Cade’s body went solid beneath mine. There was a long moment of silence before he took a breath and murmured, “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He didn’t say anything else. But his arms tightened around me until I could hardly breathe. His lips hit my hair to press a kiss there. And I knew, without any words, he was telling me that he was proud of me.
* * *
Sun streamed through the window of Georgia’s sunny yellow kitchen. I stared at the chip on the corner of the wood tabletop, wondering where to begin. Declan sat across from me, looking like a shell of the little boy I’d known before. His expression was closed off, his eyes cast down at the bowl of cereal in front of him. It looked completely untouched.
On our way to The Sea Witch, Cade shared his suspicions that Declan knew more than he was telling the police.
The kid’s clammed up.Won’t say more than a handful of words. It’s bigger than guilt. It’s fear. Something’s got him spooked. And we need to know what.
Sitting there, studying Declan, I could see Cade was right. He was afraid. He was practically trembling.
“Declan,” I called softly.
He didn’t look up.
“Dec. Honey, look at me.”
Finally, he lifted his gaze. It was brimming with emotions — the strongest of which was sheer, unadulterated terror.
“You know none of this is your fault, don’t you?”
He shifted slightly in his chair, uncomfortable with my question.
I kept at him. “You know no one blames you for Rory disappearing, right? Not me, not your Mom. Not the police.”
He shifted again. On the table, his hands knit together into a ball of worried white knuckles.
“It’s going to be okay.”
His eyes pressed briefly closed as pain flashed across his features. I recalled he’d had a similar reaction on Halloween, at the police station, when I’d assured him everything would be fine.
“Declan?”
He finally spoke, forcing out the words in an empty tone. “It’s not going to be okay. It’snot.”
His eyes opened again, and there was a horrible bleakness in their depths. Thank god Cade was keeping Georgia occupied in the other room under the guise of official police business. She would’ve gone straight into panic mode, seeing that look in her son’s eyes.
“It’s my fault,” he confessed. Tears started streaking down his face. “It’s all my fault.”
He began to sob, too worked up to say anything else. I tried twice more to gently prod an answer from him, but he couldn’t give me one. He sat there, trembling like a leaf, too broken to say another word.
Under the table, I pulled my gloves off and laid them on my thigh. I felt a bit like trembling, too, if I was being honest. But my hand appeared remarkably steady as I slid it across the tabletop.
Slowly, so as not to scare him, I took Declan’s bare hand in mine. A sob caught in his throat as I squeezed reassuringly.
Just once.
That was all I had the time for.
With a flash of purple in my peripherals, I was swept away.
The boys ride through the shadowy streets, pedaling fast. Their veins are pure sugar; their grins are wide. Plastic candy buckets shaped like jack-o-lanterns are looped over their handlebars, clacking each time they round a bend.
This neighborhood is the best. The big houses on the hill near the golf course always have the king-sized candy bars. The boys aren’t supposed to come here. It’s too far. But as long as they’re back home by eight, they won’t get in trouble. Plenty of time to stock up on more sugar, then head to the woods for some spooky fun.