He went around the house, finding his shaving bag, toothbrush, his hoodie from the front hall, a few items of clothing that had made it into the last wash and been folded and left on the dryer for him. Man, his apartment was going to feel like a tomb after this place.

He waited until he heard the shower running upstairs, then crept into Abilene’s room. He found a shirt and a pair of his shorts. The ball of red tissue he’d given her sat on the dresser, looking unopened.

Better there than in the trash, he consoled himself.

Before leaving, he crossed the room to stand over the empty crib, running his hands along its rail and the yellow fleece blanket draped there. At first he’d found that soft, sweet scent of baby things alien and a little unnerving, but lately he hardly noticed it. Until now, that was, knowing he’d be catching it less and less.

They’re not dead, you sad sack.

Then how come this felt so much like mourning?

He went back downstairs to pack his duffel. By the time he’d stowed it in his car and gotten the baby’s seat out, the lights were on in the kitchen and he could smell the coffeemaker doing its job. He left the seat in the front hall and headed for the light.

Both Christine and Miah were up. She was pulling butter and bread and jam out of the fridge, and he was stretching his back, arms overhead, tugging at each wrist in turn.

“Morning, old man,” Casey said, passing to take a seat at the table.

Miah turned, looking surprised. “Was it you who’s been creeping around since four thirty?”

“Didn’t realize it was that early, but yeah.”

“Baby wake you up?”

He lied. “Yeah.”

Don appeared, heading straight for the old laptop he kept on the hutch with a mumbled good morning. A radio farm report of some sort was streaming shortly at low volume, though Casey couldn’t guess what the man got out of those. In Fortuity, it felt like the forecast was just about always the same. Dry and sunny.

Though today was different, it turned out. At the very end of the segment, the droning weather guy closed by saying, “And don’t forget to look skyward just after one p.m. this afternoon.”

“That’s right—the eclipse is today,” Christine piped in, toast in one hand, mug in the other. “We should all take our lunch breaks late and enjoy it.”

“I plan to,” Miah said. “The hands have organized some kind of picnic, so I should probably check on them anyhow. No doubt somebody will pack beer.”

“Eclipse,” Don muttered. He’d shut the laptop and was rooting through the hutch’s drawers. “Can’t stand that word since the goddamn casino referendum passed.”

Steps came down the hall, setting Casey’s pulse on edge. A moment later Abilene joined the assembly, baby strapped to her front. She returned the Churches’ greetings, looking shy, eager to blend into the background. Casey had to work hard to keep his eyes off her and his ears focused on the conversation.

“You have to watch, Don,” Christine said.

“Yeah,” Miah added. “The paper said the next total solar eclipse Fortuity will see won’t come for nearly seven years.”

“Seven years is nothing at my age. But forty-two grand is—somebody wants to come and look at that ancient John Deere that’s been collecting dust in the junk barn.” He meant the biggest of all of Three C’s barns, a drooping wooden behemoth, its flaky red paint faded nearly to pink. Casey and his friends had wasted long summer afternoons poking around in there, climbing all over the disused vehicles and otherwise trying their level best to break their necks.

Don straightened triumphantly with a set of keys. “I need to make sure the engine still starts before they come by.”

Christine rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“You knew that when you married me. Right. I’m off.”

“Me, too,” she said to the room at large, setting her plate in the sink. “Got business to tackle now if I want to enjoy the natural spectacle of the universe.”

That left Casey, Miah, Abilene, and the baby. Casey couldn’t decide whether he was eager or petrified for Miah to take off and leave him and Abilene alone. There was so much he still wanted to say . . . though he doubted a word of it would do much aside from make him feel more helpless.

Perhaps for the best, the baby began to cry, and Abilene excused herself to change a wet diaper before her toast even got a chance to pop up.

Miah watched her go, then looked to Casey. To the hall. Back to Casey.

“What?”

“Something’s up with you two.”

“What makes you say so?”

“Usually she’s got stars in her eyes every time she looks your way, but just now, I don’t think she glanced at you once.” That stung. And Miah’s brain was usually too crammed full of to-dos to notice stuff like that, so the cloud in the room must not be confined solely to Casey’s head.

He shrugged. “I don’t think she slept well.”

Miah walked over with a fresh coffee and straddled the bench, facing him. “You fuck something up, Case?”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “In a way.” In another way, he’d done the right thing. Been honest. But he’d fucked up what they’d had, that was true.

“You guys didn’t . . .”

“We already had been.”

Miah looked to the ceiling as though beseeching a higher power for strength.

“Like you’re even surprised,” Casey said.

“No, maybe not. For how long?”

“Only a few days.”

“Jesus, Case—now, of all times? Must be the most chaotic week of her life. Tell me you didn’t break it off last night. Because the last thing that girl needs is another man letting her down.”

“No, no. She ended it.”

“You give her a good reason to?”

“Yeah, but not like you’re thinking. Things were at the edge of maybe getting serious. We needed to tell each other about what our lives have been like, before we both wound up in Fortuity last summer.”

“And she didn’t like what she heard?”

“No. No, she did not.”

Miah frowned, looking more sympathetic than judgmental now, at least. After a sip of coffee he asked, “What have you been up to, Case?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Considering all the dumb-ass shit we got up to when we were kids, the fact that you don’t want to tell me isn’t a good sign.”

“Trust me—it’s better if you don’t know.”

Miah was an upstanding, law-abiding sort of man. He wouldn’t rat Casey out to the feds if he knew the truth, but Casey would no doubt lose a chunk of the man’s respect. And he had to admit, that shit mattered to him now.

“She gonna be okay?” Miah asked, getting to his feet.

“I think so. Neither of us had promised anything to the other.”

“That’s something . . . I probably don’t need to tell you, that sucks all the same. She’s a good girl. And she seemed good for you.”

He nodded, feeling that faint, raw strain rising in his throat—the first warning sign that he just might cry. “Yeah, she was.” And she always would be, even going forward. For as long as she was a part of Casey’s life, she’d make him a better man. He’d always look at her and remind himself to do better, to be worthy of what they’d nearly had, to maybe stand a chance at getting her back someday.

Big maybe.

Miah gave him a hard clap on the arm. “Sorry, man. But I’d better go start the day. Maybe we can drink on it, later.”

Casey nodded, happy to be left alone. He could already feel how pink he’d gone and didn’t relish an audience. He’d spent a lot of years thinking solely of himself. Seemed only fitting that he was on his own now, stuck sitting amid the smoking rubble of his choices, neck-deep in regrets.

A man makes his own luck, he thought, filling his mug when Miah had gone.

Only took ten years for mine to finally turn as rotten as I deserve.