“How are the Barrens doing?” Dad asked.
“Not good. They were here until this morning, but they had to go home to . . . make arrangements,” William said. “And on that note, not to rush you out, but we need to get back to a few things if you don’t mind.”
Dad and I stood, shaking hands with them again. William guided us out to the front door. As we left, I shot a glance into the next room where the police had set up their command center.
Rachel’s phone sat among two others I didn’t recognize.
Even at a distance I would’ve known hers anywhere, the rose-colored case with the sparkly jewels down its sides. She used to spin it idly on whatever surface was nearby, and it would flash and shine as it rotated.
My heart sunk. Seeing the phone was a hammerblow I wasn’t ready for. I’d been operating under the notion Rachel and the boys had been taken, but her phone sitting there without her anywhere nearby was a confirmation that made me feel weak.
The drive home was silent, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we pulled up to Dad’s, I went inside with him, half wishing I’d set part of the hot dish aside since it looked like it was going to go to waste anyway.
While I fixed us a salad, Dad came and leaned against the counter. He stared at me until I was forced to look back. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, cutting the last few cherry tomatoes into quarters.
“Son, I have regrets. Everyone does. You don’t go through life without them clinging to you. I would regret not pushing you to tell me what’s happening, because I think it’s important, and I’d be disappointed if you wouldn’t tell me.”
Is there a master class parents take to learn guilt-tripping?
I held strong for maybe thirty seconds, half shaking my head. Almost like the denial you have before you vomit after being nauseated for hours. I wasn’t going to tell him; I was going to keep him in the dark, safely in the dark and out of reach of whatever was happening. Because in all truth I didn’t really know. So that’s what I told him. I didn’t know.
He sighed, unmoving. “I worked for umpteen years at that paper mill as night watchman. Unlike some of the other guys, I took my job seriously. I was observant, and don’t think for a second all that’s gone just because I came down with this shit. You got scratches on your arms that weren’t there yesterday, you’ve had a stricken look on your face for weeks, and you’ve been seeing Rachel on the side for the last six months.”
The feeling when you think there’s another step at the top of the stairway and there isn’t. Yeah, that.
“You knew?”
“I have dementia, Andy. I’m not stupid.”
I withered. We sat at the table. I told him. Everything.
Until then, speaking the words my dad was hearing was one of my worst fears. Telling the secret. Because then it would be gone. It wouldn’t be safe any longer. I learned that years ago when Emma’s secret got out. I saw what could happen.
When I was finished, I watched Dad’s face for the telltale signs I’d expected. Anger. Disappointment. Disgust. But they weren’t there.
Instead he said, “Huh.”
“Huh? That’s it? That’s what you’re going with?”
“For now.”
“Christ,” I said, standing to pace the kitchen. When I finally stilled, he was looking at me. “Please say something. Anything.”
He thought for a while. “I’m sure you’ve thought about telling the cops? About you and Rachel, the note?”
I nodded. It had been on a near-constant loop in my mind since yesterday morning. I could hand Detective Spanner the note. Come clean about the affair, about being in the house last night and the encounter with the killer. And where would that get me?
“They’d probably lock you up,” Dad said, finishing my thought. “And with you in the crosshairs, they’d be less likely to find who actually did it.”
Some of the angst I’d been feeling about keeping the note to myself eased. For now it would do more good to let the cops work the case without me as a suspect. And I could keep working from the inside.
“Do you care about her?” Dad asked.
“What? Of course.”
“Do you love her?”
“I . . .” My hands fidgeted, feet shifted, eyes everywhere around the room. “Yeah. Yes. I do.”
“Good. I’d be upset if you didn’t. How about the boys? You care about them too?”