Chapter Forty-Five Raine
Chapter Forty-Five
Raine
I dozed in fits in the hospital chair. The back dug into me, forcing me to shift. Each time my eyes closed, Maria appeared. Standing over me. Pointing. Her mouth was open in a silent accusation. “You and Amy . . . what game are you playing?”
“Mommy!”
Molly’s scream snapped me awake. I jerked forward, the purple dragon tumbling from my lap to the floor.
I grabbed the toy and stumbled to her bed. “Molly, I’m here.”
The child’s watery eyes fluttered open. When she met my gaze, panic flared. “Amy, where’s Mommy?”
In a breath, the complexity of Gabe and Amy’s affair hit hard. “I’m not Amy, honey. I’m Raine.”
I smoothed my hand over the child’s head.
I’d counseled grieving people before. I’d learned that lying to avoid pain usually ended badly. But I’d never had this conversation with a child. “Mommy is gone, baby.”
“Gone where?”
Unshed tears clogged my throat. “She and Daddy went to live with God. In heaven.”
Confusion tightened the girl’s face. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Molly’s lips trembled. “When are they coming back?”
My chest clenched. “They aren’t coming back, honey.” I’d debated how to tell Molly. But no scenario I’d run was exactly right.
The child’s distant stare told me she didn’t understand. The news hadn’t penetrated her addled mind. It was too much to process.
Her brow furrowed. “Why did Mommy leave? She said she loved me.”
“She did, honey, she did.” The words sounded flat and insignificant. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her lip trembled. “I want Mommy.”
I tucked the stuffed animal close to her, wishing I had her toys. Molly pushed the purple creature away.
“I’m sorry, Molly,” I said.
“I want my mommy,” she said.
“Do you want me to call your grandmother?” I asked.
“I don’t want Grandma,” Molly said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“She’s not fun. She yells.”
“Grandmas aren’t fun. But that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
Molly shook her head, her lips pursed. The child wanted her old life back. And I couldn’t give it to her.
“We don’t have to do anything now,” I said. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep and figure it out in the morning.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Will Mommy be back then?”
“No, honey,” I said. “It’s you and me now.”
I made small talk, told a story about the dinosaur—his name was Ernie. He was magical. Squeeze him tight, and he’ll make you feel better.
Finally, Molly drifted off to sleep. I held her hand. When her breathing slowed to a steady pace, I closed my eyes.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
I sat up, still gripping her hand.
Judson stood by her door. Hat in hand, a grave expression chiseled into his features. “How are you doing?” he asked.
It was good to see him. “I’m fine. It’s Molly I’m worried about.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“No.” A nurse entered the room. Checked vitals. When she left, I rose, carefully pulling my hand from Molly’s. I beckoned Judson to the hallway.
He was clearly tired. A dark beard shadowed his chin, and his shoulders weren’t rigid as they normally were. “How is she?”
I swiped away a tear. “Confused and upset.”
“I’ll reach out to county social services for grief counseling.”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “That would help.”
“How’re you doing?”
“I don’t know.” A smile flickered at the edges of my lips. It was a coping reaction that was becoming overused lately. “But I’ll figure it out.”
“All you can do.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came to check on you. And ask a question.”
“Okay.”
His thumb traced the rim of his hat with a calloused thumb. “When is the last time you saw Amy Stocker?”
“High school. Right before I left.”
“How did she take it when she had to leave Hale House?”
“She wanted to stay on as the caretaker. But I couldn’t let her.”
“You never heard from her again?”
“No.”
“But she never forgot the place.”
“She didn’t end up there by coincidence.”
“I don’t think so.” He sighed. “The medical examiner estimates she’s been dead about a week.”
“How was she found?”
“I traced her phone to the location.”
“Why?”
“She was having an affair with Gabe. I wanted to interview her.”
I ticked back through the calendar. “She died before Maria?”
“Yes,” he said. “Do you still keep hunting cameras on Hale land?”
“Yes.” Large tracts of land had trouble with poachers, even though the land was posted with “No Trespassing” signs. “Gabe mounted them. Just out of prison, he needed cash work. I don’t know if they’re still operational.”
“Where are they?”
On my phone I opened the app that marked each approximate location. “There are six.”
He studied the dots blinking on the map. “Text me your log-in information.”
“Sure.” I shared the details with him. “I told him to mount a few near the creek so he could watch for poachers. A few cameras are near the main house, but I’m not sure about the precise lens angles.”
“I can ask Edith what she knows.”
“Better you than me. She’s not thrilled with me right now. I think she’s going to fight me for Molly.”
“I’ll talk to her,” he said. “If she doesn’t know, I’ll walk the land and look for the cameras. They might have recorded any trespassers.”
“The data cards are good for a month. They won’t reset for another week.”
“Good.”
Silence pressed between us.
Once, I could read Judson’s thoughts. Since Mom’s death, his face had become a locked vault. I hadn’t seen past it since.
What would it have been like if Mom hadn’t died? Or if she’d died in her bed? How different would our lives have been?
“When are you and Molly leaving the hospital?” he asked.
“She’s spending the night now.” The physical space between us was a sliver. But the emotional divide was immense. “I’m staying with her.”
“I’ll drive you two back to Hale House.”
“I’ll need a car seat.”
“I’ll find one at the station.”
“Thanks, Judson.”
“Nothing to thank me for.”