God, was it even legal?
Why did he have it at all?
“Well, um, can we get rid of it?” Ray was wringing her hands in the bottom of my T-shirt she had taken to sleep in.
“Yeah,” I promised, my resolve firm. “I’ll just put it back in the closet until I figure out what to do with it. I’ll talk to Patrick.”
“Please hide it,” she begged me, and I satisfied her by concealing it in a bundle of spare sheets.
But even though neither of us said as much, we both knew there was no way we’d forget it was there until it was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MURDER OF ONE
A long time ago, back in the 1600s, some people had believed that the number of crows in a murder could determine their fate.
One meant death or a catastrophic event—something of that nature; two meant joy, good things; three or four decided whether someone would have a girl or boy … and so on.
It was something I had read in a book from the Wayward library, and I remembered thinking then that it was nutty. That people had once known so little about life and science and just the way things worked altogether that they felt they needed to look to the birds in a freakin’ tree to know what the hell was going on when Jacob or some shit had come down with a killer case of consumption.
But now, as Noah and I walked down to the shore, with our tackle box and rods in tow, I looked to the single crow that seemed to be following us, and I started to wonder …
What if they were onto something?
“That bird is freaking me out,” Noah mentioned without knowing what was going through my head.
“You and me both.”
“You should give it some food. Maybe it’ll go away.”
I shook my head, glancing at the grim black bird. “Feeding it will just make it want more.”
“Well, I mean, it obviously wants something,” Noah said, rolling his eyes up at me.
Yeah. My soul.
I cringed inwardly at the thought and shook it away. I was being irrational and ridiculous, and I knew it. But I had woken up with the eerie sense that something was about to go wrong, and no matter what I did, I could not get rid of it. It was the same foreboding I’d had for months, sneaking up when I least expected it. But this was different. It was powerful and consuming, needling away at my brain, and that crow wasn’t helping.
However, as we turned off Main Street and onto Oak toward the beach, we did get rid of that damn bird. And I tried to take that as a good sign.
***
“All right, buddy. So, what you wanna do is reel in your line until it’s hanging about a foot or so.” I demonstrated and then gestured for him to do the same.
Noah slowly cranked the reel until he did as I’d instructed. “Like this?”
“Yep. Perfect. Now, pull back your arm like this, then quickly sweep the rod forward.” I did just as I’d said as Noah watched intently, eyes widening as the fishing line sailed through the air and into the water fifteen feet away. “Now, don’t forget to release the reel button, too, or it won’t go anywhere.”
He nodded, and then, with determination set heavy in his eyes, he mimicked my movements and dropped his lure just a couple feet closer than mine.
“How’s that?” he asked with a triumphant smirk.
I held tight to the rod as I clapped him on the back. “I’d say pretty freakin’ good. I mean, for your first try.”
“Next time, mine will be farther than yours.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” I chided, bumping my elbow against his arm.
It was a gorgeous July day on the water. The sun was just hidden enough within the clouds to keep the day warm while not blinding us beneath its rays. Very few people crowded the shore, thanks to it being midday on a Tuesday, while everyone else was still at work.
I had taken off my shirt once we arrived, and Noah had done the same. It was too hot not to. But now, I was regretting it as the eyes of a couple of housewives wrangling their young kids stared in my direction. Their mouths moved in whispers to each other, their eyes peering over the frames of their sunglasses. I pretended not to notice, but Noah was less skilled in the art of subtlety, and he made no secret of his annoyed glances in their direction.
“They know Mom’s your girlfriend,” he grumbled.
“They don’t care about that. It doesn’t matter to them as long as they just look.”
“It does matter though, right?”
I shrugged, then nodded. “I mean, I think so. But some people have different ideas of what’s okay and what isn’t.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s okay.”
“And that’s why you’ll get all the ladies one day. They like good guys.”
We stood there in a nearly comfortable silence, watching our lures bob in the distance. But I could hear the wheels in Noah’s head turning. I could see his brow furrowed with thought, and after a minute of watching him gnaw at his bottom lip, I finally asked what was on his mind.
He hesitated, twisting his lips to the side and cocking his head. Then, finally, he asked, “Are you really a good guy?”
A laugh barked past my lips. “Dude, if you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.”
He shook his head and groaned. “No, you know what I mean. I always thought you were, but …”
I turned my head to look at him, stunned by this sudden confession. “But what?”
“But …” He sighed, his breath coming out with a tremor. “My dad … h-he knew you.”
It had been weeks since Seth had broken into Ray’s house. Noah had been more reserved than usual, quieter and rigid. But I had assumed it was because of the things he’d seen. I’d never once questioned how he might’ve taken what he’d heard from his father’s lips.
How could I have been so stupid?
“How does he know you?”
I had always assumed that, if my relationship with Noah continued, I’d eventually have to answer these questions. But I had never anticipated when or how he would ask, and so I’d never prepared myself to answer.
Part of me wanted to tell him to talk to his mom. To get whatever answers she was comfortable giving him. But then another part—a louder, more incessant part—told me to be honest with him. That hearing it from me would be better for him, as well as me, so I took a deep breath and went with it.
“I grew up in the same town as your parents,” I said. “I mean, I think you already knew that about your mom, but your dad was there too.”
Noah nodded softly, focusing on his lure bobbing in the water. Waiting for a fish to bite. “Were you friends?”
“No.” I shook my head, unable to fight my bitter chuckle. “Definitely not friends.”
“I figured.”
“Yeah, we, uh … we didn’t get along well.”
“Did you get into a fight?”
I chortled at that as I nodded. “We did actually.” Then, I turned to face him, pointing at the scar on my cheek. “Your dad gave me this quite a few years back.”
Noah’s lips actually quirked into a half smile. “So, that’s where you got that scar.”
I tipped my head with curiosity, and Noah’s smile broadened.