Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
CHRISTINE
“Can I have another?”
Jodie beams at Casey over the kitchen counter, then slides another pancake onto his plate. “Of course.”
As he inhales it, she turns her attention on me, her smile softening. “How are you feeling?”
I force myself to smile back as I sip my coffee. Truthfully, everything inside of me aches—my lungs, my throat. Every breath hurts. But we both got out without any burns, so I’m more thankful for that than anything.
The state of the house on the other hand… It doesn’t sound like there’s going to be much left.
“Just tired,” I say. “Thank you again for letting us stay here.”
“Of course.” She smiles fondly at Casey as he guzzles some orange juice.
When Fletcher insisted we stay at his parents’ house, I assumed he’d come join us after going to see Jacks in the hospital. He left around midnight. That was more than nine hours ago.
And still no sign of him. I texted a few times, but he hasn’t responded.
The police did call to let me know that Jacks confessed.
The fire had started in the kitchen, which was also where they found Jacks, along with the garden hose, like she’d changed her mind and was trying to stop it.
I haven’t even begun to process that.
I haven’t begun to process any of this.
“Give him some time.”
I meet her eyes again, and she gives me a sad, knowing smile.
“Hey, Casey, you know how to play catch?” asks Fletcher’s dad.
Casey wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and nods vigorously.
Dave winks at me over Casey’s head as he grabs a little foam football and the two head to the backyard.
“I don’t understand any of this,” I murmur.
Jodie sighs and rounds the counter to take over Casey’s seat.
I should be angry. And part of me is. The mother inside of me is murderous, in fact. But mostly I’m just…stunned. I’d felt something off about Jacks, but I never imagined it would lead to this, especially since things seemed to be going well between us. I thought she was warming up to me, something beyond mild tolerance.
I never could have imagined…
“Has Fletcher spoken to you about the fire at his old foster home?” she asks slowly.
“A little. That’s what the nightmares are about. He said his foster parents died that night.” The police had mentioned it too, that Jacks admitted to starting that one, as well as two others in their old town.
Something flutters across her face—so quick I barely catch it. “Is that all he said?”
I frown. “I know he left after that. Was out on his own with a few other kids for a year before he ended up with you.”
She nods and rolls her lips together. “It wasn’t just the parents who died that night. A little girl did too. She was five years old. Her name was Lucy.”
I suck in a sharp breath. No, he had most certainly not told me that part.
“Fletcher jumped out of the window with her to get her out, but the paramedics couldn’t resuscitate her. The smoke inhalation closed off her airway. She died on the scene.”
Last night. Fletcher had been so worried—out of his mind in a way I’d never seen before—because of the smoke. He kept asking them to check our throats…
God, that must have dug up so much for him.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m afraid.” Her frown carves deep lines into her face, and she wrings her hands together in her lap. “I think there’s a lot in his past that he hasn’t processed. We’ve tried to help him as much as we can. And this…he won’t make it easy on you, but he needs someone. He never likes to be the one getting taken care of. He hasn’t let me in a long time. But I’m hoping he might let you.”
“You don’t think he’s coming back here,” I realize.
She shakes her head. “Dave drove to his house this morning to see if he’d gone there after the hospital.”
“Where else would he go?” I ask, but I already know the answer, don’t I?
It’s a four-hour drive to Northumberland, squarely in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania. But the moment Fletcher’s mom helped me dig up the address for his old house, I jumped in the car. Luckily they agreed to watch Casey until Liam could come pick him up later in the morning.
I just hope I’m right about this.
When I finally turn into the neighborhood, I slow to a crawl and take in the houses around me. Many falling apart or boarded up. A sad park sits in the center—two swings, one of them broken, and a metal slide. All of the surrounding grass is dead.
My heart aches as I inch along, trying to picture a younger Fletcher growing up here.
It’s not that different from what my neighborhood looked like at that age.
It’s not the house I see first.
It’s his truck.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding the entire drive here.
He’s parked across the street from the shambles of what used to be his home. It’s clear it was never fixed after the fire. Condemned. Left behind to rot.
