Page 71 of Weight of Guilt

“What did he say?”

“He said he had someone he checked on.” Earl thought about it a second. “That’s all of it.”

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Nash went very still. Someone he checked on? Could that be Christian?

“Anything else?” Nash asked. “Doesn’t matter how small it seems to you.”

Earl scratched the side of his neck. “He filled extra cans.”

“Cans?” he repeated.

“Two five-gallon gasoline cans, in addition to filling his tank. Every trip, far back as I can remember.” He set the pencil down. “I figured a generator. Ain’t no power up that way. Never has been.”

Nash looked through the window at the road and tried to keep his thoughts from hyper focusing on the wrong theory.

“One more thing.” Earl said the words slower now. “The last few months he started buying two sandwiches out of that cooler. Same two, every time. Ham and a turkey.”

“Two?” Luke said.

“Two.” Earl nodded. Then his face changed, and he pointed at the counter as if the memory had magically appeared. “Once, there was somebody with him.”

Nash’s chest went tight. “When?”

“Middle of the summer. July, I want to say, because I had the door propped. He come in for the cans same as always, and there was a fella waiting in the truck. Passenger side.”

“Did you see him?”

“Can’t say I did.” Earl shook his head slowly. “I was behind this counter, and the sun was coming straight in that window.”

“Old?” Luke asked. “Young?”

Earl shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But someone was in there. I know that for sure.”

Wren was still turning over everything the doctor had said when the doors slid open and her mother practically sprinted into the room.

Black sweats. Black T-shirt. Her hair still damp at the temples, like she’d come straight from wherever she’d been standing when the phone rang.

She stopped in front of all of them, her eyes wide and frantic. “You’re all here? What’s going on? What happened?”

They all rose and went to her.

Nora placed her hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Everything is okay. It’s . . . Christian. He’s back.”

Her mom’s eyes widened even more. “Christian? What? I mean—I . . .”

“It’s true,” Wren murmured.

Mom’s eyes began to dart around, an almost wild look to her gaze. “Where? Where is he? I need to see him.”

“Mama—” Marlowe started.

She froze, her breathing uneven and frantic. “Where is he? Where’s Christian?”

“He’s in the back,” Nora said. “The doctor has him in a room. They won’t let us go back yet.”