Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,88
meaning, but she was completely at sea. Why wasn’t he doing his job? Asking about Hank, his injured hand, what she was doing with him, why he’d been the one to bring her here?
But Dennis only nodded once and retrieved his hat, and as gentle as the gestures were, they seemed ominous to her. He went to the door, then paused and turned back to her. He gave her his promise that he would call. “The moment we find anything,” he said.
“My wife is what you’ll find. Or nothing...”
Hank was belligerent in the way drunks can be, and Abby realized he’d had enough to drink that he might say anything. She looked at Jake, completely engrossed in eating his sandwich, chewing methodically, as if he were alone. He didn’t want to know what Hank was talking about any more than Abby wanted to explain it.
George walked Dennis outside. Kate closed the backdoor after them and hesitated there, brows raised, expectant. Of what, Abby couldn’t have said.
Jake scooped up his dishes and brought them to the sink.
“We need to talk,” Abby said to him.
“I’m tired, Mom. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
Kate checked her watch. “It is tomorrow. After one already. We should all try and get some sleep.”
Abby rubbed her arms.
Kate told Hank he was welcome to sleep on the sofa in the den, but he said he was fine where he was.
Jake disappeared, and Abby heard the door to the hall bathroom close.
He was gone a while, and when she went to see if he was all right, she found him stretched out on the sofa in the study, elbow over his eyes. She paused a few feet inside the room. Light from the hallway marked the sweep of his brow, limned the curve of his cheek. She controlled an urge to go and sit beside him, smooth her hand over his hair. If he were younger, she would hold him. “I could get you a pillow,” she offered.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You should take off your shoes.”
“They’re not touching anything.”
Abby didn’t pursue it; she didn’t want to argue. She had thought she and Jake would talk. But about what? Hadn’t she warned the others against exposing him to all the speculation, the outlandish theories? What else was there? She looked over at George’s desk, the papers scattered across it, the fax machine. She’d sent the message that had brought Hank Kilmer into Kate’s kitchen, into their lives, from there. But it was ridiculous to blame him. The car was found, and tomorrow Dennis would discover what was inside it. The truth, the answer to the mystery. Or not. Abby didn’t know and until she did, she wasn’t going to worry Jake with her questions and her fears.
“Is he asleep?” Kate came to stand beside Abby, arms filled with bedding.
“He was up all last night cramming for a test.”
“I brought him a pillow and a blanket.” Kate carried them past Abby, and she heard sounds of their whispering; she heard Jake’s shoes hit the floor one at a time, the creak of the sofa as he settled the pillow under his head. Kate shook out the blanket and dropped it over him, and Abby was envious, a little hurt, that Jake would allow Kate to tend to him. She said good-night, then drew Abby into the hall, walking her toward the kitchen. “We need a hot toddy.”
“Where’s Hank?”
“On the sofa in the great room. I’m pretty sure he’s passed out. He had a lot to drink. Abby, what happened? How did he hurt his hand?”
Abby sat down at the kitchen table. Kate eyed her intently. “He’s kind of a weird guy.”
“Did George go to bed?” Abby asked.
“Yes.” Kate wheeled, impatient. “Is hot cocoa with Kahlua okay? I’ll heat some milk.”
There was the sound of the refrigerator door opening, the wink of its light, snuffed when the door snapped shut. Kate found a saucepan; she ignited the burner, and Abby studied the ring of flame, somehow soothed by the sight of it and by the pervasive quiet and semidarkness, everything in shadows, soft-edged, dreamy.
“He freaked out,” she said in a low voice.
“Freaked out? What do you mean?”
Abby described going into the cabin, finding Nick’s jacket. She said, “If you could have seen Hank, the look on his face...it was as if he wasn’t there, wasn’t present, and then the next thing I knew, he’d punched his fist through the window.”
There was a pause between them, and then Abby continued.