[Georgia 03] Fallen

leave.
    She asked, “What’s in the boxes?”
    He seemed to note her shift in attitude, but chose not to acknowledge it. “Case files from an old investigation. It might have something to do with Evelyn’s disappearance.”
    “Not kidnapping?”
    His grin indicated he’d been caught. “I just have to know everything in these files by five tomorrow morning.”
    “Do you need help?”
    “Nope.” He turned to lift the boxes. “Thanks for getting Betty home for me.”
    “Being dyslexic is not a character flaw.”
    Will left the boxes on the table and turned around. He didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at her in a way that made Sara wish that she had bothered to bathe. Finally, he said, “I think I liked it better when you were mad at me.”
    Sara didn’t respond.
    “It’s Angie, right? That’s what you’re upset about?”
    These shifting levels of subterfuge were new to her. “It seems like we were ignoring that.”
    “Would you like to continue along that path?”
    Sara shrugged. She didn’t know what she wanted. The right thing to do would be to tell him that their innocent flirtation was over. She should open the door and make him leave. She should call Dr. Dale tomorrow morning and ask him out on another date. She should forget about Will and let time erase him from her memory.
    But it wasn’t her memory that was the problem. It was that tightness in her chest when she thought about him being in danger. It was that feeling of relief when he walked through the door. It was the happiness she felt just from being near him.
    He said, “Angie and I haven’t been together— together —in over a year.” Will paused, as if to let that sink in. “Not since I met you.”
    All Sara could say was, “Oh.”
    “And then when her mother died a few months ago, I saw her for maybe two hours, and she was gone. She didn’t even go to the funeral.” He paused again; this was obviously difficult for him. “It’s hard to explain our relationship. Not without making myself look pitiful and stupid.”
    “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
    He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the table. The overhead light caught the jagged scar above his mouth. The skin was pink, a fine line tracing the ridge between his upper lip and nose. Sara couldn’t begin to calculate the amount of time she’d wasted wondering how the scar would feel against her own mouth.
    Too much time.
    Will cleared his throat. He looked down at the floor, then back up at her. “You know where I grew up. How I grew up.”
    She nodded. The Atlanta Children’s Home had closed many years ago, but the abandoned building was less than five miles from where they stood.
    “Kids went away a lot. They were trying to get more of us into foster care. I guess it’s cheaper that way.” He shrugged, as if this was to be expected. “The older ones didn’t usually work out. They lasted maybe a few weeks, sometimes only a couple of days. They came back different. I guess you can imagine why.”
    Sara shook her head. She didn’t want to.
    “There wasn’t exactly a long line of people who wanted to foster an eight-year-old boy who couldn’t pass the third grade. But Angie’s a girl, and pretty, and smart, so she got sent out a lot.” Again, he shrugged. “I guess I got used to waiting for her to come back, and I guess I got used to not asking what happened while she was gone.” He pushed away from the table and picked up the boxes. “So, that’s it. Pitiful and stupid.”
    “No. Will—”
    He stopped in front of the door, the boxes held in front of him like a suit of armor. “Amanda wanted me to ask you if you know anyone at the Fulton ME’s office.”
    Sara’s brain took its time changing gears. “Probably. I did some of my training there when I started.”
    He shifted his grip. “This is from Amanda, not me. She wants you to make some calls. You don’t have to, but—”
    “What does she want to know?”
    “Anything that comes up on the autopsies. They’re not going to share with us. They want to keep this case.”
    He was turned toward the door, waiting. She looked at the back of his neck, the fine hairs at the nape. “All right.”
    “You’ve got Amanda’s number. Just call her if anything comes up. Or call her if it doesn’t. She’s impatient.” He stood waiting for her to open the door.
    Sara had spent most of the day wanting him out of her life, but now that he was leaving, she couldn’t take