Page 2 of Weight of Guilt

The voice wasn’t loud, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from.

But someone had said his name. Someone wanted to show him something.

“It’s an Appalachian glowworm,” the voice said. “I know you’ve always wanted to see one.”

An Appalachian glowworm? His heart beat harder. He had always wanted to see one.

He loved bugs, and this glowworm was rare.

He opened his hands and let the lightning bug go. The creature blinked twice before flying into the grass. “Bye, little guy!”

He glanced back at the party one more time. Everyone was still having a good time, eating barbecue and cake and drinking sweet tea. Music still rang out, and everyone looked so happy. Even Marlowe was still laughing.

She didn’t turn his way. No one did.

He wasn’t supposed to go into the woods alone. But he could go just a little closer. He just wanted to see the glowworm.

What could it hurt to slip out of sight for just a few minutes?

“Christian!” the voice said. “You’re going to miss it. Hurry up before Marlowe tells you not to! She doesn’t understand how much you like bugs, not like I do.”

The voice was right. Marlowe would stop him. And he did love bugs. Whoever was out there clearly knew him—knew he liked insects.

He began walking toward the woods.

The grass went from soft to sharp under his bare feet. The prickling stalks meant he’d left the mowed part of the yard behind.

The party shrank smaller behind him with every step.

Then he crossed into the shadow of the trees.

He took one last glance back. He hoped he didn’t get Marlowe in trouble.

Chapter

Two

PRESENT DAY

Wren Loveless didn’t knock. She never did, not at her sister’s house.

Instead, she let herself in, her dog behind her.

“Morning,” Nora called from the kitchen.

She didn’t turn from the stove. She cracked eggs into a pan, the kitchen already thick with the smell of bacon grease and coffee.

“Morning,” Wren returned as she took a seat at the breakfast bar.

The kitchen looked exactly as it had when she was growing up. It had the same scarred butcher block counter, the same window over the sink that fogged over every winter no matter how high they ran the heat, and the same tiled backsplash with a country blue flower pattern.

Bo, the party-colored labradoodle she’d been “gifted” by a coworker at the salon who had to move overseas, trotted in behind her and folded himself under the table. She’d tried leaving him at the cabin, but he’d beaten her out the door, ignoring her every command.

As per usual.

Tightness pulled across her chest as she anticipated how today would go. Every year this date brought the same sensations.

“You think Marlowe will be here?” Wren asked.