My eyes must have grown bigger than my face because I could see how much my reaction hurt Dylan. “I’m sorry. I think I heard you wrong. Did you just say murder scene?”
The pain on Dylan’s face didn’t ease at all. With a soft and low voice, he replied, “It is where she was ... it’s where she died, Erica. And I haven’t had the heart to go back all these years.”
I wrapped my arms tight around Dylan and squeezed as hard as I could without hurting him. “It’s going to be alright. I’ll be there with you. It’s going to be okay.” Of course, what did I know? My mother died—that was absolutely true—but she wasn’t brutally murdered. I was out of my depth, but I knew I had to sink or swim if I wanted to be there for Dylan exactly as he had been there for me in this crazy chaotic phase of my life.
As soon as I let go, Kat and Casey walked up to the house with their bags, and Henry helped them pack their things into the trunk. “Are you guys ready to hit the road?” Henry asked. They both nodded, so we all piled into the car.
“Aunt Sherry’s going to meet us there,” Henry said as he started the car. “She’s bringing the file with her.” He exchanged a look with Dylan, but Dylan didn’t say a word. Henry tried to make random conversation on the drive to the cabin, but we were all drowning in our inability to find words for such an occasion. A murder scene? Really? All I knew to do was to hope and pray that someone had cleaned the place after the investigation was over, but I wasn’t really sure what we’d find when we got there.
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