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?”