Fifteen
By the time I got home, it was dark. I called the sheriff’s office, but Nate was gone, and he hadn’t left any messages on either of my phones.
I stood in the middle of my living room looking at all the boxes.
What the hell was I doing here? Why had I moved to this dying town? Why had I let them run me out of my job in the first place? Why had I put that girl in my car? Why had I felt responsible for her?
I rubbed my face.
I didn’t care about whys. I had done it. End of story. I either trusted my instincts or I didn’t.
I sank down onto the couch.
I did not trust my instincts. Not any longer. Wasn’t sure when that had happened.
Why didn’t I empty these f*****g boxes and make this place a home? Or sell the house and move on? Maybe go down to Mexico. Spend some time in the Sout
