by Mira Gibson
Candice spoke about one day joining her mother in heaven and Mary followed up with warm sentiments, which Hannah had added to her eulogy right before crossing out everything the girl had written.
When they stepped down, Dale ran to them and balled them in a big hug. It turned Hannah’s stomach, but she allowed it for a beat then pried him off, telling him through her teeth to sit down.
He did and then realized it was his turn.
After getting up again, he pulled papers from his jacket’s inner pocket and as he unfolded them, Hannah gaped, counting seven sheets, words scrawled front and back. As daunting as it seemed, Dale couldn’t get through one paragraph before he collapsed into a miserable knot of sobs. His buddies peeled him off the podium, taking him to his seat again. It was then Dale gazed at the heavens, cried for Jesus Christ and called him a son of a bitch, shaking his fist to the sky and following up with threats against God he hadn’t a prayer in hell of executing.
Appalled, Hannah stared at Dale just like everyone else until she caught sight of Candice. The girl was smiling strangely. Her gaze ever locked on her mother.
It was unsettling and struck Hannah as highly abnormal.
As Dale took all the time in the world to fall silent, the pastor seemed gracious enough, exercising his patience before making excuses for Dale and offering words of hope and unity to the congregation. Then he invited everyone to the potluck outside, noting that Marjorie Abbott’s homemade coconut cookies were sinfully delicious in such a way it inferred erotic side effects.
Outside, people were gathering around the picnic tables, as Hannah guided the girls out the door, avoiding the pastor as much as Dale. At least they were hanging back.
When they reached the food Mary and Candice wedged themselves in, making small plates, as Hannah kept an eye on them and accepted condolences from a number of family friends.
Soon she spotted Dale emerging from the church, excused herself from Mr. and Mrs. Potter who in Kendra’s life had done a thorough job of acting pleasant to her face while criticizing her behind her back, and met Dale just shy of the church steps.
“I’m taking the girls to the house to pick up more of their things,” she asserted. “You stay here.”
He angled in on her, all signs of grief gone from his face. “I did you a courtesy not drawing on you when you-”
“Do not come to the house,” she warned, cutting him off. She kept her strides quick as she walked over to the girls. “Come on. We’re going to get your things.”
“We just started eating,” Mary complained.
“You can eat in the car and we can come right back,” she said, striking a deal that interested them far less than simply staying here. “Come on. Let’s go. We need to do this before your dad goes home.”
Candice shoved two coconut cookies into her mouth, chunks and crumbs falling out the corners, as she tossed her paper plate into a trash bin.
Walking to the car, Mary asked, “Am I the only one who thinks the Pastor’s kind of fucked in the head?”
***
When they reached the shack Hannah let the girls go ahead so she could check that the GLOCK 27 Cody had lent her was in proper working order. It was. She tucked it down the back of her pants then felt for the hem of her jacket, confirming the gun would remain hidden.
Then she unzipped the inner compartment of her purse, found the set of keys she’d stolen from Mary, and fit them in the front pocket of her jeans, intending to slip them back into Mary’s bin where they belonged. No one would need them anymore.
She thought about Kendra as she popped the trunk and lifted out her empty suitcase. Cody hadn’t called or texted, which she was taking as a good sign. Her mother was still alive and the longer she held on the more certain it would be she’d pull through a full recovery, tell Cody every last detail she could recall, and they’d trap the bastard. Hannah’s heart took to pounding at the thought.
Inside, the girls seemed bewildered. Candice was standing in the hall peering into her bedroom as though it frightened her, and Mary was wasting time tending to the dirty dishes in the sink.
“Grab more essentials,” Hannah instructed, “and put them in this.” She set her suitcase open in the hall between the girls' rooms. Then she doubled back for Mary. “Dale dirtied the dishes. He can clean them.”
“He won’t. He’ll live in filth and try to drink his way out of it.”
“We don’t have much time.”
