Page 104 of A Surefire Love
He inhaled. Exhaled. “Do you think it was her?”
“Not really, I guess. But she could—”
He motioned her to stop. “Then neither do I.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, then dropped her hand and blew out a breath. “Really?”
“Yes. When I was talking about reporting things, that was about acting on knowledge, not unsubstantiated possibilities.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “Thank you.” Finally, she lifted her gaze. Her lower lip trembled. “But you are angry.”
“I’m …” He wasn’t going to say he was disappointed. Disappointed sounded too much like a scolding parent. “I’m fine.”
That was a lie he hadn’t meant to tell.
The lines around her mouth deepened.
He clenched and straightened his fingers, as if the right response was something he could grasp. “You saw a threat and went into protection mode.” That had nothing to do with his feelings, but maybe it’d give them a place to work from. She’d been protecting herself and Mercy from … him. “I’ve let you down in the past. I know that. I just thought we put that in the past.”
Red splotches appeared by Blaze’s collarbone and crept up her neck.
“I wish you’d trusted me enough to let me in on it sooner. Instead, you thought it’d be better to let it eat you up likethis? You must’ve really expected something terrible from me.” He recalled what she’d said just before telling him the story. “Did you really think I’d try to have Mercy taken away?”
“No. Not on purpose. I just …” She swept her fingers over her eyes, but more tears fell instantly. “I thought one thing might lead to another. But you’re right. I should’ve trusted you.”
His phone rang. He rubbed his forehead. Should’ve silenced the thing when he’d walked in, but he hadn’t expected to end up in a serious conversation.
“You can get that.” She backed farther from him. “It is kind of late. It might be important.” Her gaze shifted to the oven clock. It was only 8:45—dark outside the windows, but not that late. She shrugged as if to acknowledge her error.
“Or it might be one of the kids planning to ask if my refrigerator is running.” A much easier question to field than how to respond to Blaze. He shifted away from the counter to pull the device from his pocket. “Almost no one has reached out since I got fired, so the odds of them prank calling are low, but never ze—” He read the name on the display. Truth might be more contagious than he’d ever realized. “It’s Carter. I need to take this.”
She picked up a knife and the last potato. “We can talk Friday.”
Friday. Because tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and she didn’t want to join him. “I’m supposed to be at my parents’ house until Sunday night.”
“Oh.” She worked her lips. “Monday or Tuesday then.”
The phone kept ringing. He hesitated to leave at all, but he’d been working toward a breakthrough with Carter for years. He couldn’t fail now. If the conversation went nowhere and ended soon, he’d come back, work through things withBlaze tonight. For now, Anson passed through the living room toward the door. “Hey, Carter.”
“Hey. There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”
He closed his eyes a beat, a wordlessthank youto God. But even as he stepped out of the house, he knew he also had Blaze to thank. If not for her advice, he wouldn’t have opened up about Gury. He and Carter wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I’m listening.”
“My parents fight. A lot. Dylan hates it, so he splits whenever they get going. Mom and Dad don’t even notice. If it’s late at night, sometimes he doesn’t come back home.”
Anson climbed into his SUV as Carter’s statement scattered his thoughts like a cue ball breaking the rack. “Fight how?”
“Yelling. Mom complains Dad’s always gone. He says it’s how we pay for everything. It doesn’t sound that bad, I guess, but they’re both pretty unhappy, and nobody seems to know how to fix it. I’m not sure they’re going to make it. Sometimes I think it’d be better if they didn’t.”
Anson’s parents had argued occasionally. Once or twice, he wondered if they’d work it out. Each time, the thought of divorce terrified him. To suspect his parents might be better off apart, Carter’s home must be a battlefield. But Eric and Samantha were only background to what Carter was saying about his brother. “Where does Dylan go?”
“Friends’ houses, sometimes. But Dad lost his church keys a while ago. He had to get someone to make new copies for him. I think Dylan’s got the original set.”
Anson replayed the meeting where he’d asked the leadership board about their keys. Eric had never admitted to losing his. Had he forgotten or lied by omission?
“I knew you were worried about a kid sleeping at thechurch,” Carter said, “but it didn’t seem like a big deal until Dylan woke me up all worked up about a fire at church. He was in tears. He said you’d know what to do, but he wouldn’t let me call you. So we texted. He calmed down some after that, but before the fire, Mom and Dad argued. I didn’t see Dylan go, but when he woke me up, he was sweating and panting, and he smelled like smoke. I’m actually surprised Mom and Dad didn’t notice.”
Dylan wasn’t driving yet. Whether he’d gone on foot or taken a bicycle, racing the mile or two between the church and the Newsome house would explain the sweating and panting. “He said your family learned about the fire when someone called your dad.”
