Page 42 of Within These County Lines

Sheryl lets out a sigh. “Of course he didn’t, Maggie.” She squeezes her arm.

Maggie hums softly, but there’s no conviction in it. Her hands slide from her hips into her back pockets. “It doesn’t really matter what I think though. That was always my problem. I spent too much time in my own head. Never enough time in his.”

A tear slips from her left eye. She catches it with the back of her hand.

Sheryl cringes. “It’s okay, Maggie. Why don’t we finish the tour and let Stetson get on with his inspection?” She nudges her gently forward.

Maggie nods. “Yes. Of course. Please excuse me. It’s just—” She swallows, then forces a smile. “I’m just overwhelmed at how wonderful this place will be. It has me thinking about everything Xander is missing.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“And everything he could’ve been.”

21

The inspection wraps up without a sign of Xander.

I was hoping to see him, even though we hadn’t made plans today. Lately, he feels like the only person who gets me. The only one who understands what it’s like to live without hope that things will ever change.

I walk slowly down the drive, giving him time to sneak up on me, maybe drop down from a tree and shower me with Skittles.

But he never comes.

The passenger seat of my truck is empty.

Rainbow Valley’s open shed holds nothing but a few stacked lounge chairs.

I replay our last conversation, when we were figuring out when we’d see each other again.

And then it hits me.

He’s not here because he doesn’t want to be.

All he talked about was the Ardor Tree. Any other plans were off the table.

His absence hits my heart differently than Murray’s. With Murray, it’s relief. With Xander, it’s worry.

On my way to the Ardor Tree, the rain finally breaks free from the waterlogged clouds and falls at a steady pace. Deep puddles form along the road’s shoulders, their surfaces rippling like a pool caught in a storm. Thunder rumbles before a streak of lightning splits the horizon.

I park along a muddy embankment near the trailhead and step out. My shoes slide on the slick grass as I lurch toward the woods, where the thick tree canopy shields me from the worst of the downpour.

Fog clings between the trees, dense and unmoving. Combined with the heavy green of summer leaves and the steel-gray sky, the familiar woods are cloaked in an unrecognizable darkness.

Then, at the edge of the obscured path, the neon graffiti on the sewer pipe begins to glow through the shadows. My breath catches.

Xander sits cross-legged in front of the Ardor Tree, shirtless, his head tilted up toward the carved hearts. He sucks on a blue slushy from the gas station. I grab my stomach as an unexpected drove of butterflies find their new home.

“What do you think this tree has to do with us?” Xander asks, his back still to me.

Raindrops roll from the soaked tips of his curls, trailing down his tanned shoulders and tracing the dips and rises of his arm muscles.

I sit beside him.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s the first commonality between us . . . in our journeys to ghostdom. So there’s got to be something here. At least a place to start.”

He turns to me, lips stained blue. My eyes flick to the chain around his neck, where the shark tooth rests against his collarbone.

“Commonality?” he repeats before taking another sip of his slushy. “That’s a good SAT word. I sucked at those tests. Pre-vet schools were not kind to me because of it.”