another word, he put his arms around her, pulling her to him and pressing their lips together. She kissed him back, her heart pounding in her chest as if it were going to explode. She tried to calm herself, their hurried breaths bouncing off one another. All too soon, he pulled back, wiping his mouth.
He held up a hand. “But, if we’re going to start this, I want it to be done the right way. Which means, I owe you the truth.”
“What’s the truth?”
“I owe you the truth about Sarah, my wife. I owe you the truth about our marriage and her death.”
“Meaning what, Clay?” she asked, growing worried.
“It’s a long story,” he said, rubbing her cheek with his thumb, “and in order to tell it, I need you to sit.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I can’t be distracted,” he sighed, pulling his hand away, “which means I can’t touch you or I may never finish this story.”
Blushing slightly, she sat down, almost sad to leave his arms. “Okay,” she said, folding her hands properly in her lap and preparing herself for the worst.
“The first thing you should know is the reason I reacted the way I did last night when you told me I didn’t have children.”
“Clay, I’m really—”
He held up a finger. “Just, please, let me finish. The reason I was so upset was because when my wife was killed around two years ago, she was five months pregnant with our first child.”
“Oh,” she said, the words hitting her hard. “Oh.”
“The baby died too. It was,” he cleared his throat, “it is the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with. When Sarah and the baby died, my whole world ended. I was depressed, I started drinking, I was ready to let my whole life fall apart.”
“Clay—” She held her hand out for him though neither of them moved.