The Boys Who Loved Me - Krista Wolf Page 0,36

of parallel ruts set deep into the mud.

“Tire tracks,” he explained, pointing. “They made two trips, look.”

Sure enough, two sets of distinct tire tracks led back and forth to our broken gate. Whoever loaded up our stuff took their sweet time. And they were so unconcerned with getting caught, they’d even come back.

“I can’t believe no one said anything,” I growled. “Somebody must’ve seen something.”

“In last night’s rain?” Warren shook his head. “That storm was the perfect time to do something like this. They had the cover of night, the veil of a downpour. We don’t have a dog in the yard. We don’t even have any cameras…”

“We can’t afford cameras,” I pointed out. “Besides, last night they wouldn’t have done jack shit anyway. Nothing would’ve showed through that rain. Maybe you’d see the blur of some tail lights, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, well if I knew the configuration of those tail lights I could at least start looking for that flatbed. As it is, maybe we can get some tire impressions.”

“Tire impressions?” I scoffed.

“Hell yeah,” he said defensively. “Each tread has its own unique marks and grooves. I saw it on a crime show.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him what I already knew: that the local police didn’t care. That we could have a full-blown match to those tire-tracks, plus complete video footage of the people who’d stolen our stuff. None of it would matter though. Unless everything was crystal clear and unmistakable, it all meant nothing.

Warren stood up, wiping his muddy hands on his thighs. He was still wearing the slacks he’d gone to the funeral in. The same ones he’d picked up off the hotel floor and worn to the diner.

“You know who this was, right?”

I sighed, not wanting to say it. But I had a general idea.

“How long are we going to pretend it’s not them?” Warren growled.

“Look man, we can’t even prove—”

“Luke, it’s them!” he pleaded with me. “We both know it is! Why play games? Why not just go over there and start slamming heads together—”

“Because they have a restraining order,” I cut in angrily. “That’s why.”

“On me, yes. But on you?” He paused, hoping it would have some sort of effect. “Not even a little bit.”

The day was going to shit pretty quickly. It started with Kayla’s disappearing act, back at the diner, and now this.

Eventually Warren realized we weren’t going to run out and knock some heads together. He kicked the ground in frustration.

“We need cameras,” he said again.

“We need a better gate,” I lamented. “And better locks. And maybe a guard dog.”

“You know what we need to do,” Warren spat. There was a menacing edge to his voice I really didn’t like. “You just won’t follow through on it.”

I could’ve snapped at him. I could’ve gone off on him for what happened this morning, where we’d essentially scared Kayla off again. But I was equally guilty on that account, whether I liked it or not.

Rather than answer, I stomped off in the direction of our giant corrugated metal storage containers.

“C’mon,” I growled back. “Let’s see what the hell else is missing.”

Twenty-Seven

KAYLA

There was a saying I’d heard once, that I really liked. It went something like: eventually you get to a point in your life where you look around, and you only see the things that aren’t there.

Walking around North Glade after seven years was a lot like that. I saw the KFC that Warren mentioned was long gone, and the nail shop where my mother and I used to get pedicures when I was young. Both buildings had been razed, and new ones put up in their place. The bank where I used to cash my paychecks was a Circle K, the shop where I’d picked out my prom dress was now a plumbing supply store. And although I could see the old ice cream parlor as clear as day in my mind’s eye, now it was nothing more than smoothly-paved asphalt.

I could only imagine what it would be like after another seven years, or fifteen, or thirty. The place might be unrecognizable. I passed the elementary school, noting a new plastic playground in place of the old metal one we used to hang from. I wove through groups of teenagers on the sidewalk — kids that at this age would be going to my old high school. They were laughing and giggling to themselves as they stared down at their phones, looking and feeling so very different than