She closed her eyes, willing him to stop, to turn back and take her hand and lead her downstairs, or perhaps to his room, to his bed. It worked. She didn’t hear him pause, but his footsteps echoed softly through the hall, no longer walking away from her but toward her, slowly. She remained where she was, eyes shut, savoring the moment: he’d listened to her, he believed her, and somehow those two things would make it all right, erase the memory of that terrible carved image, all the inexplicable events and emotions that had torn through her since they tumbled from Holly’s car the day before.
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