Everything looked just like it had when he’d left. Except for the missing Cecchino vehicles, nothing looked out of place. If Mr. Cecchino hadn’t told them the family had evacuated to the cabin, Dal would have thought everyone was asleep inside.
“Whose car is that?” Lena drew up short, eyeing the white Crown Victoria parked in front of the house.
Dal shifted uncomfortably atop Thunder. He recognized that car. More specifically, he recognized the University of Riverside bumper sticker and license plate frame.
“That’s Jennifer’s car.”
“Who?” Lena frowned at him.
“Jennifer.”
“What?” Lena’s frown deepened into a scowl. “You mean, Jennifer Miola?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know that’s her car?”
“She was in a summer school class with me in Rossi last year. I saw her driving it.”
“You had a class with Jennifer and never thought to mention it?”
“She’s not worth mentioning.” Dal didn’t have much regard for the girl who had broken Leo’s heart. His best friend had always been too good for her. Besides, Jennifer was a taboo subject in the Cecchino household.
“You have a point.” Lena’s shoulders relaxed, though her scowl remained in place. “What the hell is her car doing here?”
Dal could imagine several scenarios that might bring Jennifer to the Cecchino farmhouse in current circumstances. He didn’t list any of them out loud.
They dismounted, leaving the horses to graze near the barn. Leo turned on a hose and filled up several five-gallon buckets so the horses could drink. They only had three of them now. They’d lost one to gunfire. Another had bolted and disappeared in the commotion.
They should go straight to the cabin. Dal knew this. But he couldn’t help stepping onto the beloved wooden porch of the farmhouse. He pressed his forehead against the front door and inhaled.
“Dal.” Lena nudged him. He shifted to one side as she opened the front door.
Dal felt like he was stepping through a time machine. Outside the Cecchino farmhouse was a world turned upside down. Inside, it was like nothing had ever changed. Like if he walked into the kitchen, he might see Mr. Cecchino at the table sipping coffee and reading the paper.
Except Mr. Cecchino would never sip coffee again.
He stepped into the house he loved with all his heart and closed the door behind them, turning the dead bolt. He couldn’t ever remember locking the front door. Not ever.
So much had changed in less than a day.
Lena went past him. “I’m going to take a shower. Keep an eye out for Russians and zombies.”
He dropped the transmitter onto the sofa and wandered through the house in a daze. Everywhere he looked were signs of Mr. Cecchino. His coffee cup was still in the sink. His hat had fallen off the coat rack and sat on the floor of the entryway. Dal picked it up and reverently returned it to the coat rack.
He showered when Lena was finished, relieved to wash away the blood and the grime of the day. After changing into fresh jeans and T-shirt, he walked through the house in search of Lena.
He found her in Mr. Cecchino’s bedroom, curled up in the middle of her father’s rumpled bed. Her face was buried in his pillow. Her shoulders shook with tears.
Dal’s legs gave out. He knew he should comfort her, but he didn’t have the strength. He slumped to the floor against the door jam. A pair of Mr. Cecchino’s work boots sat just beside him, covered with dry mud from the orchard.
The room still smelled like him. A mix of tobacco and dirt and soap. Two-thirds of the closet was still filled with Mrs. Cecchino’s clothes.
Dal’s head drooped as grief overtook him. The sadness was deep and heavy, settling around his shoulders with an oppressive weight. Tears dripped down his face.
This was the first real pause they’d had all day, their first spare moment to grieve the loss of the man they both adored. Dal almost wished they were still on the run. He didn’t have to think when they were fighting and running for their lives.
They remained like that for a long while, together yet separate in their grief. Dal felt sorrow move through him with every sob that shook Lena.
After a while, she rose. She paused on her way out the door, one hand resting on his rumpled hair. Then she was gone, disappearing into another part of the house. He heard her moving around in the living room.
The room was unbearable without her. He couldn’t shoulder the weight of it alone. Forcing himself back to his feet, he went in search of her.
As he exited the hallway, shock froze him in place.
Lena had changed into plain jeans and a soft long-sleeve shirt. But that wasn’t what was strange. What stalled him was the sight of her feet.
She didn’t wear socks and her customary Converse. In their place was something he never thought he’d see her wear again: her ballerina slippers.
They’d hung untouched for over two years on the coat rack in the entryway. Mr. Cecchino moved them around to make sure they weren’t completely covered with coats, but Lena hadn’t touched them after her mother died.
Now the satin pink slippers covered her slender feet.
Dal had seen Lena dance. He’d been to her recitals with the family. He remembered every one.
Every. Single. One.
Even as a pre-pubescent kid, Dal had a crush on Lena. She was his best friend’s wild and sometimes annoying little sister. He was a punk to her a lot of time when they were kids, going along with whatever Leo or Anton came up with to antagonize her.
He was thirteen the first time he’d seen her dance. She’d been a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It had been impossible to take his eyes off her. She’d moved like water. Like air. Like part of the earth itself. The world could have ended in that moment and he wouldn’t have cared. He’d had to cover
