be grateful for all she did have and not resent the good fortune of others.
Yet she did envy. And what had convinced Naomi to keep her promise, even though she was running late, was the opportunity to tell Jacob good morning. As she drove, Naomi thought about Jacob’s two young wives: Laurel and his first wife, Anna, and their three children. Naomi wondered what it would be like to be in Ardeth’s position as the most senior woman in a family.
A short drive and she reached the gate, with MRJ Ranch in wrought iron at its crest. She looked beyond it in appreciation of the wide columns at the front of the impressive house, the vast maze of corrals that led to a massive barn. Naomi couldn’t help but compare it to the run-down double-wide she lived in, when she suddenly noticed something that appeared out of place.
Pulling onto the driveway, she eyed a stark white shape that lay on the ground, the breeze billowing its sides and corners. It looked like a fallen sail, but that struck her as ridiculous. Alber lay far from anywhere anyone could use such a boat.
Normally, Naomi would have driven up to the house and parked near the front door, but something—she wasn’t sure what—so bothered her about the scene that she stopped a hundred feet back, close to the barn. For a moment, she hesitated, uneasy. Then, scolding herself for being silly, Naomi plopped the visor down and took a last look at her light brown hair. She ran her tongue over her teeth and pinched her cheeks.
She grabbed the bag holding the breast pump with one hand as she grasped the door handle with the other. Then, again, she froze. Staring out at the strange object, she decided it looked like a bedsheet. She considered the outline and spotted three distinct areas where something appeared to be hidden beneath it: one long, flat bulge, two smaller and shorter ones.
Maybe they planted fall flowers they want to protect from the freeze, Naomi thought, readjusting her wire-rimmed glasses on her long, thin nose.
Fighting a sense of dread, she flung the door open and slid down onto the driveway. The breast pump tucked against her middle, the flowing skirt of her denim dress rippling in the breeze, she approached the house. As she did, she walked closer to the sheet. Not far away, newly hung wash flapped on a clothesline. A basket holding more laundry sat below it. Naomi considered the sheet spread across the ground and wondered if it could have blown out of the basket or off the line. No, she decided. It was laid out too precisely. As she thought through the possibilities, she stopped and stared at the white cotton fabric. Her eyes settled on scattered bright red spots near all three of the mounds.
Above her, a bird let out a raspy squawk. Startled, Naomi followed the sound to the bare, gnarled branches of a thick-trunked oak. Three vultures so black their feathers showed blue stared down at her. One huffed, as if expressing annoyance at her arrival. Naomi looked again at the sheet, again at the red stains, again at the vultures in the tree. Her heartbeat hastened.
“Dear God,” she whispered.
A sharp breeze ruffled the last remaining leaves, and in the tree one of the vultures beat the air with its muscular wings. As the gust trailed along the ground, it snagged a corner of the sheet. It flew up, executed a pirouette, and as it fell folded back into a twisted triangle. Twice Naomi blinked, trying to make sense of what the wind had uncovered: smooth, pale flesh exposed between the hem of a pair of blue corduroy pants and a white athletic sock that ended in a toddler-size tennis shoe.
“A child,” she whispered. Bending down, her heart fluttered as if one of the gloomy birds had flown from its perch and roosted in her chest. She picked up the sheet ever so slightly and peeked beneath it. Naomi gagged back a scream at what she saw: a motionless boy, his hair matted with something thick, across his forehead a trail of drying blood.
“Benjamin,” Naomi whispered.
Her hand trembling, Naomi dropped the sheet and stood erect. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she scanned the yard. Empty. Her eyes traveled over the house, the porch where three empty chairs lazily rocked in the breeze, surrounded by scattered children’s toys. She gazed up at the dark windows and saw no