Burn It Up(93)

He’d f*cked up a lot of things in his life, but never anything this good, and never anything he regretted half as much. So there was her remorse, right there. If only it weren’t such a selfish strain of the stuff.

He hauled himself off the couch, knowing these thoughts would be following him for days, maybe weeks, trailing after him like a bad smell, asserting themselves the second he stood still long enough to catch a whiff. Keep busy, he thought. Keep your mind on other things. More useless advice he’d never given himself.

Perspective was key. She’d be working with him again soon enough, and he intended to help her move out when she was ready. Beyond that, he’d meant what he’d said—he was her friend, whether he got to sleep with her or not. It would hurt like f*ck for a while, but Casey consoled himself with the lie that it wasn’t as though he’d been in love with her. He’d never said it aloud.

Of course in the back of his head he knew he’d intended to, had yesterday’s talk gone according to plan. It had been scrawled between every single sentence in giant pink glitter letters when he’d told her how much he cared for her and Mercy.

At least he had plenty to keep himself busy. He’d collect his crap from around the farmhouse and take it back home. Vince and Kim had dropped Abilene’s car off in the front lot last night, so she wasn’t stranded anymore. Casey’s stomach dropped as he remembered that the baby’s seat was currently set up in the Corolla. That thing was a pain in the ass to take in and out, but today the chore would unleash some pangs a little closer to his heart.

He went around the house, finding his shaving bag, toothbrush, his hoodie from the front hall, a few items of clothing that had made it into the last wash and been folded and left on the dryer for him. Man, his apartment was going to feel like a tomb after this place.

He waited until he heard the shower running upstairs, then crept into Abilene’s room. He found a shirt and a pair of his shorts. The ball of red tissue he’d given her sat on the dresser, looking unopened.

Better there than in the trash, he consoled himself.

Before leaving, he crossed the room to stand over the empty crib, running his hands along its rail and the yellow fleece blanket draped there. At first he’d found that soft, sweet scent of baby things alien and a little unnerving, but lately he hardly noticed it. Until now, that was, knowing he’d be catching it less and less.

They’re not dead, you sad sack.

Then how come this felt so much like mourning?

He went back downstairs to pack his duffel. By the time he’d stowed it in his car and gotten the baby’s seat out, the lights were on in the kitchen and he could smell the coffeemaker doing its job. He left the seat in the front hall and headed for the light.

Both Christine and Miah were up. She was pulling butter and bread and jam out of the fridge, and he was stretching his back, arms overhead, tugging at each wrist in turn.

“Morning, old man,” Casey said, passing to take a seat at the table.

Miah turned, looking surprised. “Was it you who’s been creeping around since four thirty?”

“Didn’t realize it was that early, but yeah.”

“Baby wake you up?”

He lied. “Yeah.”

Don appeared, heading straight for the old laptop he kept on the hutch with a mumbled good morning. A radio farm report of some sort was streaming shortly at low volume, though Casey couldn’t guess what the man got out of those. In Fortuity, it felt like the forecast was just about always the same. Dry and sunny.

Though today was different, it turned out. At the very end of the segment, the droning weather guy closed by saying, “And don’t forget to look skyward just after one p.m. this afternoon.”

“That’s right—the eclipse is today,” Christine piped in, toast in one hand, mug in the other. “We should all take our lunch breaks late and enjoy it.”

“I plan to,” Miah said. “The hands have organized some kind of picnic, so I should probably check on them anyhow. No doubt somebody will pack beer.”

“Eclipse,” Don muttered. He’d shut the laptop and was rooting through the hutch’s drawers. “Can’t stand that word since the goddamn casino referendum passed.”

Steps came down the hall, setting Casey’s pulse on edge. A moment later Abilene joined the assembly, baby strapped to her front. She returned the Churches’ greetings, looking shy, eager to blend into the background. Casey had to work hard to keep his eyes off her and his ears focused on the conversation.

“You have to watch, Don,” Christine said.

“Yeah,” Miah added. “The paper said the next total solar eclipse Fortuity will see won’t come for nearly seven years.”

“Seven years is nothing at my age. But forty-two grand is—somebody wants to come and look at that ancient John Deere that’s been collecting dust in the junk barn.” He meant the biggest of all of Three C’s barns, a drooping wooden behemoth, its flaky red paint faded nearly to pink. Casey and his friends had wasted long summer afternoons poking around in there, climbing all over the disused vehicles and otherwise trying their level best to break their necks.

Don straightened triumphantly with a set of keys. “I need to make sure the engine still starts before they come by.”

Christine rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”