Mary kept on so Hannah stepped in, taking over. Reluctant as she was, Mary finally started up the hall, leaving Hannah to scrub and ponder why in the hell that girl had a soft spot in her heart for a brute like Dale. She grit her teeth at the thought that they could be in on it together then forced the possibility out of her mind. The truth would come out soon enough and it’d come through Kendra. It was only a matter of time.
The gentle plops of the girls dropping their belongings into the suitcase gradually tapered off so Hannah cut up the hall to check their progress. Pressing their clothes down flat, she estimated the case was half full.
“More jeans and sweaters,” she suggested. “I can buy toiletries, socks, and underwear.”
With her directive they went to task.
Dale’s room seemed to pull at her. At first she eyed it from the hall, thinking that would quell the itch. Comforter and sheets torn up in a mess on the bed, beer cans littering the floor, his nightstand lamp struggling to conquer the darkness, everything about his room reflected his dysfunction. But glimpsing it didn’t satisfy her curiosity so Hannah took to milling through, observing the nooks and crannies as though they might tell her his secrets.
She hadn’t heard the front door unlock, ease open. She didn’t hear his footsteps cross the living room. She had no idea Dale had come home until his mountainous shape filled the doorway.
Hannah drew her weapon fast, aiming her GLOCK at the wall of his chest before he even reached for his.
He wasn’t fazed.
She realized she couldn’t hear the girls. “Where are they?”
“They’re staying.”
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“Safe and sound in Candice’s room.” He slowly raised his hands, but it could only be mock surrender.
“Don't you see what you’ve done to them? They lock themselves in their rooms to get away from you.” As she spoke, Hannah grew acutely aware of the fact she was trapped between the bed and the far wall, the nightstand behind her.
“You're not taking them.” He crept towards her with shallow, confident steps. “Doesn’t have to be like this, Hannah.”
“Stay where you are,” she warned. “I’ll shoot.”
“And I’m sure the crows you hit will be very sorry.” He kept on. “I know you’re not going to fire at me with the girls in the house.”
“You killed her.”
The statement fazed him as much as her weapon.
She grimaced at the thought he’d pulled Mary into this, forced Candice to stand naked in the woods, perhaps recruited his sick buddies to move Kendra’s body. She wanted so badly to throw it in his face that he’d failed, that Kendra was alive. “I don’t know how you did it, but I know it was you.”
“You’re a stupid woman,” he spat through his teeth. “You don’t have half the brains your sisters do.”
“I said stop!”
He lunged for her, advancing in fast strides, as Hannah leapt to the bed, stumbled over it, boot tangling in the blanket, her chances of keeping her gun trained on him ruined.
Slamming into the wall, Dale turned fast on his heel, and charged along the bed toward her, while she fought to beat him through the door.
She didn’t hear him draw his weapon, as she tripped out of the blanket that refused to release her, palms smacking hard against the floor the second he fired.
“Shit!” She screamed, bullet zinging past her, every inch of her quaking to register whether or not she’d been hit.
She hadn’t.
Scrambling she made it to the doorway, just as Dale barreled at her. Her gaze locked on Mary and it scrambled her brain. Why was she in the hall? Why did she have a chair?
Thinking fast, Hannah hooked her fingers around the door, rushing into the hallway and slamming the door in his face.
Mary wrestled the doorknob, struggling to hold the door shut, Dale tugging hard on it from inside. Then she lost her grip, Dale winning, but Hannah caught it.
The door bounced in and out of its frame, banging and cracking, as Hannah shouted, “Get the keys in my pocket! The right pocket!”
Mary shoved her fingers down her jeans and yanked them loose then quickly clambered onto the chair, hands shaking as she searched frantically for the right key.
Dale was yelling, tugging harder and harder on the door and Hannah went flying with it. Then she dug deep, yanking it with all her might into the frame just as Mary fit the key in the lock overhead.
