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do now would only make matters worse. “Leave it alone, Sam. I mean it.”
    “I can’t. Your life is a pile of shit. Do you think I like seeing you live like this?”
    Rather than see the look of pity on Sam’s face, Trent focused on the sun-dried ground, biting into it with his shovel. “If you don’t like it, then don’t look.”
    “You’re my brother. I can’t let you go on punishing yourself for an accident.”
    Accident. It was funny how such an innocuous word could symbolize the devastation of so many lives. John’s, his wife’s, his kids’. Tyler Craft’s and his mother’s. Trent’s. “It’s none of your business.”
    “Like hell it’s not. How much longer do you think Mom and Dad can stand to see you moping around? They should be enjoying their retirement, not worrying about you.”
    “Are you telling me I should leave town?” He’d thought about it a lot lately. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Sam had taken over the family business, and it was once again running smoothly under his vigilant care. The transition from father to son was complete, and Sam didn’t need Trent’s help so much anymore.
    “No, dickhead, I’m telling you to get some help. Talk to someone.”
    “I’m not going to get my head shrinked.”
    “Fine, then talk to
me
. I’m standing right here.”
    What good would talking do? It wouldn’t change anything. “I just want to get back to work. Can we do that? Please?”
    Sam shook his head. “You’re losing it, man. You’re not like you used to be when you were a cop. You used to care. About everyone around you. About yourself.”
    “I still care.” It was another lie, but an easy one to tell.
    “Then you’ll tell Mom you’ll show up this weekend, make nice with Busty. And get a damn haircut. You look like a junkie.”
    “If that’s what it takes to get all of you to leave me the hell alone, then that’s what I’ll do.”
    Sam uttered a low curse. “If that’s the way you feel about it, then it’s already too late. You’re already dead.”
    Finally, after two years, Sam was catching on.
    After spending the day in Ashley’s home, Elise was finally starting to figure out her filing system. She found her sister’s phone bills under the phone book in the kitchen cupboard. Her credit card bills and bank statements were in her closet with her purses. Her unopened mail was on top of the washing machine, which didn’t make any sense to Elise, but probably made some to Ashley.
    The bills weren’t current enough to cover the past few days, but she was able to use them to create a pattern of Ashley’s normal routine. Nearly every weekend night, she went to Sally’s. The weeknights she spent mostly near campus at one of three coffee shops.
    Ashley had saved all of her account passwords on her computer so she wouldn’t have to remember them, which made Elise’s job of getting the most current information easy.
    What she found left her reeling in shock.
    Ashley used her bank card or credit card for everything. There were charges for a couple of dollars here and there, proving Ashley still forgot to carry cash around. Nearly every day, Ashley had purchased something, even if it was just a cup of coffee. Friday night, there was a charge at Sally’s, then nothing. Not one of her cards had been used since just before midnight on Friday.
    It was as if Ashley had fallen off the face of the planet.
    Panic grabbed Elise by the throat, cutting off her air. That sick feeling in her gut welled up until she had to sprint to the bathroom to throw up.
    Elise retched into the toilet and sank down, her knees too weak to hold her up. She sat there on the worn vinyl floor, tears streaming down her face, shaking.
    Ashley was gone. There was no hint she was still alive. No scrap of hope to which Elise could cling.
    Despair hung over her, blocking out the light and air in the room. If Ashley was dead, how could Elise go on?
    “You left the door unlocked,” said Trent from the