Page 173 of Property of Bob

I didn’t.

Nobody seemed to care.

The four of us headed outside.

The bright sunlight made me squint as we moved past the haunted house and toward the lot. Bob stayed close enough that our arms brushed with every few steps.

A couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have made it halfway across the lot without needing to stop. Now he was keeping pace with Anchor and Skull like he’d never spent weeks stuck in a hospital bed.

We rounded the corner, and I saw him.

“Oh.”

Bob looked down at me. “What?”

“That’s him.”

Wade Mercer stood on the other side of the gate beside a dark blue pickup—the same dark blue pickup I’d convinced myself I’d seen behind me more than once in Iowa.

My stomach dropped.

Bob felt me stop.

His hand immediately wrapped around mine. “That the truck?”

“Yeah.”

One word, that was all it took.

Bob’s whole body changed. “Stay here.”

“Bob—”

“Right fucking here.” He walked forward with Anchor and Skull.

I made it exactly two seconds before following them.

Bob looked over his shoulder. “Ramona.”

“What? I’m behind you.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Skull’s mouth twitched.

Bob pointed at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Anchor reached the gate and stopped.

Wade looked different than the last time I’d seen him.

That was the first thing I noticed.

He’d lost weight. His normally clean-shaven face had several days of gray stubble covering it, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His clothes looked like he’d pulled them on after sleeping in them.