“What?” he asked again, but this time it was his real voice, Bobby’s voice. He turned and came back. His breathing changed, which meant he must have seen the tear tracks, and he said, “What are you talking about? God, no. Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because—because it was none of my business, and I shouldn’t have said anything, and I ruined your life.”
Silence swallowed us.
And then Bobby laughed. It was an unsteady sound, unraveling at the edges, but it sounded genuine enough. “You didn’t ruin my life. And I’m not angry with you. I wasn’t thrilled with your grand plan to make yourself bait for a killer, but I’m not angry.” He waited. And then he asked, “What’s going on?”
“You’ve been avoiding me. And I get it: I should have kept my mouth shut, and it wasn’t my place to say anything, and if I hadn’t said anything, you and West would have worked everything out. And then, that night with Jen, you were there, and I thought—” What I’d thought was too embarrassing to say out loud, so I said, “And I know you’re trying to be nice by not making a big deal out of it, but you quit your job, and you’re moving, and I feel like I ruined everything.”
That laugh came again, and this time, even through my distress, I recognized the quality in it: strain, as though some other emotion were buckled under it. “I guess you figured it all out.”
I tried not to, but I could feel him waiting, and after a few seconds I had to look at him. In the hall’s weak light, the burnished bronze of his eyes looked like candle flames.
“You,” he said carefully, “have nothing to feel bad about. Do you understand?”
I didn’t say anything.
“West and I.” He stopped, and in the darkness, I could hear him swallow. “I should have done that a long time ago; it wasn’t fair to anyone, letting it keep going like that. But I didn’t know how. Or I wasn’t brave enough. Or something. You helped me, Dash. I’ll always be grateful for that. I’ll always be grateful for you. You—” He stopped, and the moment hung for what felt like an eternity. Then a smile sliced across his face. “It feels like I don’t know how to do anything anymore. How to—” He seemed to be searching my face for something. “How to say anything. How to tell you what I want to tell you.”
And then another of those eternal moments came. His breath had a tremulous quality. And I remembered what he’d said, how hard this was for him, to try to say the things that mattered most, and the spinning, slicing fear that came with it. He’d told me, not so long ago, that he didn’t feel that way with me. I wondered what had changed.
He still hadn’t said anything, and I realized maybe he couldn’t. Maybe this was one of those times I could do something for him.
So, I said, “Welcome to my life.”
That jarred a laugh out of him, and I laughed too—weak laughs, meant more for each other, I thought, than anything else.
But when the laughter had faded, a hint of that big, goofy grin lingered on Bobby’s face. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“We had a deal, right? You were going to send off that story. I was going to write down my feelings and talk to West.” He sounded like he was trying for lighthearted when he added, “I hope yours went better than mine did.”
“Uh, yeah, actually. My dad emailed me back this morning. Honestly, I haven’t really had time to think about it.”
“God, Dash, that’s great. I’m so proud of you.”
Which shouldn’t have made me feel the way it did, but I couldn’t stop the idiot smile that spread across my face. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t make me shake you.”
A little laugh escaped me. “He said—well, he said it was great.”
“Of course it was,” Bobby said. He hesitated. “I haven’t been avoiding you, by the way.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
“I was getting my stuff out of the apartment before the movers came.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t help asking, “So, West is...”
Bobby nodded.
“He called Indira and told us not to come,” I said. “I thought maybe that meant he was staying.”
“No.”
“Where’s your stuff?”
That made him laugh again. “In storage.”
“Oh,” I said again. Because my brain works good sometimes.
“And I didn’t quit my job. The sheriff and I had a long talk.”
“Wait, really? Bobby, that’s amazing. God, that’s wonderful. You’re such a good deputy.”
“I don’t know about that. But the sheriff made some convincing points.” His eyes crinkled. “Among other things, she suggested you might get yourself killed if I wasn’t around to help.”
“Okay, first of all, how dare you?”
That big, goofy grin bloomed in full, and for an instant, he was the old Bobby again. “So, that’s that. I’ve got my job back. I’m not going anywhere. Everything I own is at the Park & Store. I am officially homeless. And most important, we’re still friends.”
“You’re not homeless,” I said. “You can stay here as long as you want.”
His expression changed again, and once more I got the impression that he was searching my face for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard. Something grew in the silence—grew and grew until it was a weight on my chest and I couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath. That he might say something. Or that I might. Or that he might cross those last, final inches—
And then the moment passed, and he said, “Thanks. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
He didn’t move. And neither did I. And that sense came again: of something building between us, something so big that there wasn’t any room left for air.
The grandfather clock began to toll the hour, and whatever it had been, it was gone.
Bobby’s crooked smile could have meant anything. “Goodnight, Dash.”
“Goodnight, Bobby.”
I didn’t think about it; if I’d thought about it, I would have honestly, literally, instantly died. I leaned in and kissed his cheek. Just a brush of my lips, really. When I stepped back, my face was hot.
Bobby’s hand rose like he wanted to touch his cheek, but he stopped himself at the last moment. His eyes were wide. And then, slowly, he grinned.
The clock was still tolling. Twelve chimes. Twelve hours. Midnight, I thought. And then, more clearly: It’s a new day.
I caught Bobby’s gaze, held it for a moment, and let a smile of my own slip out. And then I said, “Welcome home.”
