What Lies in the Woods(15)

“Just visiting folks,” I said over my shoulder.

“You been up to see your dad yet?” she asked, all sweet like she wasn’t just salivating for a bit of gossip.

“That I have, Marsha,” I said, bringing my purchases up to the counter. “I’m doing what I can, but you know him.”

“Stubborn runs in the family,” she said wisely as she rang me up. “Shame to see the place so run-down.”

I choked on a laugh. “It was a piece of shit when Grandpa built it, Marsha. I wouldn’t waste any grief over it.” She tutted.

The bell over the door rang again, and a man in a denim jacket and red flannel shirt stepped in. He was tall and rangy, with hair that fell to his jaw. Sharp features and deep-set eyes gave him a hawkish look.

His eyes caught on mine and widened, and I started to arrange my features in the neutral-but-friendly expression I’d practiced, the one that was the closest to a smile I could manage without unsettling people. And then I recognized him.

“Naomi?” he said. Cody Benham’s voice was rougher and deeper than I remembered it, but I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognized him the second I saw him.

“Cody,” I replied, and the past that had been lapping at my heels like surf on the beach hooked me into its undertow.

Cody and Cass’s brother, Oscar, had been best friends. Oscar was the golden boy, Cody the bad influence. Most of the time, he ignored us—our occasional presence the irritating price to pay for Oscar’s company. Now and then, though, he’d give us a stick of gum and a “Hey, kid,” and he’d seemed so impossibly cool and aloof I’d have done anything to earn those scraps of approval.

Hitting the other side of forty hadn’t harmed his good looks, I noted.

“You come back to see Liv and Cass?” he asked.

“Seemed about time,” I answered.

“Because of Stahl, right?”

“What about that bastard?” Marsha asked. “What’d he do now?”

“Don’t you read the paper? ‘That bastard’ died,” Cody said, hands jammed in his pockets and eyes fixed on me.

“Praise the Lord,” Marsha declared. “Congratulations. Or is that not what you say?”

“Under the circumstances, I think congratulations are in order,” Cody said, but I could only shake my head, the tiniest of movements. He looked at me steadily, and the genial expression I’d stitched to my face faltered. “Are you free? We could grab a drink, catch up. It’s been ages, and honestly, a drink with an old friend is exactly what I need right now.”

Old friend? It wasn’t how I’d have described it. He was twenty-two the summer he found me in the woods, twice my age, and he’d left town before I graduated high school. But maybe whatever we’d been to each other had turned into friendship in the gap, growing up with or without us.

I shrugged. “I don’t have any plans.” And being alone with my thoughts hadn’t treated me well so far today.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic,” he said with a glint of amusement in his eye. “I promise, I’m much better company than I used to be.”

I chuckled obligingly, but I’d always liked Cody’s company, despite his indifference to us. Maybe because of it. I remembered slipping out behind the Greens’ house to where he was leaning against the fence, smoking. I’d leaned there next to him, and he’d offered me a drag of his cigarette and only laughed a little when it made me immediately start coughing.

I’d been a little in love with Cody Benham even before he saved my life, that day in the woods.

When I remembered anything about the time between the attack and the hospital, it was him—his face above me, the light and shadows flickering across his features as he ran. Most of all I remembered the feeling of his arms. The strength of them.

I finished paying. Cody had just come in for the newspaper, which he tucked under his arm before holding the door open for me. I counted my steps as I moved past him, pressing back firmly against the fear at the sensation of a body that close, behind me where I could sense him but not see him.

Outside I turned casually, like I just wanted to talk to him and not like I was going to have a panic attack if I let someone follow behind me. I walked backward, hand shading my eyes against the sunlight. “So what brings you back into town?”

“My dad’s been hassling me to come pick up the crib he built for the new baby. I had a meeting cancel at the last minute, so I thought I’d make the trip and spare myself any more nagging,” Cody said.

“New baby? I’m sorry, Cody Benham is a dad?” I asked with exaggerated incredulity. “Who’d you dupe into procreating with you?”

He chuckled. “I keep waiting for Gabby to wise up and realize what a reprobate she married, but this is kid number three and it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m starting to think I may get away with it.”

Three kids? Jesus. When was the last time I’d seen Cody? Not since he left Chester, I realized. Fifteen years.

We crossed the street together. The convenient thing about Chester’s size was that Main Street—with the gas station, café, bar, and motel—consisted of two blocks. All I’d have to do was amble back to the other side of the road at the end of the night.

It was still early for even the regulars, which meant we could snag the good booth—the one that wasn’t under the speaker or the AC that blasted even in the dead of winter. I sat myself down with my back to the door, which wasn’t great for the raging PTSD but made it less likely anyone would recognize me from the street. The waitress was a twentysomething white girl who wore her hair in dreads and had a butterfly tattoo, no one I recognized or who recognized me, and the rest of the clientele were only interested in their own bottles.