Page 92 of The Art of Dying

“You never saw me.”

He conceded with a slow nod, leaving me alone in the dark.

I locked the door and downed the rest of my beer. As anxious as I was before, a confirmed sighting of Mason in Quincy and knowing I was about to get my hands on his personal journal made it nearly impossible to wait for sunrise. I wanted to call Mack, but it helped knowing this nightmare was almost over. The next time I saw her, I’d be coming home to stay. I could finally hold my kids. We could settle down and live like a normal family. I could find a job that allowed me to be home by six every night. I lost myself in that fantasy, until thoughts faded into dreams.

Day 5,802.

chapter twenty-five.

Karen

“Happy birthday to you!” we sang, mostly out of tune.

We clapped, Emily clapped, and I looked down at the cake that saidHappy Birthday, Emmaand tried not to cry. Too many emotions swirled inside of me. I was happy and sad that Emily was another year older, sad that she was growing so fast, sad that her daddy was missing it. Happy that Grant and Gina didn’t only protect us, but they were as soft as they were deadly, offering to throw Emily her eighth birthday party. Sad that they were Emily’s only friends present. And all those feelings were secondary to the guilt, always playing in the background like a cricket, only quiet when it’s acknowledged.

Gina pulled the candles from Emily’s cake and then sliced perfectly spaced cuts into the brightly colored buttercream.

“I want a corner piece!” Dylan said with a smile.

“Hey,” Grant said, patting my shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

I nodded. “Have you heard anything on Trex?”

“He’s better. In physical therapy. A shoulder is a tough one to heal. He’ll get a medical discharge. Trex says he’s already talking about being a fed or something. Naomi’s last day is in two weeks. Haven’t heard what she’s doing next.”

“Just Martinez left, then, huh?”

“Yeah. But think about it. If Trex hadn’t been hurt, they’d all still be in, and Kitsch wouldn’t be focused full-time and be as close as he is.”

“Emma was four when we came to Tulsa. She doesn’t even know what it’s like to see her dad more than twice a year. I stopped hoping this would end a long time ago.”

“I know,” Grant whispered. “He should be here. But he’s so close. It could be over at any moment.”

I closed my eyes. “Please stop saying that. Hope is worse.”

He grinned. “Not when it’s more than hope.”

“Did he… did he call?” I asked quietly.

Grant turned to the side a bit to focus the sound of his muffled voice into my ear. “Do you remember when Alecia found the journal?”

I stiffened.

“She’s okay. She finally agreed to hand it over.”

I grabbed the locket Kitsch had bought for me while we were just dating and pulled it back and forth across its chain. “What changed her mind?”

“He doesn’t know yet. He’s meeting Sully in the morning for the handoff. Alecia wasn’t happy she couldn’t do it herself. But as far as why? I’ve suspected for a long time she was afraid giving it to him would get him arrested for murder.”

“She’s not wrong.” I frowned. “Kitsch has spent almost as much time keeping her alive over that thing as you have us.”

Grant laughed once.

“So, he’ll have it by morning. Then what?” I asked.

“I’ll let you know when I know something.”

“Thank you,” I said. I started to refocus on Emily, but Grant was still watching me expectantly. “Everything okay with you?”

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