Page 32 of We Already Dug the Grave

“I think it is about us.”

“It’s not. How could it be? What happened—what we did—you have to move past it.”

“But—”

“Listen.” She lowered her voice. “You ran away and disappeared, but I’ve kept an eye on things.”

She touched my arm lightly, looking into my eyes. It was a simple gesture, but in that moment, we were us again.

“You did?” I whispered.

“Yeah. I don’t know… I guess partly to cover our asses, but also, maybe part of me felt guilty.” She shrugged. “Allison—Shane’s wife—has family in the next town over. After Shane went missing, she took her son and moved back there. And Blake, Shane’s stepson?” My sister pressed her lips together and shifted her weight. “He never… He hasn’t been okay for a while. He’s been troubled, so I’m not surprised something like this happened.”

“But what about—”

“But nothing.” She cut me off, and any hint at tenderness I’d felt from her hardened in an instant. “God, I forgot how exhausting you can be.”

This time, as she walked away, I knew she meant it. She called over her shoulder, “You’ve clearly lost it. Don’t come here again.”

Chapter 12

Then

I didn’t think of calling Casey. I just kind of did it. Autopilot, I guess, from years of him being the person I took everything too.

If I hadn’t been in that miserable fugue state, if I’d had even an ounce of forethought, I’d have remembered the moths in my chest and that topsy-turvy sloshing in my stomach or that teeth-knocking kiss and falling cans of tomato soup.

But I didn’t think. I only dialed, punching the number into Hattie-May’s relic of a house phone, wanting nothing more than the boy I used to boss around in my backyard.

I’d promised Frances I wouldn’t tell the aunts or anyone else her secret, as long as she ended things with Mr. Fortenberry. And I always kept my promises.

My lips were sealed. I wasn’t going to confide in Casey, I just wanted—no, needed—a moment to sink away into something good, something easy. For most of my life, Casey had been just that.

“Hey,” I said when he picked up on the first ring.

“Milly.” A slight hitch, then, “Is everything okay?”

Shit. He’d always read me like a book, but how could he know from one word that I was miserable?

I twisted the phone’s spiral cord around my wrist as I assured him I was fine. Great. Perfect, even. It didn’t matter if he believed me or not, as long as he agreed to meet me at our spot an hour before curfew. I breathed easier when he said okay.

I sat on a sandy patch of earth yards away from the creek, my knees pulled into my chest, staring toward the sound of trickling water, when the crunch of boots on leaves told me he was near.

“Hey,” I said, without turning around.

“Hay’s for horses.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes as I shifted to face him. There was a click. A burst of light.

“Dammit.” Spots danced in my vision. “You and that damned camera.”

“Couldn’t help it.” There was a grin in his voice. “You looked so thoughtful.”

“How would you know how I looked? It’s pitch dark out here.”

“I just knew.”

I tried to think of something witty to say, but all that came to me was, “Yeah. Well.”