Of the Trees(66)

“It was probably the meds your mom gave you,” he said gently. “She said so anyway. They got me a sandwich, checked in on us a bunch, covered you up with the blanket. It was fine.”

“I am so, so sorry,” Cassie mumbled. He just chuckled again.

“I can think of worse ways to spend a day,” Ryan murmured. “Do you feel any better?”

“I—” she broke off, unsure.

“Do you want to tell me now?” he asked after a silent moment, his voice low and soft. Cassie shook her head against his chest, her chin shifting against the shell of the hand that still rested on her neck. No, she couldn’t tell him. Now, in the quiet, the dark, without the trees and the voices whispering, she felt sane. And looking back, remembering the voices and the terror and the churning earth, it all felt so insane, so unreal, that suddenly she wasn’t sure just what she had seen.

“That’s okay, then,” he whispered. “I can just stay here and sit with you.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him. Cassie meant for all of it, for being there and not asking, for holding her together and braving her parents when she was falling apart. His gaze caught hers and held, his eyes gentle and warm in the soft glow of the lamplight. His lips curled into a smile, and he nodded. She shifted toward him, pulled by the intensity in his gaze, her eyes flitting to his lips. Without a thought, she pressed her mouth to his, and his fingers tightened reflexively against the soft skin of her neck. Her lips lingered long enough for her to tilt her head, pressing her mouth more firmly to his when a throat cleared behind them. Ryan pulled back, startled, and she turned, her cheeks flushing when she found her father, shifting from foot to foot as he pulled his bathrobe closed.

“Thought I heard you wake up,” he muttered, eyeing Ryan. “You okay to get up to bed?”

Cassie nodded. “I am, yeah,” she said to her father. He paused a moment longer, rocking back and forth on the threshold to the living room.

“All right, then,” he finally said, his tone gruff. “Come kiss your mother goodnight before you head to sleep.” Cassie nodded, and he turned to head back up the stairs. They could hear the soft pad of his feet as he quietly made his way to his bedroom.

“I guess I’m leaving,” Ryan said through a yawn. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” Cassie said, pausing. “Tomorrow … ”

“Monday,” Ryan clarified. “I’ll come hang out for the day.”

“But, school … ”

“We’re ditching. Becca, too.” He stood, stretching. “She called, worried about you.”

“Right. Okay.”

Cassie got up, walking by his side toward the front door. The lawn was quiet when she opened the door, the madness of it settled. It was still raining, harder now, and Ryan paused, looking down into Cassie’s face. “Thank you,” she said. He didn’t look away. His head bent and he caught her lips with his own in a soft kiss. She smiled against his mouth, wondering if this was his thing now, kissing but not talking about it.

He stepped back, flipped up the collar to his jacket, and darted out the door. “Lock that behind you,” he turned to say, nodding at the door. She gave a jerky smile, waiting until she saw him get into his car to do as he said, sliding the bolt home with a click.





Cassie was awoken early Monday morning by her father. He knocked on her bedroom door, ushering her into her sweatshirt and down the stairs where a sketch artist from the police station was waiting. She spent the morning describing Jude and Aidan and Corey to him, her mother serving her pancakes in the living room.

She could hear the searches being conducted outside, the organizers splashing through mud puddles and pushing further into the underbrush now in search for, what they undoubtedly thought, would be a dead body.

It was harder to describe the three men than Cassie initially thought. Part of that was because she didn’t know which version of them to describe. Young and lively like they were in the clearing, their shoulders broad, stomachs flat? Or how she had seen them at the carnival, lined faces and creases by their eyes? It still didn’t make sense in her own head, how these three could shift so easily. Young, attractive men, hands warm and soft, to older men, looking worn down by years of alcohol abuse or drug use. Their skin became sallow and sagging. Jude’s gut was definitely pronounced, Cassie remembered it straining against his stained, white tank top. Corey had been boney and looked worn.

Aidan.

Well, Aidan had looked older, Cassie remembered that much, but he also had those same piercing blue eyes that nailed her to the spot.

To the sketch artist, she described three young men, a cross between the two versions of them she knew. She made them to be in their twenties because that was what Rebecca said when she had described Aidan to Cassie. She described them as attractive because, in the clearing, they had been. It seemed to take forever for the squirrelly little man to get Aidan’s eyes right. She wasn’t sure why it was so important that he did, only that it was his most distinct feature. Cassie couldn’t help but feel that if she got that right, someone would recognize him. No one else alive had eyes as fierce as Aidan did.

Ryan showed up after breakfast, just as he said he would. He had Rebecca with him. She pushed through the door and wrapped Cassie immediately in her arms. Cassie squeezed her tightly, grateful to have something solid to hold on to.