Page 26 of By the Book

“Honestly, this is the perfect excuse to spendlesstime with my parents. You’re doing me a favor.”

With a hint of a weary smile, she nodded. “If you don’t mind…then thank you. Take your parents and go straight home, please.”

My parents had apparently parked their RV on a fire road at the other end of the mayor’s property, so we drove that way todrop them off. I waited for the flurry of observations and notes and plans for how to harvest every second of what they’d been through for future story material. But it never came. When I looked back, my dad was staring out the window, his face slack. He was holding my mom’s hand, and my mom had her head back as she pressed a tissue to her eyes.

Bobby rubbed my leg, but he didn’t say anything either.

We dropped them at the RV and followed them home. The silence trailed us into the house. I made sure my parents didn’t need anything. Bobby was waiting for me in our room. We didn’t even have to talk about it. I showered, and then he showered, which pretty much killed the last of the hot water. I lay in bed as he padded around the room, turning off the (battery-powered) lights. When he climbed in next to me, he was still warm from the water, and he smelled like his very manly soap (it came in a black box, so you knew it was serious stuff). We moved around a little until my back was pressed to his chest. His breath was pleasant on my neck and shoulder, and his arm heavy and solid where he drew me against him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

I nodded.

His breathing evened out quickly, but sleep eluded me. It was the shock of finding another body, sure. It still hit me every time. Maybe there was something wrong with me, and that was why I never got used to it. Or maybe it would have been worse if Ihadgotten used to it. And it was my parents, too. My dad’s face on the drive to their RV. My mom silently wiping her eyes. Death connects us to each other in ways that don’t always make sense. A part of me wanted to cry. For my parents. For a woman I’d never even known. For the crack that ran through everyone’s lives, waiting to open. One day it would be my parents. One day it would be Bobby. One day it would be me. All I knew was thatI hoped I died before Bobby, because I couldn’t imagine living through that grief. (Was that morbid or romantic? Both?)

I must have been moving around too much because Bobby’s breathing changed. His hand moved across my belly. He pressed his lips to my nape and, after the kiss, made a small, shushing noise.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He mumbled, “’sokay.” And then, more clearly, “Want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m all right. Go back to sleep.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time, and eventually, I thought he’d dozed off again. But then he pressed his lips to the spot where my neck joined my shoulder. And then he kissed me again, on the side of my neck. His hand slid down my belly, and I made a quiet sound and turned to face him.

My reaction might not have made sense to someone else. Then again, though, maybe it would have. Death roused all our old, animal parts. Death reminded us of life. Death brought people together.

Bobby got himself up on one elbow. His glossy dark hair spilled over his forehead, and it made him look younger. His eyes were still soft with sleep. He had the tiniest bit of stubble, and when he kissed me, it rasped pleasantly against my chin.

One thing I’d been learning about Bobby Mai?

He didn’t always want—or know how—to talk about his feelings. But he was very good about expressing himself in other ways.

I slept better than I had a right to, and when I woke, Bobby was gone. If I remembered his schedule for the week—and that was a bigif—he was off this morning and would work second shift. The sheriff’s office had what they called rotating shifts for the deputies—meaning, for two weeks, Bobby would work first shift, then he’d work two weeks on second shift, thentwo weeks on third, and then back to first. It sounded great in theory, since it meant nobody was stuck working overnight permanently. The problem, though, was that the sheriff’s office was still understaffed, which meant Bobby was picking up extra shifts whether he liked it or not.

All of which meant that, in theory, Bobby was probably at the gym. If he hadn’t been called in to work.

One glance at the clock told me two things: first, the power was on (I suspected a Bobby-related miracle); and second, it was still horrifyingly early (the fact that it wasn’t even eleven yet and Bobby was not only out of bed but actually exercising was still relatively mind-blowing). In spite of the hour, I didn’t feel like going back to sleep. There was a strange disconnect between the mental cloud hanging over me and the fact that my body felt pleasantly loose, relaxed, and rested—still coasting on the hormones from certain late-night adult activities. (And believe it or not, this time I’m not talking about eating ice cream in bed.)

After showering and dressing, I made my way out into the hall. The door to my parents’ room stood open, and when I checked, the room was empty. The servants’ dining room was empty as well, but I found Indira in the kitchen. She had buckets—literally—of huckleberries on the counter, and something was baking in the oven. At the smell of warm, delicious carbs, my stomach gave a preparatory grumble.

“Oh no,” Indira said. “That’s dessert for tonight. There’s a peach coffee cake in the dining room. I think Keme left you some.”

That didn’t sound particularly auspicious—Keme had the appetite (and killing instinct) of a velociraptor.

“Have you seen my parents?”

“I think your dad went for a walk.” Frowning, Indira turned away from whatever she was doing with the huckleberries. “Youmight want to check on your mom. She found the secret passage in the den, and she’s been gone for a couple of hours.”

“I don’t know. How long can people live without food?”

It’s surprisingly hard to win a staring match with Indira, in case you didn’t know that. She’s got this insanely strong mom energy sometimes, and that lock of witchy-white hair doesn’t help.

I tried for an adorable, winsome smile. “I’m only saying it would be fine if she was lost in a maze of secret passages for days and days so long as nothing bad happened to her. Nothing permanent, I mean.”

“Get out of my kitchen, Dashiell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

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