“What about Mom?”
“You can’t call her. Ever.”
“Jesus, Nate.”
“Would you rather she went to your funeral?”
Christie didn’t know what to say. He was asking too much of her. It wasn’t fair, none of it. Her home, her life. She’d just gotten it back and now it was being ripped into shreds before her eyes. “The police will be after me.”
“There won’t be anything here for them to find. No police report will be filed.”
“And my house?”
“Will go into foreclosure. It’s over. Let it go.”
She laughed, then. “Let it go? Let my whole world go? Just like that?”
“It sucks. I’m sorry. But it’s your only hope.”
She squeezed Boone’s hand again. “I want to go with him. Please, Nate.”
Her brother, looking so old it broke her heart, shook his head. “Say goodbye, Christie. You don’t have much time.”
THE CAR DROVE AWAY SLOWLY. Milo had curled up in the back of the dark sedan, and Christie turned in the passenger seat to stare back at her house. There was only the one light in the shaded window, and she couldn’t even see shadows behind it, but she knew they were there. The doctor, a woman with strange blue eyes. Seth. Kate. And Boone.
He was alive when she’d stepped out the door, but would he be five minutes from now? Ten?
She’d never see him again. Nate said it would all be over someday, but she didn’t believe him. She was lost, as lost as a soul could be. Her heart had been left on a bloody carpet, in a house, in a life she used to love.
19
SHE TURNED OFF THE TELEVISION at nine-thirty. If she could fall asleep by ten, she’d get eight hours of sleep before she had to get back to the restaurant. Even after six months, the work still kicked her butt. The last time she’d been a waitress, she’d been eighteen, nineteen. Now she felt a hundred and nine, and it wasn’t getting any easier.
She went into the small bedroom to find Milo had made himself comfy on the queen-size bed. He, at least, could still make her smile. Not much else did.
Her world had become so very small. Work. Meals at home. A book. TV. Sleep. And Boone. He was the largest part of her, now. Thoughts of him filled the empty spaces. Filled her dreams.
All she knew was that he was alive. She chose to believe he was all right, but that’s because the alternative made her weep uncontrollably. In her head, he was healthy. Of course, in her head, they weren’t really apart. He was just in the next room, or away for the weekend. Then she’d wake up.
“Hey, big guy. You ready to go out?”
Milo got up slowly. His joints didn’t like Montana very much. Poor old guy. But he was still the best dog in the world. She hugged him, then walked with him to the back door. As always, she turned on the outside lights and stared through the window to make sure there was no one there. She scared easily out here, even though she was in a good part of town. Her neighbors were a minister and his family on one side, a school teacher and his wife on the other. Nice folks. She hardly ever spoke to them.
She let Milo out, and he went into sniff mode immediately. Christie watched him, debating a cup of tea before she went to sleep. Maybe she’d read a little, although her attention span sucked.
She wondered, as she did every night, what he was doing right now. Was he still in the house in Pasadena? In that awful bed? Of course, now it would be a toss-up as to who had the most dreary house. But still, if he were there, that would be a good thing. Because she’d be able to find him. If…
Milo was done and she let him in. He trotted right to the water bowl and made his usual mess. She didn’t mind. It gave her something useful to do.
After she mopped up, she filled her teapot and put it on the stove. It wasn’t even her teapot, really. Just another dollar bargain from the Goodwill. Most everything in here was. Not that she cared. When everything is stripped away, the important things become very clear. She wanted Boone. She missed him in a way that hurt.
The whistle made her jump, and she turned down the fire and got out the tea bags. Her big highlight of the day—picking out her herbal tea. Tonight, she went with chamomile.
As she poured the hot water, she heard Milo whine. She stopped pouring, stopped breathing. Milo hadn’t whined like that in six months, and the sound pushed her panic button. Carefully, slowly, she put the kettle back down. Walking normally, forcing herself to keep breathing, she went into the bedroom and got her gun from under her pillow. Without even thinking about it, she released the safety. That was the other thing she did here in Bozeman. She went to the shooting range.