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“As long as your dad is good to you.”
“He is.”
Reed reached into his pocket and withdrew his key chain. He unclipped his keys and handed the star to Toby. “This is for you,” he said, and the kid looked up. “It was your mom’s. I’ve had it for a while. Gave me a little pleasure, you know. Made me think she was nearby. I think she’d want you to have it.”
Toby hesitated, bit his lip, snagged the key chain from Reed and rammed it into his pocket. “You mean you stole it.”
“Borrowed it.” But Reed smiled. “You’ve got my number, right?”
Toby shrugged.
“Well, you know where I live. We’ve established that. So, if you need anything, or just you know, want to shoot the shit?”
Toby’s head snapped up and he almost smiled. Just not quite.
Reed invited, “Come on by.”
“Your dog—?”
“Will be fine with it. Just ring the bell. Don’t break in.”
Toby didn’t answer, his cell phone buzzed and he took off toward the front door of his father’s unit as the crow cawed from its wobbly tree limb.
Reed climbed into his Jeep and glanced over at the empty passenger seat. “Don’t worry,” he said as he started the engine and hoped to hell the ghost of Sylvie Morrisette was still riding shotgun. “I’ve got their backs.”
