Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,70

been sure of him, his affection for her, his approval. Now she wasn’t, and it felt awful. Her breath kept hanging up in her throat as if there were a bone stuck back there. She couldn’t imagine facing a classroom filled with second graders. But she had to, or she’d lose herself and Jake, too. He and Mama were counting on her.

She grabbed a few tissues in case her self-control failed her and tucked them inside her purse. In the kitchen, she made toast, ate half and tossed the rest out for the birds. And when she threw her napkin into the trash, she thought of the fax. Buried now beneath yesterday’s coffee grounds and the wrapper from the spark plugs Jake had bought to get the mower running.

She fished out the half-damp, crumpled message, unfolded it over the sink, wiping at the stains. Hank Kilmer’s phone number was still visible, and enough of the letters stood out from the blots to make sense of the words.

My...Sondra has be...miss...for .early a year I don.. recogn....he name ..ck Bennett. May we talk in...so....

Where was Hank Kilmer’s wife, Abby wondered. Who was she? Why would Nick have written her fax number inside a matchbook cover from the Riverbend Lodge in Bandera? Had he and Sondra Kilmer lunched there together that day last December when Kate had seen him in town? Was Sondra the woman who’d been unhappy with Nick over a botched real-estate deal? Abby looked out the kitchen window at the freshly mown yard. She wished she had shown Jake the matchbook. The sight of it might have forced him to tell her what he knew.

Abby glanced at the clock, folded the fax and picked up her purse. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late.

* * *

She had every intention of keeping her appointment with Charlotte Treadway, but then drove right by Clark Elementary to the freeway and headed south into Houston with the rest of the commuter traffic. She told herself she was crazy. She saw an exit ahead and told herself to turn around. She passed another exit. This isn’t rational. Several more exits. How will you explain it?

The city skyline loomed. Now what? She had no idea where to find Hank Kilmer; she would have to call him. She glanced at her cell phone lying on the console near her knee. She pulled onto the shoulder, cut the engine. In the distance the cluster of buildings jutted from the horizon. Their tops were lost in swirls of dirty yellow sunshine. The traffic snaked past her, relentless, hell-bent. How had Nick stood it, driving into this day after day?

Her phone went off, jangling through an assortment of mechanical sounds that was supposed to be Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Abby picked it up, studied the caller ID window.

Mama.

Abby could picture her, happily thinking of her daughter on her way to work, on her way to resurrecting her old life. Of course Mama would call; she would want to wish Abby luck. Abby laid the phone in her lap. She wished she could be where her mama and Kate and Jake wanted her to be, in a schoolroom on the road to recovery. Instead, against even her own better judgment, she was here on the side of the freeway, half-scared but determined to see Hank Kilmer. So there was no point in answering the phone. No point in speaking to her mother. Not now.

Once her mother’s call went to voice mail, Abby dialed Hank Kilmer’s number. Four rings, five. She was trying to decide what message to leave when a man answered sounding breathless.

Abby jerked upright. “Mr. Kilmer?”

“Yes?”

“This is, this is Abby Bennett. We—we have corresponded via fax.” Her voice tipped up at the end as if she were asking him.

There was a moment of silence. “Where are you?” he asked.

“I-45 near the Loop,” she said warily.

“I’m closer to downtown. Are you familiar? I could give you directions to the house.”

“No.” Abby wasn’t so deluded as to think that would be wise. “Could we meet somewhere for coffee?”

He named an IHOP south of the Loop and told her what he was wearing: a brown sport jacket and an orange-striped tie.

Abby pulled into traffic. What sort of man wore orange?

Nick wouldn’t. He wouldn’t think this was smart, either, meeting a man she didn’t know, regardless of the color of his tie. But Nick wasn’t here.

* * *

If it hadn’t been for the tie, Abby might have missed Hank Kilmer altogether. His