Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

floors under the carpet?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“If I rent this place, can I pull up the carpet and refinish the floors?”

“Yes.”

“Can I renovate the kitchen and paint all the walls?”

A frown wrinkled her forehead. “I’m not paying for that.”

“Can I do it if I pay for it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take it.”

Despite his many sins and failures, Luke was a man of his word. He’d returned to his hometown to fulfill the promise he’d made to his friend and fellow inmate, Ed Sutherland.

When Ed was dying, he’d begged Luke to protect his only child, Finley—who wasn’t even aware of the danger her father’s actions had brought to her door.

Luke had told Ed that he’d keep her safe.

He hadn’t yet met Finley. He didn’t care about her. And he didn’t care about working for her animal shelter. He only cared about one thing.

Doing what he’d said he’d do so he could finally be free.

After a night of shredded sleep, Sebastian woke to overcast weather and a black mood.

He spent hours in his media room watching violent movies. Finally, unable to take another movie, unable to take the thoughts in his head, he hauled himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom for shoes.

The clock told him it was late afternoon. He still wore the track pants and long-sleeved athletic shirt he’d pulled on this morning. His face was unshaven, his hair a mess.

His phone rang.

He checked it. Ben.

Since it wasn’t Leah, he didn’t answer.

Almost as soon as it stopped ringing, it started ringing again. Ben.

“Yeah?” He wedged the phone against his shoulder while he laced his Adidas.

“You didn’t respond to my morning or my lunchtime text, which isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

Ben hesitated, then said, “Good grief, Sebastian.”

Sebastian could tell that his friend had already diagnosed his mental state.

“Where are you?” Ben asked.

“On my way to the cemetery.”

When miserable, Leah became maniacally industrious.

Last night she’d reorganized every closet in her house, including Dylan’s (which he had not appreciated). She’d gone on a late-night run to the grocery store and prepped her pantry for doomsday. Then she’d stayed up until 2:30 a.m., making so much chicken noodle soup that she’d frozen three-fourths of it for future dinners.

The frenzied activity had kept her body busy but, to her dismay, it hadn’t mitigated her heartache, confusion, or disillusionment.

As soon as school let out this afternoon, she’d changed into yoga pants and a hoodie, then driven to the heart of town to power walk the concrete footpath that followed the curving course of the river.

Her breath came in huffs. With an edge of desperation, she increased her speed, wanting . . . What? To outrun her sorrow? Burn off her churning feelings? Punish herself for loving someone who didn’t let people in?

She had no track record with boyfriends and didn’t understand how to handle something as crucial and devastating as their current impasse. Should she leave Sebastian alone? If so, for how long? Forever? Should she go to him and insist they work through this?

Arms pumping, she stormed forward—

Her phone rang.

She freed it from her arm strap. The caller’s number originated in Oxford, Alabama.

She stopped, moving off the path onto nearby grass as a middle-aged man jogged past.

“Hello?” Her breath jerked in and out.

“Hi, I’m calling from the Calhoun County Post. We spoke yesterday?”

Leah recognized the woman’s friendly voice. “Yes. Thanks for following up.”

“My pleasure. I wanted to let you know that I was only able to find one mention of Bonnie Byrne in the back issues of our paper. Her birth announcement.”

“I see,” Leah said, trying to hide her disappointment.

“I was also able to find just one mention of Ian O’Reilly.”

“Oh?”

“It’s from thirty-some years ago. It ran on the Gallivanting About page we had back then, where we’d publish pictures of people and events from around the county. All I have is a photo and a caption.”

“I’d love to see both the birth announcement and photo, if possible.”

“I have pictures of them loaded into an email, ready to go. If you’ll provide your email address, I’ll shoot them straight over.”

Leah supplied her email address and profuse thanks.

She opened her email app and waited for it to download new email. Several things populated, but nothing from the Calhoun County Post.

Chewing the edge of her lip, she tried again.

Still no.

And again.

This time, an email from the newspaper appeared. It took a few seconds for the birth announcement to load.

Sean and Ellen Byrne announce the birth of their second daughter, Bonnie Theresa Byrne. She was born on January 20th and weighed seven pounds, eight ounces.

The only new piece of information provided: Bonnie’s birth weight.

The second attachment, a photograph, showed a group of at least twenty people of various ages.

Sean and Ellen Byrne hosted a family reunion this past weekend to celebrate the graduation from college of their grandson, Ian O’Reilly (center in the above photo).

Leah turned her phone horizontal so the image filled the entire screen. The man in the center, Ian, smiled out from the picture with gentle eyes, handsome young features, a lean build. He appeared full of life. Hopeful.

A few of Ian’s elderly relatives sat on folding chairs in front. The rest stood. Surely Bonnie had been present for a reunion held in her son’s honor. Carefully, Leah assessed the faces of the women in the photo who were the right age to have been Ian’s mother. Several fit the bill. Unfortunately, even if one of them was Bonnie, she had no way of knowing which one—

Except no. That wasn’t right.

Because . . . she did. She did know which one was Bonnie.

Surprise rolled into Leah like a heavy boulder.

One of the middle-aged women pictured here had blond-gray hair cut into severe horizontal bangs with straight sides. An assertive nose and eyes that tipped downward at the outer edges.

The woman in this picture was younger than the woman Leah knew, but unmistakably recognizable, nonetheless. The woman in this picture, the one whose hand rested on the shoulder of her son, Ian O’Reilly,