I can’t help but wonder which window it was. I’m guessing one on the side of the house. They all have boards over them now.
I park a few feet away and climb out. I don’t think he’s noticed me, not until I round to the passenger side and knock on the window.
He jumps, and his eyes soften in surprise when he sees me. He immediately unlocks the door and leans over to open it.
“Chris,” he breathes. “What are you?—?”
His eyes are bloodshot, and the shadows beneath them are a darkness I’ve never seen on him—and that’s saying something with the amount of sleep he’s been getting lately.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs as I climb in. “You should hate me.”
My heart cracks in half in my chest. “ Fletcher .” I lay my hand on the side of his face and force him to meet my eyes. “I don’t blame you for a second.”
“This is because of me. I brought her into your lives, and I put Casey at risk?—”
“This isn’t your fault.” I make my voice as firm as I can manage. “Please don’t take this on. You got us both out. You’re the reason we’re okay.”
He shakes his head a little and faces forward. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and a tear rolls down his cheek.
“Fletch,” I say quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lucy?”
His eyes fall shut, and he says nothing for a long time. “I got her out,” he whispers. “I got her out, and she still died.” He hiccups, his chest rising rapidly with his breath. “I got her out. She shouldn’t have died. I got her—I got her?—”
“Fletcher.” I reach for him, desperately wanting to help but not knowing what to do. I touch his face, the back of his neck. He doesn’t even seem to be aware that I’m here anymore.
“I got her out,” he gasps. “I got her—I got her out. It doesn’t make sense. I got her out.”
I climb over the center console, into his lap, and take his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me.
“Breathe.”
“I got her—I got her out,” he whispers. Tears stream down his cheeks.
“I know. I know.” I wrap my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I can.
“I got her out,” he says, and it sounds like a whimper.
“You did everything you could for her. You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault.” I press my face against his shoulder and murmur in his ear over and over. I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point, but he’s holding me back just as tightly.
“I thought you were dead,” he gasps. “I thought I lost you.”
I kiss his temple and tighten my arms around him. “You have me.”
I hold him until his breathing slows. When I pull back, I frame his face again and search his eyes. They stare back at me, and I’ve never seen him this open, this vulnerable.
This broken.
And I want so desperately to put the pieces back together for him, but I can’t fix this. It’s just the kind of pain you have to suffer through until it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
I know nothing I can say will make this better, but I settle on “I love you.”
His eyelids shutter, and he swallows hard. “I love you,” he says roughly, and his hands mirror mine, one coming to each side of my face.
I wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Lucy—do you know where she is?”
His eyebrows pull together, and he scrunches his nose like he’s trying not to cry again. He shakes his head.
I run a hand down the back of his hair. “Would you like to go find her?”
The records aren’t that hard to find, and the cemetery is only a few blocks from the house. With no family, she was cremated and buried here among other unclaimed bodies.
I start to worry this was a very bad idea as I hold Fletcher’s hand and follow him through the rows. Maybe seeing such a small, sad burial for her will make him feel more guilty.
But when we find her, he sighs, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease.
I gently lay down the flowers we picked up on the way, then turn my face as I rise to my feet so Fletcher can’t see the tears already streaming down my cheeks.
He clears his throat, lowers to a knee, and runs his fingers over the tiny stone in the ground. “Hey, Goose.”
I press my lips together, the tears coming in earnest now.
“You were always asking when I was finally going to get a girlfriend,” he continues, a small smile in his voice. “So I brought someone to meet you. This is Christine.”
“Hi, Lucy,” I murmur.
“I want you to know that I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I’m sorry I didn’t make it here before now.”
I take in the surrounding graves. Small, unkempt. No flowers or candles or teddy bears. Has anyone ever been to see her?
“Christine has a son, Casey,” Fletcher continues. “I think you would’ve liked him.”
My heart feels like someone is crushing their fist around it. I lay my hand on Fletcher’s shoulder from behind and squeeze.
He says nothing else, and neither do I. But we stay like that until the last of the daylight bleeds from the sky.