Мелисса Марр – Graveminder (страница 9)

“She came in, but not much.” Amity leaned on the counter for a moment and leveled her gaze on him. “I mostly know her through my sister. Maylene went to council meetings, and Bonnie Jean took a seat on the council last year. So …”

Byron looked at the clock again. Rebekkah’s flight should’ve landed.

“Hey.” A soft touch drew his attention: Amity covered his hand with hers. He glanced at it, and then his gaze flickered between her hand and her eyes.

“Things will be okay. You need to believe that,” Amity assured him.

“Why does it seem like you know something I don’t?”

“Most folks don’t get to leave like you did. Sometimes a person who stays around here knows things … different things than those who were able to go.” She squeezed his hand. “But I’m guessing you know things I don’t.”

Byron didn’t pull away, but he did pause. Amity usually kept the conversation light—if they even talked at all. He took a long drink to stall.

“Relax.” She laughed. “No strings, right? You think I’m changing the rules on you or something?”

He felt his tension drain away as she laughed.

“No,” he lied.

“So … after I close …” She let the offer hang in the air.

Most nights he stayed until closing only if he intended to accept that offer. Tonight he couldn’t. It was foolish to feel guilty, but he did. He couldn’t be with Amity when Rebekkah was in town. He also couldn’t say that to Amity. Instead he smiled and said, “Rain check?”

“Maybe.” Amity leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Go see her.”

He gripped his glass tightly, but tried to keep his expression neutral. “Who?”

Amity shook her head. “Rebekkah.”

“Rebek—”

“You’ll feel better if you make sure she’s home safe.” Amity slid the credit-card slip and a pen over to him.

“How did you—”

“People talk, Byron, especially about you two.” Amity’s expression was unchanged. “Just so you know, though, she doesn’t talk about you ever. When you were away and she visited, Maylene introduced us and we got to know each other, but she’s never once mentioned you.”

Byron stared at the credit-card slip for a moment. He wanted to ask if Amity still talked to Rebekkah, to ask if Rebekkah knew that he and Amity … Not that it matters. He shook his head. Rebekkah had made herself perfectly clear years ago, and they hadn’t spoken since that night. Byron signed the slip and shoved his copy of the receipt into his pocket.

He looked at Amity. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“You and I don’t exactly talk much, Byron.” She grinned.

“I’m s—”

“No, you’re not,” she said firmly. “I don’t want words, Byron, especially empty ones. I want the same things you usually offer. Don’t stop coming to see me just ’cause Rebekkah’s home.”

“Rebekkah and I … We’re not—”

“Come see me,” Amity interrupted. “But not tonight. I already told Bonnie Jean I might need a ride. Go on.”

Byron stepped up to the bar, reached out, and pulled her close. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Your aim’s off.” Amity tapped her lips.

He leaned in and kissed her. “Better?”

She tilted her head and gave him a look that, most nights, would’ve meant that they didn’t make it to her place after they locked the door. “Closer. Definitely closer to better.”

“Next time, Ms. Blue.” He picked up his helmet.

He was at the door when she answered, “I hope so, Byron.”

8

REBEKKAH STOOD AT THE BAGGAGE CAROUSEL. THE AIRPORT WAS MOSTLY empty at this hour, shops closed and gates vacant. She wasn’t quite alert, despite several cups of the nastiness the airline passed off as coffee, but she was upright, awake, and moving. At this point, that was about as much of a victory as could be hoped for.

Cherub, unhappy to be in her kitty carrier, mewed plaintively.

“Just a little longer, baby,” Rebekkah promised. “I’ll let you out when we get …” The words dried up as she imagined going home and finding it empty. Tonight there would be no rose-scented embrace to make everything less bleak: Maylene was gone. The tears that Rebekkah had kept in check the past few hours slipped down her cheeks as she watched the baggage carousel. Maylene is gone. My home is gone. The few short years Rebekkah had lived with Maylene, and the next nine years of visiting her, had made Claysville home, but without Maylene, there was no reason to come back here.

Rebekkah leaned against the faded green wall and stared blindly while the rest of the passengers got their bags and left. Eventually hers was the only bag circling. The carousel stopped.

“Do you need help?”

Rebekkah looked up at a man in an airport uniform. She blinked.

“Is that your bag?” He pointed.

“It is.” She stood up. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

He stared at her, and she realized that her face was wet with tears. Hastily she wiped them away.

“Why don’t you let me—”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Really.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words and walked over to heft her bag off the carousel.

Looking unconvinced, he walked away.

Rebekkah extended the handle of her bag, picked up Cherub, and headed toward the rental-car desk. One step at a time. A few minutes later, keys in hand, she turned away from the counter and almost dropped Cherub.

A man in a pair of jeans, boots, and a well-worn leather jacket stood in front of her. His hair was a little longer than usual, brushing his collar, but the familiar green eyes watching her warily hadn’t changed.

“Byron?”

The temptation to throw herself into his arms the way she once had was overwhelming, but he kept his distance.

“It’s been a while,” he started, and then paused. He raked his hand through his hair and gave her a tense smile before continuing, “I know we didn’t part on the best terms, but I thought I’d make sure you were settled in.”

She stared at him, her Byron, here. The past few years had given him more edges, shadows where his cheeks looked too sharp and his eyes too worried, but the gestures were unchanged—so was the wariness.

I earned that.

“I didn’t know you were back,” she said foolishly. Her hand tightened on Cherub’s carrier as they stood there in the sort of awkward silence she’d dreaded when she thought about seeing him again.

After a few moments, he held out a hand for her bag. “Let me get that.”

When he reached out, she jerked her hand away quickly so as to avoid touching him.

The tightening of his expression made clear that he noticed, but he took the bag and motioned for her to precede him.

They’d gone several silent steps when he said, “I’ve been here for a few months now.”

“I didn’t know. Maylene didn’t tell me.” She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t—wouldn’t have—asked Maylene either. Rebekkah had figured out that dealing with Byron was best done by pretending he didn’t exist, that he was as dead to her as Ella. Managing that feat was a lot harder with him walking beside her. Rather than look at him, she looked at the tag on the keys in her hand, staring at them even though she knew the make and model. “The last she’d mentioned you was … I don’t know when. I thought you lived in Nashville or somewhere down that way—not that I was checking up on you.”

“I know that.” He gave her a wry smile, and then took a deep breath and changed the conversation back to safer territory. “I’ve only been back a few months. Since late December.”

“Oh.” Lack of sleep and grief were apparently making her foolish because she admitted, “I was here at Christmas.”

“I thought you might be, so I didn’t come back until after Christmas.” He walked with her to the rental-car lot. “I didn’t figure either of us needed to deal with … any of it then, so I waited till I thought you’d be gone back to wherever you were.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. This is what I wanted, what I asked of him. Unfortunately, standing in the deserted lot, jet-lagged, grief-stricken, and lost, made her want to forget all of that. You’re the one who told him to stay out of your life, she lectured herself as if the words would keep her good sense intact.

But as they walked, his already whiskey-deep voice broke the silence: “I told myself I’d stay out of your way, and I will if you want, but I couldn’t … I needed to make sure you got in safely. I said I’d give you your distance, and I have. I will. I just want you to know I’m here if you need a friend the next few days.”

Rebekkah didn’t know how to reply. They had said words much like those to each other for almost a decade. Since when Ella was still alive. Rebekkah knew it was safer not to look at him, wiser not to let herself go there. She glanced at him and then quickly looked at the car in front of them. “It’s this one.”

“Pop the trunk.”