Page 33 of Weight of Guilt

Nothing about the vehicle was out of place. Not really. People pulled off along the mountain roads for various reasons all the time.

But something about the vehicle bothered her, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. It was probably everything that had happened. Christian’s reappearance, Mason running off and climbing the tree, Uncle Roy’s passing . . . all of it was messing with her mind. It was a lot to take in. That was all.

Still, she’d keep her eyes open.

Mason chattered the whole drive about cleats and a kid named Dawson, who could juggle a ball nine times without dropping it. Wren forced herself to respond at the right moments.

By the time she turned into the gravel lot behind Fog Lake’s community field, she’d nearly forgotten about the sedan.

It was probably nothing. Her imagination was just working overtime.

She prayed that was true.

Chapter

Sixteen

Wren sat on the bottom bleacher with her arms wrapped around her knees, watching Mason chase a ball he had no real chance of catching up to. Coach Ferris jogged the sideline, calling out corrections in a voice pitched to carry without shouting.

Past the far goal, the ground dropped toward town. From up here she could see the whole of it—the movie theater’s sign, the church steeple, the roofs along Main. The lake sat beyond that with fog already coming off the water, the way it did nearly every evening this time of year. The mountains stood up behind all of it and closed the whole place in.

She’d lived here her entire life. Some days that felt like being held in a caring embrace. Other days it felt like a town where everyone knew your business and had decided a long time ago what to do with it.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Nora.

Did you make it?

Wren had forgotten to let her know. She typed back:

Here. He’s fine. We’re fine.

She hit Send before she could decide whether the second part was true.

She tried to force herself to think about nothing but the ordinary rhythm of a Saturday practice.

But it didn’t last.

An old blue truck turned into the lot. She recognized who it belonged to right away.

Nash.

What was he doing here?

A moment later, he climbed out and strode across the grass toward the bleachers.

“What happened?” she rushed when he was close enough.

“Nothing’s wrong. Not like that.” He sat at a careful distance beside her. “I went by the house, and your sisters said you were here.”

“Why’d you go by the house?” Concern pulsed through her.

“Because I didn’t want to say this over the phone, and I didn’t want to wait until tonight. I didn’t think you should hear this secondhand, after it’s already all over town.” He kept his voice low as he angled away from the nearest cluster of parents. “I called an old contact of mine. Deb Ellison. Retired TBI, but she still knows people.”

Wren stared at him, a wave of unease rushing through her. “About Roy or Christian?”

“About Roy.” He held her gaze. “I told you I wouldn’t report Christian, and I won’t.”

“Okay then . . .” What had he found out?