The kitchen felt too cold. Too cavernous. She heated a bottle of formula for Mercy and carried her upstairs, though she left the bedroom door open, wanting updates even as she dreaded them.

Mercy managed half the bottle before conking out, no doubt exhausted from the crying and the rattled energy of all the grown-ups.

Abilene stood over the crib for long minutes, watching her daughter’s face, feeling out-of-body. Sounds from downstairs snapped her from the trance—men’s voices.

She hurried to the door, thinking at first she’d heard Don speaking, but no, only Miah. She recognized the other voice as well. Vince. She couldn’t catch more than the odd snatch of what they were saying, but Miah sounded frantic and shaky, Vince cool and somber. The voices faded, the men seeming to have gone into the kitchen. Sure enough, she could make out the faint sound of water running.

Poor Miah. Part of her wanted to go downstairs, to see if she could do anything, but it was in that moment that she realized that she really didn’t know the man. Not well enough to try to comfort him at such an uncertain time, anyhow.

She turned away, and her gaze caught on a flash of red on the dresser—the wadded tissue that Casey had given her. A present she’d not dared to open last night. Just now, her heartache paled to nothing beside Miah and Christine’s, and she could stand the distraction. She picked it up and took a seat on the bed.

It was so light she’d probably have tossed it in the trash if she’d come upon it, assuming it was empty. It was secured with a piece of tape, and she peeled that free, beginning to unwind the tissue. After four or five turns, the paper parted, and pooled in its center was silver—a box chain, shiny as only sterling silver could be, brand-new. Something else poked from the tiny pile of links—a slim and delicate shape. She knew what it was in an instant, and a smile caught somewhere between affection and heartbreak twisted her lips.

The little cross was almost identical to the one she’d worn for more than ten years. A half-inch tall, plain, no body of Christ. The chain was different, shorter than the one she’d lost, and nicer as well. She eased a loose knot from it and centered the cross opposite the clasp, letting it swing from her fingers.

She didn’t know quite what to make of it.

Had their soul-bearing conversation gone well, it would have been a more than welcome gift. A gift that told her she’d found herself a man who paid attention, who listened, and who thought of her in moments when they weren’t together. She couldn’t guess where in Fortuity he’d found this, either, so he’d gone on a mission for it. For her.

She closed it in her hand, felt the metal warming there.

Can I keep this? It wasn’t a locket or some other pointed token of romance. It was a symbol of her misplaced beliefs, of her lost faith once again returning to her in the wake of all those desperate, squandered years. It was a gift chosen by a lover . . . but bestowed by a friend.

I’ll wear it, she decided. Not yet, but eventually. To put it on now would be too mixed a signal to send Casey, and too much to ask of her own heart, besides. But in time, once their brief but blazing romance had mellowed to a fond memory, their friendship hopefully planted on solid ground once again, she’d put it on. And she’d wear it gratefully, with humility and hope.

The house gave a rattle, the subtle clatter of doors resettling and telling her someone had just come in from outside. The murmur of conversation in the kitchen flared for a moment, then went sedate once again. She heard Christine now, and also Casey. She debated going down, pursing her lips, legs trying to commit to standing or not. But then footsteps froze her, growing louder as they reached the den, then the stairs. She knew the sound of those shoes well, and she hastily closed the necklace in its tissue and slid it under a pillow.

Casey approached the bedroom with one fist raised, poised to knock on the frame. He lowered it when their eyes met. “Hey.”

“Hi. Come in. What’s going on?”

He closed the door behind him and leaned on the dresser. If he noticed the red tissue was missing, he didn’t show it. She doubted something so trivial was on his mind now, even as that tiny present weighed on her own.

“Has anyone seen Don yet?” she asked, heart knotting between her ribs.

Casey shook his head. “It doesn’t look good. The barn was the last place anybody saw him.”

“Do you think . . . ?”

He nodded, just the barest dip of his chin.

Tears were slipping down her cheeks in an instant, as she let that fearful thought become real. “That’s . . . God, I don’t even know.” He’d been so good to her. Maybe not warm and paternal, but patient, welcoming, helpful. Caring, in his own practical, rational way. “How’re Christine and Miah?”

“I’m not sure it’s completely sunk in yet. I don’t think either one of them is ready to jump to conclusions.”

“I heard Miah talking to your brother.”

He nodded, then came to sit on the far end of the bed. “Vince heard about the fire while he was at work. Came right here . . . He had a weird feeling about it, I guess.”

“When will they know for sure? About Don?” Her body went cold, imagining people having to sift through all that smoke-stinking, dampened mess, looking for— She cut off the thought.

“Not long, I don’t think. Once everything’s cooled and the smoke’s cleared.”

“God, this is just awful.” There was no adjective that fit, none that didn’t sound monstrously inadequate. “Do you . . . You don’t think it was on purpose, though, do you? Like anything to do with whoever’s been sneaking around?”

Casey didn’t reply right away, expression clouded.

“Do you?” she prompted.

“It’s too soon to say. But I’d be lying if I said I’d be surprised.”

“Oh my God.”

“There’s no point thinking about it just yet,” he said gently.

“That’s so . . . I mean, did someone want to hurt him on purpose, or were they only trying to destroy the barn, or—”

Casey quieted her with a wave of his hand, smiling weakly. “We’ll have more answers soon. For now the most important thing is to be whatever it is Miah and his mom are going to need.”

He was right, and she did her best to block out the nagging, frightening thoughts.

“How’s she?” Casey nodded in the crib’s direction.

“She screamed herself hoarse while I was out with all the workers, waiting for the fire to die down. I don’t think she’ll be waking up anytime too soon.”

He heaved a loaded breath, slipped his hand under his open hoodie and rubbed at his chest. “I’m trying real hard to not work myself up about how close the two of you were to all that. How wrong it could’ve gone.” As he said it, his voice broke. Any fleeting worry she’d had about the fire having been anything to do with Casey evaporated in that instant.

She wanted to be close to him. Wanted his arms around her body and his soft voice in her ear, telling her it was going to be okay. Comforting lies, something to believe in while the entire world seemed to be coming apart around them.

But if she felt lost now, surely she’d only lose further track of her heart, if she let herself get too close. Clarity was in short supply at the moment, and never more so than when she tried to make sense of how she felt about this man. She pictured the necklace now hiding beneath her pillow, and that knot in her chest eased, though the tangle was as big a mess as ever.

“I need to talk to my brother,” Casey said, “but I wanted to check how you were doing.”

“Thanks. Do you think I should go downstairs? To try to help, somehow?”

He considered it. “Knowing Miah, he’ll be out of there the second he finds a decent excuse, looking for shit to tackle so he doesn’t get to think too hard about it all. But Christine could probably use the company. She’d been saying something about making coffee, for all the officials who’re taking statements and waiting for the investigation to get under way. I bet she could use some help with that.”