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Authors: Patti Callahan Henry
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telling the truth. Annabelle leaned back in the chair. “I’ve been going over our lives, and I can’t find the moment when he would’ve lied or known someone else or left with someone else. I mean . . . maybe on a business trip or another hunting trip.”
“I guess there could be a million explanations. . . .”
“Yeah, I guess so. But there’s only one true one. . . . I just don’t know what it is.”
Mae rubbed her face. “Did you have any reason, whatsoever, not to trust him? Was anything weird going on?”
“No, I always trusted him.” And this was true.
“Then don’t stop now.”
“I’m trying not to.” Annabelle stood up. “Can you think of anyone else I should ask? Do you think Frank would know anything?”
Mae gently shook her head. “No, I don’t think Frank would have a clue. But I’ll ask him. Who else have you asked?”
“Shawn, Cooper and Christine.”
Mae shrugged. “If we don’t know, I don’t know who else would.”
“Someone has to know. I mean someone has to know she’s gone or missing. People don’t just not come home without someone being affected.”
“I’m sure the police will figure it out.”
“Yes,” Annabelle said, “but I’d like to know first.”
Mae hugged her. “Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
“If you think of something else . . . someone else, please tell me.”
“Of course. It doesn’t change anything, you know.”
“Of course it does,” Annabelle said. “It changes everything.” She opened the front door, turned back to Mae. “Thanks.”
Annabelle got into her car and shoved the key into the ignition a little harder than necessary. She drove home through the familiar streets of Marsh Cove, every corner and curve filled with reminders of Knox and of their life together.
FIVE
ANNABELLE MURPHY
The mirror fogged over with steam from the hot shower Annabelle had just taken, clouding her face, softening the lines and puffiness. She’d made such a mess of the day, forgetting all her obligations. They’d never ask her back to Bible study, nor would her book club, the volunteer organizations, the library and school.
She wrapped the tie around her bathrobe and walked through the hall to the kitchen. A slight thump echoed from the front door: the evening paper landing on her porch. Keeley’s footsteps clicked on the hall stairs and Annabelle bolted for the front door in her dripping hair, not wanting Keeley to see the headline before Annabelle had a chance to read it first, to figure out how to discuss the situation with her daughter.
Her stocking feet skidded across the hardwood floors when she ran around the corner. She grasped the handle, threw open the front door and reached for the paper lying on top of the WELCOME TO OUR HOME mat. She shut the door, leaned against the bead-board wall and slid down to the floor to rip off the plastic and open to the front page.
Her eyes blurred with tears at Knox’s photo filling the entire left column. Annabelle began to reread the article she’d already received from Mrs. Thurgood.
Keeley’s voice startled her into looking up at her daughter standing at the foot of the stairs. “Oh, my God, you’re insane now, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re reading the paper half-nude. Should I call nine-one-one?”
Annabelle pulled her bathrobe closed where it had slipped to reveal her chest. “I am not insane.” Annabelle pinched her daughter’s foot in a teasing gesture. “I was in the shower. . . .”
“No, you’re insane.” Keeley laughed, then her gaze went to the floor, to the scattered paper. “Dad.” She mentioned her father as simply as if he had just walked in the door after another day at work.
Annabelle fumbled with the newspaper, closed it on the article. “I wanted to read it before you. . . . This is hard.”
Keeley sat down next to her, took the front page and read the entire article. Annabelle watched her daughter with a tightening of her chest. She
“I guess there could be a million explanations. . . .”
“Yeah, I guess so. But there’s only one true one. . . . I just don’t know what it is.”
Mae rubbed her face. “Did you have any reason, whatsoever, not to trust him? Was anything weird going on?”
“No, I always trusted him.” And this was true.
“Then don’t stop now.”
“I’m trying not to.” Annabelle stood up. “Can you think of anyone else I should ask? Do you think Frank would know anything?”
Mae gently shook her head. “No, I don’t think Frank would have a clue. But I’ll ask him. Who else have you asked?”
“Shawn, Cooper and Christine.”
Mae shrugged. “If we don’t know, I don’t know who else would.”
“Someone has to know. I mean someone has to know she’s gone or missing. People don’t just not come home without someone being affected.”
“I’m sure the police will figure it out.”
“Yes,” Annabelle said, “but I’d like to know first.”
Mae hugged her. “Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
“If you think of something else . . . someone else, please tell me.”
“Of course. It doesn’t change anything, you know.”
“Of course it does,” Annabelle said. “It changes everything.” She opened the front door, turned back to Mae. “Thanks.”
Annabelle got into her car and shoved the key into the ignition a little harder than necessary. She drove home through the familiar streets of Marsh Cove, every corner and curve filled with reminders of Knox and of their life together.
FIVE
ANNABELLE MURPHY
The mirror fogged over with steam from the hot shower Annabelle had just taken, clouding her face, softening the lines and puffiness. She’d made such a mess of the day, forgetting all her obligations. They’d never ask her back to Bible study, nor would her book club, the volunteer organizations, the library and school.
She wrapped the tie around her bathrobe and walked through the hall to the kitchen. A slight thump echoed from the front door: the evening paper landing on her porch. Keeley’s footsteps clicked on the hall stairs and Annabelle bolted for the front door in her dripping hair, not wanting Keeley to see the headline before Annabelle had a chance to read it first, to figure out how to discuss the situation with her daughter.
Her stocking feet skidded across the hardwood floors when she ran around the corner. She grasped the handle, threw open the front door and reached for the paper lying on top of the WELCOME TO OUR HOME mat. She shut the door, leaned against the bead-board wall and slid down to the floor to rip off the plastic and open to the front page.
Her eyes blurred with tears at Knox’s photo filling the entire left column. Annabelle began to reread the article she’d already received from Mrs. Thurgood.
Keeley’s voice startled her into looking up at her daughter standing at the foot of the stairs. “Oh, my God, you’re insane now, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re reading the paper half-nude. Should I call nine-one-one?”
Annabelle pulled her bathrobe closed where it had slipped to reveal her chest. “I am not insane.” Annabelle pinched her daughter’s foot in a teasing gesture. “I was in the shower. . . .”
“No, you’re insane.” Keeley laughed, then her gaze went to the floor, to the scattered paper. “Dad.” She mentioned her father as simply as if he had just walked in the door after another day at work.
Annabelle fumbled with the newspaper, closed it on the article. “I wanted to read it before you. . . . This is hard.”
Keeley sat down next to her, took the front page and read the entire article. Annabelle watched her daughter with a tightening of her chest. She
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