“Where are you going?” Wendy asked, following him back into the living room, garbage bag in tow.
“I’m heading back out with the search party,” Mr. Darling told her gruffly.
“Oh, okay,” she said. If that meant he would be out all night again, it would be easier for her and Peter to sneak around. “I saw the hunting shack on the news,” Wendy said, testing the murky waters of her father’s mood. “Did they find anything?”
Mr. Darling made another grunting noise. “Just some clothes and food. Looked like someone had been hiding out. There was still wood burning in the stove,” he told her, not making eye contact as he spoke. “Doubt those sorry excuses for detectives will find anything useful,” he growled. “It’ll be up to us to bring them back home.”
Wendy knew her father disliked the police even more than she did. They were supposed to find his missing boys, and they had let him down. No wonder he didn’t trust them to be any use now.
“I’ll be back late again,” Mr. Darling continued. “Lock up tonight.”
She nodded. “I will.”
He stared at her for a moment. It felt like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. Wendy was trying to guess what when he reached out and gave her a side hug, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder with his big hand. The weight of it felt foreign. Before Wendy could register what was happening, he turned and left through the front door.
Wendy stood there, frozen in place. He hadn’t tried to hug her in … she didn’t even know how long. The missing kids, being thrown into the same situation Wendy had lived through five years ago, had clearly gotten to him.
She shook the strange feeling from her shoulders.
After she took out the garbage, her mother had her hose down the two lounge chairs in the backyard, dry them off, and put the cushions on them. Mrs. Darling had decided that today was a good day to lie out in the sun and read for a bit, and that they deserved a break after all the hard work they had done around the house. Wendy threw together some peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch.
The key hung heavy in Wendy’s pocket. She urged the afternoon to go by faster so she could find Peter.
While her mom easily settled in with a book, Wendy’s eyes couldn’t stay on the page. They kept wandering over to the woods. As it grew later in the day, Wendy began to worry about Peter. He hadn’t been gone for this long before. Did something happen? Was he okay? Every time she thought about her hand in his last night, something in her chest fluttered. Was he avoiding her?
When the daylight started to wane, they headed inside. Mrs. Darling threw together a quick dinner of sliced chicken breast and salad, a late dinner since she would be working through the night, but Wendy couldn’t even eat half the food on her plate. In just a little while, the day would be over and it would be nighttime. She and Peter had lost their window of opportunity to go into the woods. And where was he?
“Don’t forget to lock the back door,” Mrs. Darling reminded Wendy as she gathered up her purse for work.
“I know,” Wendy groaned. She sat at the kitchen table, pushing her salad around with her fork.
“And make sure to—”
Knock knock.
Mrs. Darling frowned and looked at the door. Wendy put her fork down and sat up straight. Judging by the look on her mom’s face, they weren’t expecting anyone.
The last thing she needed was for Detectives James and Rowan to show up unannounced and start asking more questions.
Mrs. Darling crossed the living room and opened the door.
Her face lit up. “Barry, what a surprise!” she greeted him, but then her voice immediately became concerned. “Oh, what happened to you?”
Wendy rushed to the door. Peter stood on the porch, smiling sheepishly. In the orange light of sunset, Wendy was relieved to see he didn’t have new injuries, just the lingering ones from the day before. The cut on his lip was starting to heal, but it was still a bit puffy.
“Hi, Mrs. Darling,” Peter said. His blue eyes slid to Wendy. “I was playing some pickup basketball with some guys the other day,” he lied. “Things got a bit rough, but it’s nothing, really.”
“Come in, let’s have a look at it,” she said with a sigh.
Mrs. Darling walked into the kitchen and Wendy looked at Peter. If he had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between his legs.
Wendy stepped close, her fingers knotting into the hem of his shirt. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, frantically searching his face for why on earth he would show up at her house when her mother was still home.