Chapter 8

He pulls himself up to his knees and his gaze reminds me of the time when Russ lured me from across the dance club into his arms. And stayed for two years.

Philip pulls me back to him. “This may be too much to bear right now, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you the day you signed your book for me at the local bookshop.”

I recall the first year Russ and I moved to Milestone County from Dayton, Ohio, Russ’s home state. I had seen Sheriff Erickson in the crowd during my lecture on the uncertain future of books and the rapid rise of e-books. But at the time, I thought Philip was just a voracious reader.

His revelation floors me. My eyes fall to my trembling hands in my lap.

“Chris?” His voice is strangled with regret.

Or is it loneliness?

But before I have time to respond, movement from the living room rattles me out of the moment. I lift my head to see Bret Hicks staggering into view.

Philip turns his head to my night visitor.