“How’d he take that?”
Gretchen choked up and a tear formed at the corner of her eye. “He started to cry. I told him not to, that everything was going to be okay. That he wouldn’t have to stay with me all that long.”
“What were you planning to do?” I asked.
Gretchen looked into my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea.”
“On the way to Promise Falls, I’d made up my mind. I was going to … I was going to …”
“You wouldn’t have hurt him.”
She couldn’t look at me. “I hope not. It’s like, for a while there, I was possessed or something. I wasn’t myself. I was going to get even, make things right. But when I saw him, once I had him in the car …”
“You couldn’t do it,” I said.
“He’s a lovely boy,” she said, looking at me again. “He really is. You must be so proud of him.”
“I am,” I said.
“But once I’d taken him, I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you just came back to Rochester.”
She nodded sadly. “I’m very ashamed of myself. I am.”
“You have no idea what you’ve put us through,” I said.
“I know.”
“My mother, I don’t know that she can ever forgive herself for letting Ethan out of her sight.”
“I’ll tell her I’m sorry. I will. Don’t you get a chance to make some sort of statement when they sentence you? Don’t you get to say something to the family?”
I felt so tired.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said.
Gretchen was confused. “I don’t understand. I kidnapped your son. I have to be punished for that.”
I reached across the table and put a hand on hers. “I think you’ve been punished enough. You and your husband.” I paused. “By my wife.”
“Even if you don’t want me arrested, she might,” Gretchen said.
“No,” I said. “She won’t. She’s dead.”
Gretchen gasped. “What? When?”
“About four hours ago,” I said. “Her past—one of them—caught up with her. So there’s no one to get even with anymore. She’s gone. And the truth is, you may have saved Ethan by taking him away when you did.”
“That doesn’t excuse me,” she said.
All that matters to me, at this moment, is that my son is okay, and that he’s not in any danger. I’ll do what I can to persuade the police not to charge you. I won’t cooperate if they want me to testify.”
“I made him a late dinner,” Gretchen said, not hearing me. “He settled down after a while, and I made him some macaroni and cheese.”
“He likes that.”
“I knew I was going to have to call you. I was going to do it in the morning. But I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep, not knowing where he was, so I decided to call when I did.”
“I’m glad.” I took my hand off hers. “I’d like to get my son now.”
“You’d be welcome to sleep on the couch again, go in the morning.”
“Thank you for the offer,” I said, “but no.”
Gretchen led me upstairs. I sat on the edge of the bed. Ethan stirred, rolled over.
“Ethan,” I whispered, touching his shoulder gently. “Ethan.”
He opened his eyes slowly, blinked a couple of times to adjust for the light spilling in from the hall.
“Hi, Dad,” he said.
“Time to go,” I said.
“Back to our house?” he said hopefully.
“Not for a while yet,” I said. Maybe never. “Probably Nana and Poppa’s. But I’m going to be with you.”
I pulled back the covers. He was still dressed, his shoes on the floor next to the bed.
“I didn’t have any pajamas for him,” Gretchen said apologetically.
I nodded. As I helped Ethan sit up, Gretchen handed me his shoes. While I was slipping them on his feet and securing them with the Velcro straps, he said, “That’s Aunt Gretchen.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“She picked me up at Nana’s.”
“I hear she made you macaroni and cheese.”
“Yup.”
Once I had his shoes on, I picked him up, let him rest his head on my shoulder, and went back downstairs.
“I hope Horace will be okay,” I said as Gretchen opened the door for me.
“Thank you,” she said. “But you just worry about your boy.” She patted Ethan on the head. “Bye-bye.”
“Bye, Aunt Gretchen,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
I carried him to Dad’s car and belted him into the safety seat in the back. I was about to turn the key when Ethan asked, “Did you find Mommy?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is she home?” he asked.
I took my hand away from the key, got out of the front seat and into the back. I closed the door behind me and snuggled in close to Ethan, taking his hands into mine.
“No,” I said. “She’s gone away. She won’t be coming back to us. But you have to know she loves you more than life itself.”
“Is she mad at me?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” I said. “She could never be mad at you.” I paused, then found the words I wanted. “The last thing she did, she did for you.”
Ethan nodded tiredly, cried a little, then yawned and fell back asleep. I kept holding him. We were still there like that when the sun came up.
Acknowledgments
Let’s start with booksellers. You wouldn’t have this in your hands—or on your eReader—without them. I am most grateful for the enthusiasm shown by those people who’ve turned their love of books into a life’s work. It doesn’t matter how many ads you may see or reviews you may read, nothing sells a novel better than a bookseller putting it in your hands and saying, “You really should try this.”
Thank you.
I’d be nowhere without my good friend and agent, Helen Heller. She knows a good story, and she knows a bad one, and she’s never afraid to tell me which kind I’m writing. Her instincts and advice are invaluable.
I am deeply indebted to Gina Centrello, Nita Taublib, Danielle Perez, and everyone else at Bantam for their dedication and support.
Keith Williams, of Williams Distinctive Gems, filled me in on diamonds. At the Vaughan Press Centre, where the Toronto Star—my terrific employer for twenty-seven years—is printed, Sarkis Harmandayan and Terry Vere kindly gave me a refresher course on how presses operate.
Speaking of newspapers, I’d like to thank them, too. Most of what I know comes from reading them, and working for them. They’re having a tough time these days. If they end up going totally online, so be it, but we need to pay for it, or stories that need to be told won’t be.
And, as always, none of this would matter without Neetha, Spencer, and Paige.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LINWOOD BARCLAY is a former columnist for the Toronto Star. He is the #1 internationally bestselling author of several critically acclaimed novels, including Fear the Worst, Too Close to Home, and No Time for Goodbye. He lives near Toronto with his wife and has two grown children. His website is www.linwoodbarclay.com.
Never Look Away is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Linwood Barclay
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DELACORTE PRESS is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Barclay, Linwood.
Never look away / Linwood Barclay.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-440-
33918-2
I. Title.
PR9199.3.B37135N48 2010
813′.54—dc22
2009047711
www.bantamdell.com
v3.0
Never Look Away: A Thriller Page 41
