Free Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 by Marie Sexton

Nothing too bad could come from him taking an afternoon off, and it sure beat the idea of getting drunk and letting ancient regrets get the best of him.
“You’re on,” he said to Frances. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Six
    Dante’s old bedroom felt full of ghosts.
It was still the same room. The same bed he’d shared with Daisy, usually both of them trying to ignore the person on the other side. There was an armoire, now mostly empty, and a rocking chair he’d built for her when they were first married. He remembered her saying, “It’ll be a perfect place to rock the baby to sleep.”
Except, of course, there hadn’t ever been any babies. Not for he and Daisy, at any rate, but she’d sat in that chair many times, listening to their nephews cry in the neighbouring rooms. Dante had felt the weight of her gaze on him.
He left the room and its ghosts behind. He went down to the kitchen, hoping to find Tama. He did find her, but just as he stepped into the kitchen from the hallway, Cami and Aren walked into it from the outside.
Dante stopped dead in the doorway. It would be rude to turn around and walk away. Then again, they both knew they didn’t want to see each other. Why pretend otherwise?
Aren’s normally golden-pale skin turned pink, and Dante had a feeling he was thinking the same thing, wondering if he could bolt and have it appear casual. The two women stood there watching—Tama tense and Cami seemingly confused at the sudden awkwardness in the room.
“Hello,” Dante said at last.
“I’m sorry,” Aren said.
It was a strange thing for him to say, and the sudden deepening of his blush indicated that he thought so too.
I’m sorry, too, Dante thought . But not for the same things.
Aren cleared his throat and turned to indicate Cami, standing behind him. “Last time Cami came through it was only for one night, and she stayed downstairs, in Gordon’s old room. But since this time you’ll be here for several days, I thought maybe we could find her something more comfortable.”
Aren’s suggestion annoyed Dante at first—not because it didn’t make sense, but because it did . Because, as always, Aren seemed to be ahead of him. Dante’s gut instinct was to tell Aren it was none of his damn business where people slept while visiting Jeremiah’s ranch, but he knew his reaction wasn’t rational. Aren was right, of course. Gordon’s old room was downstairs, and it was cold and oppressive. Olsa seemed to like it down there in the basement, but nobody else would choose that if they had another option.
“Of course,” Dante said. He looked over at Tama, who shrugged.
“Alissa took Brighton’s old room, but Cami could sleep in the one that belonged to the boys. I’ll get some fresh sheets.”
Not her boys, but Brighton’s boys, who had died with their parents at the Austin Ranch.
“Come on,” Dante said to Cami. “I’ll show you the way.” He was relieved to have an excuse to leave Aren and the kitchen behind. He suspected Aren felt the same.
Cami followed him upstairs and into the boys’ room. If Dante had thought his room held ghosts, this one seemed worse. It was clear nothing had been changed since the day the boys had left it, heading off to visit their grandparents at the Austin ranch—a trip nobody had come home from.
Cami walked silently through it, her fingers trailing through the dust on the footboard of the bed. She stopped to eye the items sitting as if on display on the windowsill—an assortment of things that would have been strange to anybody but a young boy—string, rocks, the skull of some rodent-like animal. There was the torn piece of a playing card, and a small, clumsily carved piece of wood that was probably supposed to be a horse, or a dog, or maybe a deer. There was a stick, one end worn smooth by young hands, and a dried snake skin, and a piece of antler that had probably come from an elk. It was a collection much as Dante himself had once had. Cami touched each thing in