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I smiled. “Doesn’t your dad call those clouds cow balls?”
“Technically they’d be bull’s balls, but I’m not going to correct my dad.”
I laughed. “Yeah, don’t do that. He’s the guy who sits outside on a lawn chair and drinks beer to watch the weather come in.”
“He does not!” America said. She tried to sound offended, but she was still laughing. “You’re freaking out more than his own mother. Take a shot and lie down.”
She was in a good mood, happy to see Shepley in a few hours.
Her parents were so worried a serious boyfriend would distract her, and, while they weren’t wrong, Shepley was good for America. He kept her grounded, he truly cared about her and treated her like a queen. If Mark and Pam got even a glimpse of that, they’d probably ease off their daughter about her relationship, especially after Travis and I eloped. They were on high alert and driving her insane about how much time she was spending with Shepley. They almost didn’t let him come, but it saved them the trip of taking her back to Eakins.
“I’m not doing this next summer,” America said, determined. “We’re making this trip together to visit my parents instead of visiting each other. Mark better mark my words.”
“Okay, keep me updated and be safe,” I said.
She hung up, and I sat on the sofa, petting Toto. He was sleeping in my lap, his rib cage moving up and down in a relaxing rhythm. I’d won the battle with the small-time journalists and then Travis, but something else was bothering me—even worse—I didn’t know what it was. The not knowing was consuming my days, and I was finding other tangible things to worry about, like Shepley driving into a storm.
My fingers froze mid-stroke across Toto’s wiry hair when a soft knock tapped on the door. I set him to the side, waking him. He walked with me, waiting at my feet while I looked out the peephole.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Brandon knocked again. “Abby? Can we talk for a sec? It’s important. It’s about Travis.”
“He’s not home, Brandon. Call him.”
He smiled and looked down. “I know he’s not home. That’s why I came by. I’m worried about him.”
My heart began to race. I was almost certain he was there to get information, and I promised my husband I wouldn’t let Brandon inside the apartment while alone. But if I didn’t talk to him, would it make him do something worse?
I opened the door and stepped outside, closing it behind me.
Brandon looked absurd. His hair was gelled four inches off his head, and he was wearing a royal blue quilted blazer, a cheap-looking turquoise V-neck T-shirt, tight jeans that were rolled up at the bottom, no socks, and the best part: matching royal blue quilted loafers.
“Dear God,” I said, taking a half-step back.
He tried his sexiest grin, and I tried not to throw up in my mouth. He obviously thought he looked irresistible.
“Hey.”
I recoiled, but hearing Toto pawing at the door snapped me out of the nightmare I felt stuck in. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Worried about what, Brandon?”
He was trying to hide the triumph he felt and that made me want to punch him.
“He’s been acting weird. I think he feels guilty about the fire.”
He is wearing a fucking wire.
“Well,” I began. “Sure, we all feel awful about it. We knew a lot of people who died in that basement.”
“I’m worried he’s going to do something stupid and get caught.”
“Get caught? What do you mean?”
“Lying to the Feds. Lying to the cops. Everyone knows he was there, Abby. Your flight didn’t leave until after the firetrucks got there.”
I shook my head. “We didn’t know about it until we got to the airport and saw the reports on the televisions. Are you insinuating he was there? Because he wasn’t.”
“Yes, he was, Abby. You both were. I get it, wanting to protect him. But everyone knows, the Feds know, and you shouldn’t go down with him. Not when he’s at the gym doing what he’s doing.”
