it happened; there were mitigating circumstances, the judge would acknowledge his sorrow and take pity.
And Missy was never coming back.
Time passed. He lit another cigarette and smoked it down. Dark clouds spanned the sky above; he could hear the rain as it soaked the earth. Over the water, the moon made an appearance, peeking through the clouds. Soft light spilled into the yard. He stepped off the porch and onto the flat slate he’d sunk into the ground as a pathway. The path led to the tin-roofed shed where he kept his tools, his lawn mower, weed killer, a can of gasoline. During the marriage, it had been his place, and Missy seldom ventured there.
She had, though, on the last day he saw her....
Small puddles had collected on the slate, and he felt the water splash around his feet. The pathway curved along the house, past a willow tree he’d planted for Missy. She’d always wanted one in her yard, thinking they looked both sad and romantic. He passed a tire swing, then a wagon that Jonah had left outside. A few steps later, he reached the shed.
It was padlocked, and Miles reached above the door and found the key. The lock opened with a click. He opened the door and was greeted with a musty smell. There was a flashlight on the shelf, and he reached for it. He turned it on and looked around. A spiderweb that started in the corner stretched toward a small window.
Years ago, when his father had left, he’d given Miles a few things to keep. He’d packed them away in a large metal box; Miles hadn’t been given the key. The lock, though, was small, and now Miles reached for the hammer that hung on the wall. He swung the hammer and the lock popped open. He lifted the lid.
A couple of albums, a leather-covered journal, a shoebox full of arrowheads that his father had found near Tuscarora. Miles looked past them to the bottom and found what he was looking for. His father had kept the box, and the gun was neatly tucked inside. It was the only gun that Charlie hadn’t known about.
Miles knew he was going to need it, and that night he oiled the gun, making sure it was ready to go.
Chapter 36
Miles didn’t come for me that night.
Bone tired, I remember forcing myself from my bed at dawn the following morning to shower. I was stiff from the accident, and as I turned the faucet on, I felt a shooting pain from my chest to my back. My head was tender when I washed my hair. My wrists ached when I ate breakfast, but I finished before my parents made it to the table, knowing that if they saw me wince, they would ask questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. My father was heading into work; because it was nearly Christmas, I knew my mother would head out for errands as well.
I would tell them later, after Miles came for me.
Sarah called that morning to check on me. I asked the same questions of her. She told me that Miles had come by the night before, that they talked for a minute, but that she didn’t know what to make of it.
I told her that I didn’t, either.
But I waited. Sarah waited. My parents went on with their lives.
In the afternoon, Sarah called again.
“No, he still hasn’t come,” I told her. He hadn’t called her, either.
The day passed, the evening came. Still no Miles.
On Wednesday, Sarah went back to school. I told her to go, that I’d reach her at the school if Miles came. It was the last week of school before Christmas break, and she had work to do. I stayed home, waiting for Miles.
I waited in vain.
Then it was Thursday and I knew what I had to do.
In the car, Miles waited as he sipped a cup of coffee he’d picked up at a convenience store. The gun was on the seat beside him, beneath a fold of newspapers, fully loaded and ready to go. The side window was beginning to steam with his breath, and he wiped it with his hand. He needed to see clearly.
He was in the right place; he knew that. Now all he had to do was watch carefully, and when the time was right, he would act.
That afternoon, just before dusk, the sky was glowing red and orange over the horizon as I got in the car. Though it