I push away from the railing, working to get my breathing under control.
My legs turn to Jell-O. I slide down onto the porch until I’m lying on my side. Face to face with the dead thing, and then suddenly it’s like I’m back there, in that horrible night, my parents’ lives draining away.
I need to get a grip. I’m in a new town. There’s no way Lucian knows where we are. And anyway, he’s in prison.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t make myself touch it.
I stand gripping the porch railing. Then run inside before I collapse again, so mad at myself I could scream.
I don’t want Mira going out here and seeing that. She won’t talk about what she saw or heard that night, but I know it was bad. In a messed-up way, knocking me out was the kindest thing Lucian could have done.
My gaze moves to the fridge: to the sunshine magnet pinning Rhett’s number to it. Mira put it there with a knowing smile on her face, and I didn’t have the heart to take it down. Anything or anyone that makes her smile is a win in my book.
He said to call him if I needed help. And I need help, but…
I claw at the skin on my thumb with my other hand and look down the hallway. I have to do this for her, not for myself.
Moving quickly, I snatch the number from the fridge and grab my cell phone.
“I’m sorry about this,” I say, watching as Rhett leans down and scoops the raccoon into the thick trash bag with a dustpan.
He stands, ties it tightly, shaking his head. He’s wearing a plaid shirt like last time, sleeves rolled up… like last time. But something feels different now. It’s in his eyes. When he looks at me, there’s more emotion there than before. Pity, maybe? Because I couldn’t handle this myself?
“Have I got something on my face?” I snap.
“No.” He clears his throat, dragging his gaze back to mine. “Forget it.”
I fold my arms. His eyes flick to my chest—then dart away. Guilt shadows his expression. Maybe he thinks he’s too old for me. There can’t be more than ten years between us. Maybe just ten.
“I’ll get rid of this,” Rhett mutters, turning away.
“Rhett!” Mira beams, running onto the porch, her hair still wild from sleep, wearing her pink fluffy pajamas.
When I see her smiling up at him in those PJs, my heart tugs. I’ve noticed several times over the past year that she looks like a walking contradiction when she wears her old PJs, but now, it’s like the old Mira is back.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks, pausing a few feet short of Rhett.
He winks. “It’s a secret.”
“Is it a gift?”
“What sort of gift would you want it to be, huh?”
“Umm. A big hug?”
Rhett chuckles, holding out his fist. “How about a fist bump instead?”
“Okay,” Mira huffs, then bumps fists with Rhett.
“Ow,” Rhett says, shaking his head. “You’re stronger than you look.”
Mira giggles in delight, spinning to me with bright eyes blazing with the sort of glee I couldn’t have imagined just a few days ago. I feel almost drunk just looking at her. “I’m strong, Sissy.”
“You are,” I say, touching her arm, getting choked up. “You’re the strongest girl I know.”
“Is Rhett coming to town with us?”
Rhett looks at me, jaw tight. “No, I’m sorry, little lady, but?—”
