Page 32 of Ghosts Don't Cry

“That’s the one.”

She sets the book down. “Lily.Howon earth is he affording that? Those houses are—” She stops to do the math in her head. I watch her expression change as she works through it. “Even renting one would be thousands a month.”

“No idea.” My voice breaks on the last word. “Nothing about this makes sense, Cass. He shows up out of nowhere, living in the nicest part of town. He looks like he’s been eating regularly.”

The last part sticks in my throat. The Ronan I knew was all sharp angles and hunger.

“There has to be an explanation. Maybe he got a good job? Saved up?”

“After five years in prison?” I shake my head. “They don’t exactly pay well for labor in there. And even if he got a job after he got out, and saved every cent, it wouldn’t be enough. Those houses are half a million minimum.”

“Maybe he has family money we didn’t know about?”

“Yeah, he’s from money … that’s why he was sleeping in an abandoned factory, stealing food, and wearing the same three shirts for months.” My voice rises. “People don’t go from that to Cedar Street.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Maybe someone is helping him?”

“Who?He had no one. That was the problem. He was alone in this town, and everyone pretended he didn’t exist.”

“Maybe he won the lottery?” Her attempt at humor falls flat.

“The last time I saw him was in that courtroom. He sat there in that orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed, and he wouldn’t even look at me.”

The memory is so vivid it might as well be happening now. The lights making everything too bright and harsh. The smell of industrial cleaner and old wood. My mom’s hand, warm and grounding.

“Seven years. Seven years, and he never reached out. Not once. He didn’t write a letter, or send a message. And now he’s just …here. Walking down Main Street like it’s nothing. Likewewere nothing.”

Cassidy lifts her mug to her lips, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. “Want me to do some digging? Rachel works at the courthouse now. She might know something. Property records are public, right? Or maybe Sarah at Mitchell’s will know what’s going on.”

The offer is tempting.Sotempting my fingers itch to grab my phone and text Rachel myself, but I shake my head.

“No.”

“Lily—”

“I don’t want to be that person.” My voice is firm. “I don’t want to be someone who stalks her ex, who digs into his life when he clearly doesn’t want me in it. And I definitely don’t want Rachel getting into trouble by sharing information she shouldn’t.”

Cassidy is quiet for a moment, studying my face. “You know it wouldn’t be stalking him. You’re trying to understand.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Intent.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “One comes from a place of control. The other comes from hurt. You’re allowed to be hurt, Lily. It’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to be shocked. No one thought he would ever come back here. You’re allowed to want answers.”

“I don’t want to be someone who can’t let go of the past.” A laughable statement when I’m sitting here surrounded by notesand his book and all the evidence of how thoroughly I’ve failed to let go.

Cassidy doesn’t call me on it. She just nods. “Okay. No digging. We’ll just … sit with it.” She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the steam rising from her coffee. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “Do you know what I remember the most about him?”

“What?”

“The way he’d look at you.” She turns to face me again. “He’d give you his full attention while everyone else got ignored. But you? When you walked into a room, it was like everyone else disappeared.”

The lump in my throat gets larger. I remember that feeling. The intensity of his attention.

“In the library, when you’d go and sit with him, he always made space for you. Slide his books over, give you the side of the table near the radiator?—"

“Cass ...” My voice breaks.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m just saying that maybe you’re not the only one carrying pieces of the past around.”