Claire
My hands shook.
No matter how hard I tried to mentally order them to still, they refused to cooperate.
Tightening my robe, I sniffled back the mucus running down my nose. My poor lips were so chapped from all the crying and nose running and more crying. Not to mention, my skanky robe could have run out of here on its own.
All the while, I kept trying to stifle a small cough. I was a pitiful sight, yet the flu attacking my body felt like nothing in comparison to the cold, harsh reality of the person who stood in front of me.
A police detective.
A newer one, a younger guy, one I’d never met.
The first blow came when I answered the door. “Can I help you?”
“Dr. Richards? Claire Richards? Is that you?”
With only the mention of my name, a wave of nausea swirled up my esophagus, burning my throat. Something awful must’ve happened to Aiken. That was where he’d been. He hadn’t changed his mind about me.
“Oh God.” I held myself up on the doorjamb. “What’s happened?”
I’d already lost everyone else important in my life—it had to be Aiken. He’d been missing, but I thought he’d taken some space.
Unless this was about Mary, which sent another wave of nausea up my throat.
But they’d go see Pat first, right? Not me?
“Ma’am, are you okay? Dr. Richards?”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Sorry, I’m fighting a wicked virus and not feeling so hot.” My throat croaked and cracked with my words.
Smitty eyed the strange man cautiously, a small rumble bubbling from his throat.
“I’m Detective Land. Maybe we should sit down? I have some things to discuss with you. You’re not in trouble.”
“Um, okay. Come in.” I motioned toward the living area.
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. That much I knew. Nothing ever good happened at my front door. Or over the phone in the middle of the night.
I watched the foreigner in my house walk toward the small sofa, thinking of when Aiken sat there, engulfing the pale pink piece of furniture. How he hated it. How he liked me on his black leather couch.
Closing my eyes, I counted backward from ten. My flu was long forgotten, and the burning in my throat was turning into a full-blown panic attack. I had no clue why this guy was sitting in my home, but my emotions were already frayed, my heart broken in several thousand pieces. Anxiety swirled in my belly, taking my breath and bravado, my hands beyond clammy, my heart rate skyrocketing, my chest hurting.
Pretending I was fully collected, a master at putting on a mask, I sat across from the detective.
“I’m sure this is out of left field, my showing up. And I’m sorry to disturb you at your residence, but I went by your office, and the student greeter said you were at home. I didn’t realize you were sick.”
“It’s fine.”
I really wasn’t—toast was fine. Abby used to say that to me when I’d say “fine” to her. She hated the wordsfineandnice. They didn’t fit in with her colorful, vibrant nature. She despised those words. To Abby, everything and everyone should’ve beenawesome.
“About ten months ago, a local farmer came to us. He explained that he recently met a young guy in town who was looking for his mom.”
“Aiken,” I whispered, a million memories flashing in front of my eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Fordham.”
“Go on,” I instructed him, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my ratty robe. All pride had escaped me moments earlier when he’d saidyoung guy. My young guy, Aiken, whom I’d been pining away over for the last two weeks.
