Chapter 6
I’M EXHAUSTED BY THE TIME I CLIMB INTO BED.
BUT SLEEP DOESN’T come easy. As usual, my anxiety was on full alert during the dinner at Ruth’s.
There’s so much about myself that I have to tiptoe around.
Things that most people wouldn’t understand.
My chaotic childhood, failed marriage to a cheating man who borrowed money from criminals.
My fear that they’ll track me down here.
Eventually I nod off only to be jolted awake hours later by voices outside.
I shuffle to my feet and pad down the hardwood hallway.
A rapid knock hammers on the front door.
I glance at my phone, which I’d grabbed from the nightstand.
It’s just after six a.m. Dark but a tinge of dawn coming through the windows.
I grab my jacket and throw it over my pajamas.
Ruth stands on my porch with Larry at her side. Jeffrey stands behind them holding a large, chunky flashlight.
“Sorry to wake you so early, Emma.”
“No problem. What’s the matter?”
Ruth sniffs, her silver hair blowing across her forehead. “It’s Simon. He’s wandered off again.” Her voice trembles. “We’ve looked all over the house and yard, but we can’t find him. I wondered …”
“I’ll help. Let me get my shoes on.”
She nods and turns to Jeffrey. “Check Emma’s backyard.” He takes off around the house without a word.
I slip into my boots, zip up my jacket, and step out into the cold morning.
Jeffrey meets us down at the road. “Simon’s not back there,” he says, his eyes on the pavement.
Ruth blows out a breath. “I changed the locks. I don’t know how he got out this time.” Her gaze shifts to the lake, which sits cold and dark in front of us, water rhythmically lapping the shore, making subtle noise in the quiet morning.
“Where should we look?” I ask, nudging her back from her thoughts.
Before Ruth answers, Noah appears beside me shrugging into his coat. “Find anything yet?” he asks.
Ruth shakes her head.
“I searched my yard,” Noah says. “And went into the woods a ways, but I didn’t see any sign of him. Do you want to head down the road?”
“Yes,” Ruth says. “Let’s split up. You and Emma go that way, and we’ll go the other way. If we haven’t found him by the time we meet, I’ll call Aubrey.” She puts her hand to her mouth. “And nine-one-one, I guess.”
I walk next to Noah while he shines a flashlight in front of us, but the sun is coming up now and the darkness has lifted leaving a gray misty day in its place.
“Does Simon wander away often?” I ask.
“A couple of times that I’ve been here, but he usually doesn’t go far.”
I shiver in the chilly morning air and wish I had on more than pj’s beneath my thin jacket. Noah is wearing glasses, and his hair is mussed, but he managed to dress in jeans, a sweater, and a heavy coat.
I’ve gotten familiar with the narrow road from my morning runs, the lake water only a few feet from the pavement, and I hope that Simon didn’t slip into its murky depths.
I wonder why the road was put in so close, forcing the houses to be built across the way.
To access the docks, you have to walk across the road, not a big deal, but I wonder why it was laid out this way.
It seems like it wouldn’t take much to run your car off the road in the dark and into the water if you weren’t careful.
Noah calls Simon’s name periodically, but there’s no answer except for the occasional rustle in the woods of forest creatures and the wind through the trees. We round the bend and are nearly at the Thompsons’ house when we see something lying on the road. Noah and I jog together toward the figure.
Simon, wearing red pajamas and no coat, is stretched out on his stomach, arms angled outward as if he’d swan-dived to the pavement. His glasses, bent and broken, lie just beyond his head, which is covered in blood, matting his gray hair.
Noah drops to his knees and feels for a pulse on the old man’s neck. “He’s cold, Emma.”
“Dead?”
“I think so. I can’t feel a pulse or anything.” Noah gets to his feet, pulls out his phone.
I hear a door slam somewhere ahead and Aubrey, in a long pink bathrobe, runs toward us with Dale on her heels.
“What happened?” she screams, her blond hair fluttering in the wind.
Dale covers his mouth. “Oh, shit.” He stumbles back away from the body. “Is he …?”
“Yeah,” Noah says. He slips out of his coat and lays it across Simon. “I called nine-one-one.”
Ruth, Larry, and Jeffrey hurry toward us. Ruth stumbles and drops to her knees next to her husband. She lays a hand on his head as if comforting a child, and tears slide down her cheeks. Ruth’s hand comes away bloodied. She doesn’t seem to notice as sobs wrack her slim frame.