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“Why the hell would you want to come back here? To this? I mean, you’re stayin’ in the house where your daddy was murdered? For what?”

“To settle some things before I have to leave again.”

“Again?” The disappointment of her tone is practically palpable. A brief silence hangs on the air between us. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know yet.” I huff and rest my chin on the heel of my hand. I’d love to just hop on a boat and sail. Just keep sailing, you know?”

“Yeah. I know. I know that feeling well.” The rubbing of her thumb over a tattoo inked in cursive across her wrist draws my attention. Si seulement …

I jut my chin toward it. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a question I’ve asked myself so many times over the years. If only, what then? If only you and I hadn’t gotten into that argument that night. What would our lives be now?”

I’d forgotten about the argument. It was the reason I came home, instead of staying the night at Maw Maw’s after the movie, the way we planned.

“What if you’d spent the night and Maw Maw hadn’t gone to get you the next morning?”

“My father would still be dead.”

“But two lives would’ve been spared,” she adds.

I don’t have to correct the implication in her words. While I didn’t die along with Maw Maw and my father, I might as well have.

“So many things might be different. Who knows where I’d be today. Where you’d be.” Once again, her eyes trail over the surrounding destruction. “Who knows?”

“It might not have changed anything, at all.”

“I guess we’ll never know.” She huffs a breath. “So, where’ve you been all these years?”

Snorting, I pick at my fingers. “It’s a long story.”

Smile plastered to her face, she reaches down into her sack and pulls out a bottle of liquor. “I’ve got time, if you do.”

“I’m a year younger than you, remember?”

“Who’s gonna tell? The ghosts here?”

Chuckling, I glance around the abandoned house. “I’m guessing they don’t talk much.”

“I wish they did. Be nice to have some answers. What do you say? Catch up a bit?”

* * *

The hours pass in what seems like mere minutes, both of us lost in laughter and memories, and it’s only when Brie glances down at her watch that I notice it’s dark outside.

My muscles lurch with panic. “What time is it?”

“After eight.”

“Shit!” I jump up from the sleeping bag we spread out over the floor like a blanket and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m late. Um. I have to go.”

“What’s going on?”

“I have a meeting.”

“At eight o’clock at night?”

“It’s at the club. Mr. Bedroo … I mean, Bergeron is holding something of mine hostage, and I need to get it back.”