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Authors: Nicholas Sparks
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season men could be found in the dozens of duck blinds that lined the area. The water there was a few feet deep year-round, and the hunting was always good.
It was also the farthest point that Kyle could have traveled.
If, of course, they were going in the right direction.
Chapter 7
It was now 2:26 A. M. Kyle had been missing for almost five and a half hours.
Judy wet a washcloth and brought it to the bedside and gently wiped Denise's face. Denise hadn't spoken much, and Judy didn't press her to do so. Denise looked shell-shocked: pale and exhausted, her eyes red and glassy. Judy had called again at the top of the hour and had been told that there still wasn't any news. This time Denise had seemed to expect it and had barely reacted.
"Can I get you a cup of water?" Judy asked.
When Denise didn't answer, Judy rose from the bed again and got a cup anyway. When she returned, Denise tried to sit up in the bed to take a sip, but the accident had begun to take its toll on the rest of her body. A shooting pain coursed from her wrist through her shoulder, like a surge of electricity. Her stomach and chest ached as if something heavy had been placed on top of her for a long time and now that it had finally been removed, her body was slowly coming back to shape, like a balloon being painfully reinflated. Her neck was stiffening, and it seemed as if a steel rod had been placed in her upper spine that kept her head from moving back and forth.
"Here, let me help," Judy offered.
Judy set the cup on the table and helped Denise sit up. Denise winced and held her breath, pursing her lips tightly as the pain came in waves, then relaxed as they finally began to subside. Judy handed her the water.
As Denise took a sip, she shot a glance at the clock again. As before, it moved forward relentlessly.
When would they find him?
Studying Denise's expression, Judy asked: "Would you like me to get a nurse?"
Denise didn't answer.
Judy covered Denise's hand with her own. "Would you like me to leave so that you can rest?"
Denise turned from the clock to Judy again and still saw a stranger . . . but a nice stranger, someone who cared. Someone with kind eyes, reminding her of her elderly neighbor in Atlanta.
I just want Kyle. . . .
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," she said finally.
Denise finished her cup and Judy took it from her. "What was your name again?" Denise asked. The slurring had lessened a little, but exhaustion made the words come out weakly. "I heard it when you made the calls, but I can't remember."
Judy set the cup on the table, then helped Denise get comfortable again. "I'm Judy McAden. I guess I forgot to mention that when I first came in."
"And you work in the library?"
She nodded. "I've seen you and your son there on more than a few occasions."
"Is that why . . . ?" Denise asked, trailing off.
"No, actually, I came because I knew your mother when she was young. She and I were friends a long time ago. When I heard you were in trouble . . . well, I didn't want you to think that you were in this all alone."
Denise squinted, trying to focus on Judy as if for the first time. "My mother?"
Judy nodded. "She lived down the road from me. We grew up together."
Denise tried to remember if her mother had mentioned her, but concentrating on the past was like trying to decipher an image on a fuzzy television screen. She couldn't remember one way or the other, but as she was trying to do so, the telephone rang.
It startled them both, and they turned toward it, the sound shrill and suddenly ominous.
A few minutes earlier Taylor and the others had reached Duck Shot. Here, the marshy water began to deepen, a mile and a half from the spot where the accident had occurred. Kyle could have gone no farther, but still they'd found nothing.
One by one, after reaching Duck Shot, the group began to converge, and when the walkie-talkies clicked to life, there were more than a few disappointed voices.
Taylor, however, didn't call
It was also the farthest point that Kyle could have traveled.
If, of course, they were going in the right direction.
Chapter 7
It was now 2:26 A. M. Kyle had been missing for almost five and a half hours.
Judy wet a washcloth and brought it to the bedside and gently wiped Denise's face. Denise hadn't spoken much, and Judy didn't press her to do so. Denise looked shell-shocked: pale and exhausted, her eyes red and glassy. Judy had called again at the top of the hour and had been told that there still wasn't any news. This time Denise had seemed to expect it and had barely reacted.
"Can I get you a cup of water?" Judy asked.
When Denise didn't answer, Judy rose from the bed again and got a cup anyway. When she returned, Denise tried to sit up in the bed to take a sip, but the accident had begun to take its toll on the rest of her body. A shooting pain coursed from her wrist through her shoulder, like a surge of electricity. Her stomach and chest ached as if something heavy had been placed on top of her for a long time and now that it had finally been removed, her body was slowly coming back to shape, like a balloon being painfully reinflated. Her neck was stiffening, and it seemed as if a steel rod had been placed in her upper spine that kept her head from moving back and forth.
"Here, let me help," Judy offered.
Judy set the cup on the table and helped Denise sit up. Denise winced and held her breath, pursing her lips tightly as the pain came in waves, then relaxed as they finally began to subside. Judy handed her the water.
As Denise took a sip, she shot a glance at the clock again. As before, it moved forward relentlessly.
When would they find him?
Studying Denise's expression, Judy asked: "Would you like me to get a nurse?"
Denise didn't answer.
Judy covered Denise's hand with her own. "Would you like me to leave so that you can rest?"
Denise turned from the clock to Judy again and still saw a stranger . . . but a nice stranger, someone who cared. Someone with kind eyes, reminding her of her elderly neighbor in Atlanta.
I just want Kyle. . . .
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," she said finally.
Denise finished her cup and Judy took it from her. "What was your name again?" Denise asked. The slurring had lessened a little, but exhaustion made the words come out weakly. "I heard it when you made the calls, but I can't remember."
Judy set the cup on the table, then helped Denise get comfortable again. "I'm Judy McAden. I guess I forgot to mention that when I first came in."
"And you work in the library?"
She nodded. "I've seen you and your son there on more than a few occasions."
"Is that why . . . ?" Denise asked, trailing off.
"No, actually, I came because I knew your mother when she was young. She and I were friends a long time ago. When I heard you were in trouble . . . well, I didn't want you to think that you were in this all alone."
Denise squinted, trying to focus on Judy as if for the first time. "My mother?"
Judy nodded. "She lived down the road from me. We grew up together."
Denise tried to remember if her mother had mentioned her, but concentrating on the past was like trying to decipher an image on a fuzzy television screen. She couldn't remember one way or the other, but as she was trying to do so, the telephone rang.
It startled them both, and they turned toward it, the sound shrill and suddenly ominous.
A few minutes earlier Taylor and the others had reached Duck Shot. Here, the marshy water began to deepen, a mile and a half from the spot where the accident had occurred. Kyle could have gone no farther, but still they'd found nothing.
One by one, after reaching Duck Shot, the group began to converge, and when the walkie-talkies clicked to life, there were more than a few disappointed voices.
Taylor, however, didn't call
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