Page 1 of Love and Other Lost Things

PROLOGUE

TEN YEARS AGO

The minute the front door slammed shut, Jane McCaffrey peeled herself off the floor of her bedroom and clambered unsteadily to her feet. Every muscle protested, begging her to lie back down on the soft carpet until the pain in her body eased. But she didn’t have time to wait for the pounding in her head or the throbbing in her bones to subside. And as for the deeper ache in her heart…

That would never, ever heal.

From between the slats in the window blind, Jane watched the sedan back out of the driveway and accelerate down the street. Mom and Dad were off to a fundraiser for the Linden Falls Police Foundation, and they’d taken the patrol car. Normally, Jane wouldn’t have paid attention to the vehicle they drove but, as she watched the taillights round the corner and disappear from sight, the loss threatened to overwhelm her.

Her guitar was in the back of that car. Last night, Jane had watched Dad toss it inside like it was nothing more than a rag doll. She’d heard the thunk of the case as it bounced on the leather seat and slammed into the opposite door. Felt the thrum of the strings vibrate across the instrument. A jangling, dissonant E minor chord. She’d never know if the force had damaged the body, cracked the neck. Either way, that guitar was lost for good.

Jane pushed away from the window, and the motion sent a shooting pain from her collarbone to her sternum. Fleetingly, she wondered if one of her ribs was cracked. In the mirror over the dresser, Jane caught a glimpse of her reflection. A reddish contusion marked her cheekbone near her left eye where blood had pooled under her skin. The image was sadly familiar and foreign at the same time. Years of experience watching similar discoloration form on Mom’s face told Jane that, by tomorrow, the bruise would be an ugly tie-dyed design of dark purples. But Jane had never seen those marks on her own face before.

And I will never see them again.

Her body vibrating to its own off-key melody, Jane turned away from the mirror and raced out into the hallway as quickly as her unsteady legs would allow. She yanked open the closet door and reached for Dad’s old camping backpack, ducking to avoid the swinging nylon straps as she slid it off the upper shelf. He was going to be mad when he went to pack for his next fishing trip and found it missing.

Jane hesitated. She’d be long gone by then, but Dad would take out his anger on Mom. He’d do that anyway when he found Jane missing, though, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Jane had never been able to protect Diane McCaffrey from her police-chief husband.

All she could do now was protect herself.

And Nik.

With that thought, Jane’s body went limp, and she sagged against the wall, dropping the backpack to her side. “Nik,” she whispered. Could she really leave him behind after everything that had happened between them? All their plans, all the promises they’d made.

All the love they’d shared.

Jane took a shaky breath, closing her eyes and allowing herself one last memory of his hand sliding under her dress, hot against her thigh. His lips pressed to her neck. The absolute rightness of being in his arms.

But if I stay, it will destroy us both.

The thought sliced through her like the splinters from the stair railing had cut into her skin the night before. Jane’s eyes flew open.

Dad hated the police foundation fundraisers. He would put in an appearance and make the rounds, joking with the donors and complimenting their wives like he was the good guy everyone believed him to be. But as soon as Dad could get away, he would head home to where Jane and Mom knew the truth about what kind of guy he was. Jane calculated she had two hours, maybe three.

Clutching the strap of the backpack, she dragged it into her room and tossed it on the bed. She had no idea what to pack. No idea where she was going except that it was somewhere far away from here. Somewhere they’d never think to look for her.

Jane threw in jeans, T-shirts, underwear. She was probably going to need to find a job, so she stuffed in a couple of dresses, a pair of black trousers, and a white blouse. And then she gazed around the room. The bulletin board above the desk was a tribute to a life that was already long gone. Dances and band concerts and smiling selfies with Hannah, Ali, and Nik.

Her college acceptance letter from Cornell.

Some other student would be taking her spot. Dad had already withdrawn Jane’s enrollment that morning. He’d spoken to the woman at the registrar’s office in that same tone he used to charm the donors at the police foundation fundraiser. Kindly, like he had his daughter’s best interest at heart. The registrar woman couldn’t see his vicious grin through the phone, but Jane saw it. He’d made her sit on his recliner in the living room and watch him make that call.

Jane set her phone on the desk and then scrawled a quick message on the flowered notepad next to it. I’m leaving. Don’t bother looking for me. Hopefully, they wouldn’t see it until morning. She was eighteen, and legally allowed to move out if she wanted. But this way Mom would know she hadn’t been kidnapped or something. And maybe they truly wouldn’t come looking for her.

Jane lifted the backpack and settled it as gingerly as possible on her back. And then she limped down the stairs, keeping her eyes on the wall in front of her so she wouldn’t have to think about what those steps had looked like when they’d come hurtling toward her face.

She exited through the kitchen, out the back door. It would be a short walk through the woods to Route 8, the winding two-lane highway that would take her to the bus station in Westbrook. From there, Jane could go anywhere.

Anywhere but here.

ONE

PRESENT DAY

The first thing Jane noticed as she steered her sedan off the highway onto the winding country road leading to her hometown was the crows. A massive flock of crows flitting through the ominous gray sky like flecks of pepper spilled across the kitchen floor. A shiver slipped up her spine as that image called to mind another one—over a decade old now but still fresh—the fear in Mom’s eyes as she rushed to get the broom and hide the broken salt and pepper shakers in the garbage before Dad got home.

You never knew. Dad might have laughed affectionately and made a joke about Mom’s clumsiness. Or he might’ve?—

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