Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,77

ready now to go to work. Ready to get on with her life. And she would do it. In time, she would forget. Everyone said so.

“What if your husband wasn’t alone in Bandera last winter like your friend said? What if he was with Sondra, and your friend can’t tell you because she thinks you can’t handle it?”

Hank was talking about Kate. Kate, who never thought Abby could handle anything. Kate, who had lied to Abby in the past. “Everyone I know thinks this is a bad idea,” she said.

“But it’s not their life, is it? It’s easy for them to sit on the fucking sidelines and dish out a lot of bullshit advice about how we’re supposed to live with this. Without knowing what happened. As if they could handle it better.”

Abby opened the front door, then paused on the threshold. She couldn’t have said why.

Hank’s voice drilled her back. “How often do you see it on TV, people pissing and moaning about how all they want to know is the truth. All they want is someone to say what happened, how their loved one died. Or they say, please, bring them home, we just want to bury them. Or what about when somebody gets sick and they don’t know what’s wrong? They go to doctor after doctor. They go crazy, they go insane until they know. How is this different?”

Abby turned. “I’m not sure I can stand to know.”

“Yeah? Well, me either.” Hank looked intently at Abby, and she couldn’t look away.

Because he was right. If she walked out now, she would have nothing but suspicion and conjecture, the half light of maybe. Even worse, she would have to live with the knowledge that she hadn’t done every last thing she could to find her family, to find the truth, and she would hate that. Hank would go on his own to the cabin anyway. Abby could see he was resolved, and if there was something to be found there, he would be the one to find it. Somehow she couldn’t stand that either. She took in a hard breath and let it out. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Hank nodded shortly, and when he retraced his steps down the hallway, Abby followed in his wake.

* * *

He drove an old-model luxury car, one of those big-fendered boats. The blue was sun-spotted and bleached like worn-out jeans. From the rough sound of the engine, Abby couldn’t imagine they would make it to the edge of town, much less all the way into the Hill Country.

“Get in,” he said through the open passenger window.

She bent down. “We can take mine. I have to move it anyway for you to get out.”

He flicked a glance at the rearview mirror taking in the image of the shinier, newer, pricier BMW. “I can go around,” he said, and his voice was inflected with elements of resentment and desire. He couldn’t look at her.

And Abby acquiesced because of this. Because he seemed mortified and furious with himself for it, and more protest from her would only unman him further. This man who had already been so unmanned. The passenger door screeched violently when Abby shut it. The seat belt stuck and Hank had to help her with it. He backed down the drive, maneuvering around her car, heedless that he was driving over the front yard. Abby guessed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t more than a square of weed-choked, scorched earth anyway. She watched the BMW until it was out of sight, wondering if it would be safe, if it would still be here for her when they returned tonight.

Hank said, “Sondra wouldn’t be caught dead riding in this car, much less driving it. I’m always wishing I could afford something better. Better house, better neighborhood, better schools for Caitlin, but selling insurance these days, it sucks, you know? I own my own agency, and business is lousy. It’s always lousy. I did manage to get Sondra a new car a couple of years ago. Lexus, loaded. Real classy. Cost a fortune. I keep making the payments, too, like I know where it is.”

They were at the western outskirts of town when the rain Abby had dreaded began. Hank fiddled with the knob that controlled the windshield wipers. Nothing happened. He tried again, and when the blades picked up, lumbering across the glass, he smiled uneasily as if to suggest that Abby shouldn’t put her faith in them. Or him, or this journey