Straining to hold it shut, every muscle trembling, face wincing in her effort, Hannah glanced up at Mary, who finally managed to turn the key.
“Come on!” She grabbed the suitcase, kicked the chair aside, and shoved Mary forward down the hall just as Dale started firing at the doorframe, aiming to bust the lock off. “Where’s your sister?! Candice!”
Deafening pops stung her ears, but she pushed Mary onward, while dragging the suitcase, tearing through the living room and out the door.
Candice was leaning against her Taurus, casually eyeing the fall foliage as though it was any other lazy afternoon.
“Get in the car, damn it!” She ordered, hauling the suitcase towards the trunk. “He’ll kill us all!”
“He didn’t kill Mom,” Candice told her, a strange glint in her eye.
“What?” Out of breath, she hoisted the suitcase inside the trunk, slammed it shut, then started for Candice. “How do you know?” Hannah bent to eye level and took fast hold of her shoulders. “Do you know who did that to Mom?” She shook her. “Do you?”
Hannah tried to read her expression, but all she saw was smugness, which couldn’t be right.
Soon Mary was tugging on her arm, jerking Candice away from the door, yanking it open then throwing her in. She slammed the door fast when Candice cleared the door-jam.
Shots kept coming from inside the house, but they sounded a hell of a lot closer than Dale’s room by the time Hannah and Mary jumped in. Hannah turned the engine, but it wouldn't start.
"Fuck! Don't do this to me now!" She tried again and again, all the while Mary was panicking she had to hurry up, get them out of there. "I'm trying!"
All of a sudden, Dale barged through the front door, took bad aim and fired, engine turning just in time.
Kicking up dirt and dust under squealing tires, she flew in reverse, hooking around and dodging bullets. Candice went flying in the backseat and slammed against the inner door. The vehicle bucked when she jerked the gear shifter into Drive and the second she stomped on the gas, pedal to metal, a bullet shattered her back window.
Cutting a hard left at the end of the drive and tearing down the road, the trees shielded them, though Dale fired and fired.
Once they'd driven a safe distance, Hannah's gaze snapped to the rearview, checking her sister was alive.
Candice looked like she was sneering.
“If you know something, you have to tell me,” She demanded, catching her breath, but Candice straightened her mouth, softly gazing out the window, and started belting out that low tone. Hannah looked over at Mary.
The girl was smiling when their eyes met.
“I saved you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The majority of Sanbornton’s residents lived below the poverty line, though it wasn’t a fixed given. Hermit Lake, located on the northern edge of town, attracted rich and poor alike. Some had shacks as depressed as the Cole’s, while others boasted higher means like Cody’s modest Colonial.
On the western shoreline, where the fetch lain out in chaotic jags and jetties, lived Sanbornton’s wealthiest. They’d bought land and built three-story estates, some cabins as if they could hide their means, while others erected Art Deco designs that clashed with the landscape as though they hadn’t quite embraced the setting.
Whether they had or hadn’t one thing was true, the richest of the rich dominated this stretch of land and Hannah felt like a trespasser because of it.
She’d entrusted Mary to look after Candice, who’d been acting more and more out of sorts, smugly provocative one minute, shyly defensive the next. Before the sun had set, Hannah found her with a dead mouse, the girl grinning at it, pressing its soft body between her palms. Her intuition told her Candice had killed it, but the very concept disturbed her so greatly Hannah chose denial instead, pinching the thing by its tail and walking it out to the trash bins in front of the garage.
They’d be fine for an hour or two, or so that was what she’d told herself. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have been able to make the drive to 74 Center Point Road and brave a knock on her real father’s door.
As she eased towards the house, headlights bouncing off the front and revealing its Colonial Revival design - stately, white columns supporting the portico, windows defined by dark shutters, and four chimneys jutting from its shingled roof that she had to lean over the steering wheel and crane her neck just to see; she couldn’t help but wonder who she’d be if he’d stayed in her life. Would she be just as screwed up as Mary, as tormented as Candice? Would she be just like him? Maybe she was already.
