was where I set the flowers. Then, not knowing what else to do, I sat down and simply stared at the granite. The cemetery was mostly empty; in the distance, I could see a few people here and there, tending to their own business. I turned away, not caring if they saw me.
In the moonlight, I opened my hand. The blood was black and shone like oil. I closed my eyes, remembering Missy, then moved forward again. It took half an hour to get there. Mosquitoes buzzed around my face. Toward the end of my trek, I had to cut across yards to stay off the road. The yards here are wide, the houses set far from the road, and it was easier going. My eyes were locked on my destination, and as I approached, I slowed down, careful not to make any sound. I could see light streaming from the windows. I saw a car parked in the driveway.
I knew where they’d lived; everyone did. This was a small town, after all. I had seen their house in the daytime, too; like the scene of the accident and Missy’s grave, I’d been there before, though I’d never been this close. My breathing slowed as I reached the side of the house. I could smell the scent of freshly mowed grass.
I stopped, my hand pressed against the brick. I listened for squeaky floorboards, a movement toward the door, shadows flickering over the porch. No one seemed to realize I was there.
I inched my way to the living room window, then crept onto the porch, where I wedged myself into a corner, my body hidden from those who might pass on the road by an ivy-covered trellis. In the distance, I heard a dog begin to bark, then pause, then finally bark again to see if anything would stir. Curiously, I peeked in.
I saw nothing.
But I was unable to turn away. This is how they lived, I thought. Missy and Miles sat on that couch, they set their cups on that end table. Those are their pictures on the wall. Those are their books. As I looked around, I noticed that the television was on, the sounds of conversation running together. The room was tidy, uncluttered, and for some reason, that made me feel better.
It was then that I saw Jonah enter the living room. I held my breath as he approached the television, since he was nearing me as well, but he never looked my way. Instead he sat, crossing his legs, and stared at the program without moving, as if hypnotized.
I pressed a little closer against the glass to see him better. He had grown in the past two months, not much, but noticeable. Though it was late, he was still in jeans and his shirt, not in his pajamas. I heard him laugh, and my heart nearly burst in my chest.
That was when Miles came into the room. I pulled back into the shadows, but still I watched him. He stood there for a long moment, watching his son, saying nothing. His expression was void, unreadable . . . hypnotized. He held a manila file in his hands, and a moment later, I saw him glance at his watch. His hair on one side was puffed out, as if he’d been running his hands through it.
I knew what would happen next, and I waited. He’d start talking to his son. He’d ask what Jonah was watching. Or, because it was a school night, he’d say something about Jonah having to go to bed or putting his pajamas on. He’d ask if he wanted a cup of milk or a snack.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Miles simply passed through the living room and vanished into a darkened hallway, almost as if he’d never been there at all.
A minute later I crept away.
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
Chapter 24
Miles made it home at the same time Charlie was pulling up at Hailey State Prison, and the first thing he did was head to his bedroom.
Not to sleep. Instead, from the closet where he’d hidden it, he retrieved the manila file.
There, he spent the next few hours flipping and turning the pages, studying the information. There was nothing new, nothing he’d overlooked in the past, but still, he found it impossible to put down.
Now, he knew what to look for.
Sometime later, he heard the phone ring; he didn’t answer it. It rang again twenty minutes later, with the same result. At