The Midnight Estate #4
caught his eye over the gate. He took two steps in that direction instead, until he could see into the backyard.
Marie was standing in the center of the long, narrow yard. She was drenched through, her arms wrapped around her waist, crying softly as she stared down at her waterlogged shoes. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Silas hesitated.
What was she doing out there in that horrendous weather? Was she having some kind of episode? He wasn’t equipped to help a
near stranger with something so serious. He wouldn’t even know where to begin.
But he’d tracked down her house not so much to drop off the book and then leave, as he’d been telling himself all morning
he would do, but to check on her. And now that he knew she was very much not okay, he couldn’t just walk away. As Silas opened the gate, Marie looked up and he saw a bolt of terror in her eyes. She held
up her hands and waved him back.
“I just wanted—” he started to shout, but her eyes grew frantic and she pressed a trembling finger over her lip. Silas cursed
under his breath, then jogged through the backyard to hold the umbrella over her head.
“What on earth are you doing out here?” he asked her. Her eyes were red-raw, her nose not much better. She looked up at him
with desperation and genuine fear in her gaze, sobbing so hard her breathing was labored. “Marie, tell me how can I help.”
“You have to leave before he gets home,” she choked. “He’ll kill me, Silas. You have to go.”
A shiver went down Silas’s spine. He’ll kill me. It wasn’t hyperbole—he could see in Marie’s eyes that she believed this was a real possibility. As he stared down at the
woman in that driving rain, his vision began to blur, and for just a moment his eyes betrayed him. Marie faded until he saw
his mother in her place. Silas saw countless bystanders turning away and deciding this is not my problem. Even that one time a neighbor did call the police on Frank, that was their response: This is a private matter between a husband and his wife.
“Please go,” Marie begged. “Please. He could be home any minute.”
“At least take the umbrella,” Silas said, and then he looked around and saw a shelter at the back door. “Or go stand under
the awning—”
“I can’t. Please. Please just go.”
Silas hesitated again, but she pushed his arm, and he could feel how icy her skin was even through his shirt. He sighed and
tried to hand her the umbrella but she wouldn’t take it.
“We’ll talk at the diner?” he said. She gave a helpless shrug.
Silas let himself out the gate and went back to Maeve’s car. As he was struggling to put down the umbrella, he saw an elderly
man stepping out onto the front doorstop of the house next door.
“Eh, thought you were Rupert,” the man said. Silas frowned and squinted at him.
“Mr Peterson?” One of his old science teachers, who also happened to be one of his mother’s very best work friends from her
time in the administration block at the high school.
“Silas? Well, I’ll be damned. Come over here, son!”
Silas hesitated, glancing between his car and the backyard. From his vantage point Mr Peterson couldn’t possibly have seen
Marie standing out there, freezing half to death in the rain. But Silas wondered—if the old man lived next door to Rupert
and Marie, perhaps he’d overheard some things. Perhaps he could shed some light on how Silas could help.
So Silas jogged to the doorstep and crowded under the awning to shake Mr Peterson’s hand.
“You missed a beautiful service, son,” Mr Peterson said sadly. “Linda was too damned young. Life is just not fair. Your mother
was a remarkable woman.”
“Thank you, sir. I know.”
“What on earth are you doing here? I have to say, young Marie and Rupert don’t get many visitors.”
“I just had a book to drop off to her.”
“I assume she got inside?”
Silas hesitated, unsure if he should lie. But Mr Peterson didn’t wait for a response.
“Silly thing left her keys inside, had to use my phone to call Rupert to come let her in.”
“Is she okay, Mr Peterson?” Silas blurted.
“Your mother?” Mr Peterson suddenly looked confused, and Silas felt a pang. The man had to be close to ninety years old; perhaps
his faculties were starting to go.
“Marie. Is Marie okay?”
“Oh, yes. Linda used to boast about you all the time, son. I know all about your beautiful wife and that son of yours. You
live in Australia, don’t you?”
“Mr Peterson—”
“In that small town way out in the middle of nowhere with the kangaroos. And how could I forget, it has the same name as the
magazine!”
“Marie, Mr Peterson. Is she okay there with Rupert? Do you . . . notice anything?”
“Very quiet couple,” Mr Peterson said, and then he smiled to himself. “Yes, a lovely couple.”
“Please, sir. Could you keep an eye on her? I just have a feeling . . .” Silas’s throat worked, but the words just wouldn’t come.
“She’s got herself a terrific young husband there, Silas,” Mr Peterson said quietly, his gaze a little cloudy. “Don’t you
worry about our Marie. I mean—look at that house. Have you ever seen anything as grand as all that? She’s doing fine. Just
fine.”