Unlike most lakeshore homes which had been built with the lake in back, Walter Warfield’s ran parallel to the water, the lake to its left, a light dusting of trees straight ahead, which Hannah had driven around, following his winding driveway.
She noted most of the windows were aglow, the lights on inside, indicating Walter was likely home. Then she killed the headlights, next the engine, and stepped out of her car and into the whipping wind.
It was freezing, but that didn’t embolden her to reach the portico quickly. Nothing about Hannah in this moment felt bold. For a man she’d envisioned to be her hero countless times, it had only recently occurred to her he might be anything but, and a biting mix of hope and dread filled her chest because of it.
What had happened between her mother and him all those years ago that Kendra had regarded as unspeakable? Had it foreshadowed Kendra’s attack and would it lead Hannah to answers so long as she was audacious enough to knock on his lofty door?
There was only one way to find out.
She pounded hard so she wouldn’t have to do it twice then stepped back and willed her racing heart to calm.
The passing moment felt like an eternity then the door swung inward revealing a towering man whose face looked so much like Hannah’s her heart skipped a beat. Every feature - the dark eyebrows cutting clean across the forehead, the delicate nose bridged with a classic English curve, the wide mouth, fuller lower lip, thin upper one with an angelic cleft, the strong jawline and high cheekbones, every detail appeared to be the same. They shared it all, though his were aged.
Then she realized his eyes. Walter’s were deep set, large, and the faintest gray-blue, not at all like her own. And their expressions differed as well. His was thoroughly devoid of emotion as if he'd been carved from stone. Soulless.
“Hi.” Her voice cracked when she ventured to speak so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry to come unannounced. I’m...” she trailed off, sensing his impatience though he hadn’t said a word, only stared at her. “I’m Hannah Cole. I’m your daughter.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t stomach seeing him possibly wrestling with the aggravation, disinterest, or perhaps disappointment her presence might have inspired. That’s when she noticed white gauze poking up from his shirt collar. Two strips of surgical tape held it in place where the left side of his neck extended from his collarbone.
“I know this is terribly rude of me to stop by unannounced,” she blathered on
when he hadn’t said anything. “I wanted to tell you in person that my mother, Kendra Cole has passed away.”
“Yes, I heard.” His voice came without emotion, deep and smooth, years younger than his face. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to come in?”
Hannah smiled nervously then accepted, passing through into a grand foyer of marble floors and arched ceilings. She paused awkwardly, waiting for him to close the door.
“Hannah Cole,” he mused on a melodic yet breathy chuckle as if becoming human. “Should I be worried you’re here to chew me out for not playing a role in your life?”
“No, not at all,” she was quick to say, feeling a bit lighter now that he’d addressed the estrangement.
“That’s a relief,” he said over his shoulder leading her into his living room.
As Hannah took in the decorum - a plush, leather sofa, brown and shiny, flanked by end tables topped with lamps which appeared to be alabaster, a coffee table made of glass and framed in thin steel, she discerned a few medical journals fanned across it.
“Please, have a seat,” he told her. “Can I offer you water? I also have coffee and espresso. Or soda, juice, milk perhaps?”
Who the hell wanted milk?
“Actually, a drink would be nice. I’m nervous,” she admitted, "whiskey?"
Smiling in a way that struck her as condescending, he said, “I don't believe in alcohol or any substance that alters consciousness.”
She didn't quite know what to make of that so she simply said, "Water would be fine."
“Easy enough,” he mused, leaving her momentarily.
Her mind went suddenly blank as soon as she was alone, overwhelmed with the importance of finding the best point of entry to initiate the conversation. Then Hannah realized she wasn’t choking because she feared she’d blow her shot. She was panicking because she was terrified to say the right thing and break the dam of Kendra’s life long secret. The prospect of hearing the truth daunted her.
