“Already?” Jeff looked stricken.
“His mother wanted things expedited. I understand she scattered the ashes privately. If you wanted to pay your respects, the middle school is holding a vigil on—”
“Did Tracy leave an address?” Jeff interrupted her. He wasn’t interested in vigils or memorials. He didn’t want to “pay his respects.” He wanted answers. How had Nick died? Tracy said an accident, but what accident? What the hell had happened?
“A contact number? Anything?”
“She did not. To be honest with you, I think the poor woman just needed to get away. The sale of the ranch is being handled through Mrs. Schmidt’s trustees. Perhaps you could talk to them?”
Jeff’s heart sank.
Tracy knew I was coming. She knew I couldn’t stay away.
She knew, and she ran.
I scared her off.
The Realtor said, “I can give you a contact for the trustees’ office if you’d like one, Mr. . . . what did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t,” Jeff said. “Where’s Nick’s room?”
Karen Cody bristled. Handsome or not, this man was beginning to irritate her. “At the top of the stairs, first on the right. But you can’t just . . .”
Jeff started up there.
“We’re in the middle of packing,” Karen called after him. “This really isn’t a good time.”
Jeff called back over his shoulder. “Don’t touch his things.”
“My instructions come from Mrs. Schmidt,” Karen shouted back. “She made it perfectly clear that . . .”
“I SAID DON’T TOUCH HIS THINGS!” Jeff roared.
The Realtor’s eyes widened. Who was this guy?
UPSTAIRS JEFF SAT DOWN on Nick’s bed, too exhausted to cry.
Why did Tracy run?
Why wouldn’t she see me?
He didn’t even know what had happened, not really. A car accident. A head injury. Tiny fragments of fact, with no context, no explanation. An empty room and a cupboard full of clothes. That was all that Tracy had left him.
Jeff was angry.
A dirty t-shirt lay crumpled on the floor. Nick must have dropped it there before the accident.
Two days ago. Two days ago he was alive. How was that even possible?
Jeff picked it up, pressed it to his face and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his son. In a day or two, the smell would fade. In a week it would be gone altogether. Then there would be nothing left.
Clutching the shirt, Jeff ran downstairs, passed the Realtor, and out of the front door. He didn’t stop till he got to his rental car.
If Tracy had run, it was because she didn’t want to be found. Jeff Stevens had spent half of his adult life trying to hunt Tracy Whitney down. He couldn’t go through that pain again. Not after this. He wouldn’t survive. But he couldn’t let his son down either.
He would find out the truth. The whole truth.
He would lay Nick to rest.