“Thank you. For taking care of her, I mean. I’m glad ... not glad”—she stopped herself. “Actually, I’d really rather you hadn’t called, but that wouldn’t make her alive, would it?”
“No,” he said softly.
The enormity of Maylene’s being gone felt too huge then, like stones in Rebekkah’s lungs, making it hard to move, taking up the space where air should be. She closed her eyes again and asked, “Did she ... was she sick long? I didn’t know. I was there at Christmas, but she never said anything. She seemed fine. If I’d known ... I ... I would’ve been there. I didn’t know until you called.”
He paused a beat too long before replying. “Call the airline, Rebekkah. Book a flight home. Questions can wait till you get here.”
Chapter 3
WILLIAM SLID HIS PHONE ACROSS THE DESK, FARTHER OUT OF REACH. “She’s on her way. You could’ve called her; you probably should have.”
“No.” Byron sat beside his father’s desk and stared at the page of crossed-out numbers for Rebekkah. Some were in Maylene’s handwriting; others were in Rebekkah’s. She was even worse than he’d been. That doesn’t mean I need to go running to her side. He wasn’t going to be cruel to her— couldn’t —but he wasn’t going to chase after her hoping for another kick in the face.
“Julia won’t come with her. Even for this, she won’t return to Claysville.” William looked directly at Byron. “Rebekkah will need you.”
He met his father’s gaze. “And despite everything, I’ll be here. You know that, and so does Rebekkah.”
William nodded. “You’re a good man.”
At that, Byron’s gaze dropped. He didn’t feel like a good man; he felt tired of trying to live a life without Rebekkah—and utterly unable to live a life with her.