Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,75

it was as drab and sad-looking as Hank himself. Apprehension knotted her stomach. She wondered if she could go through with it, her fool’s errand. It’s not like you, Abigail…. Her mother’s caution rattled through her mind. Her ordinarily rational mind. But that word...ordinary...what did it mean anymore?

Abby got out of the car into air that was thick and still and too warm for November. The cloud cover had thickened, too, and grown darker like a ripening bruise. It would rain later just to spite her. She picked her way across the haphazard row of stepping-stones that led to the front door and paused at the front stoop, a misshapen, flatish chunk of rust-stained concrete pushed against the house. It looked like leftover construction, as if it might have fallen off the back of a truck bound for the city dump. It wobbled when Abby stepped up onto it. She glanced at the BMW and thought of going home. But that seemed as impossible now as staying here, and she turned, ruefully, to the old, metal screen door that rattled obnoxiously when she knocked. Abby expected Hank to answer, but instead it was a woman, a tall, angular, plain-faced, female version of Hank, who said she was his sister.

“Kim.” She gave her name, and Abby sensed aggravation and unhappiness.

It must run in the family, she thought. “Hank didn’t mention having a sister. It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Abby Bennett, I know.” Kim continued her scrutiny and her silence, and Abby was unsure what to do.

“Shall I come in?” she asked finally. “Is Hank here?”

Kim’s answer was to thrust open the door so abruptly that Abby was forced to step down off the stoop. She looked at Kim in bewilderment, a bit of alarm, but Hank’s sister only rolled her eyes. “Come in,” she said, “before the mosquitoes do.”

Reluctantly, Abby obeyed, losing her vision for a moment in the dark confines of the tiny entry hall.

“Caitlin and Hank have allergies. You aren’t wearing any wool, are you?” Kim looked Abby up and down.

“No,” Abby said. “It’s a little warm today for wool.”

“They’re very sensitive. I have to be careful.”

“Of course,” Abby said. She stowed her keys in her purse, taking her time, uneasy under the weight of Kim’s gaze, her intensity that was reminiscent of Hank.

Kim said she was taking Caitlin to school. “I drop her off every morning,” she said, “on my way to work. I’m a teller at First Century Bank, the one near Caitlin’s school. Hank picks her up after. I don’t like her to ride the bus. Too many bullies. Who knows what could happen? I don’t trust a single one of those drivers anyway.”

Abby nodded, as if Kim’s concern seemed natural when it didn’t. It seemed possessive, more like fear-driven obsession. But fear of what? Bullies and bus drivers? Abby didn’t think so. Some instinct said it went deeper.

“Hank tells me you believe your husband’s run off with his wife.” Kim said this bald-faced, without so much as the blink of an eye.

Abby’s mouth fell open a little.

“We’re close,” Kim said. “We talk about everything.”

You’re rude. Abby wanted to say it. “I’m not sure what I believe actually. What Hank and I are doing, making this trip to the cabin, it’s probably crazy.”

Kim sniffed. “Since Hank brought Sondra into this family, I’ve had to raise the bar on what’s crazy. You know they were separated?”

“He mentioned it.”

“Well, did he tell you the sort of work she found for herself after she moved out?”

“He said she opened an interior-design business.”

Kim hooted. “That little venture lasted less than a month and cost my brother half his savings to set up. I told him he was a fool. Sondra can’t balance her checkbook, much less run a business. She’s got the attention span of a gnat, never sticks with anything. As soon as she ran out of money, Hank caught her stripping again, and I’m not talking wallpaper. She refused to come home, even to see Caitlin. Now she’s gone. Poof. No one’s seen her since. Good riddance, I say.” Kim peered at Abby, but if she wanted a response, Abby didn’t have one.

“Well, come along then.” Kim turned. “Hank and Caitlin are in the kitchen. This way.”

Abby followed in Kim’s wake. They passed a dining room, crossed the den. The white walls and scuffed floors were bare of any adornment other than a sofa covered in plastic and the vinyl blinds that were pulled low over every window.