“The snowblower’s quick, but he’ll probably clear the motel parking lot too.”
“Great.” Sarah hurries down the stairs and circles the ground floor. She runs her fingers across the spines of the books in the dining room china hutch. Jams her hands between the sofa cushions in the den. Checks every corner of the kitchen’s stained laminate counters. She even searches the parlor in case the carabiner is hiding under a crocheted doily.
“I don’t think you’ll find them,” Elijah says, trailing at her heels. “I never have.”
“Why would he want to hide them from you?”
“He doesn’t want me to leave. It’s for my own good.”
Her mouth flattens. “That’s what they always say.”
“No, he’s right. I’m not like other people.”
Ben had told her she wasn’t like anyone else either, when they’d first started dating.
“I don’t like to upset him,” he says, his mouth drooping. He’s like a bird who’s never flown outside his cage. This life is all he knows. It’s safe—to some extent. Predictable. Sarah knows how he feels. “You know what it’s like, right? What you said about your ex. Youknow. Walking on eggshells all the time, making a show of being harmless, so you don’t make him mad. Does it work? For you?”
“I—” Does it? She was nice to Isaac and Jerry, and someone still spray-painted the C-word on her motel room door. “I don’t know.”
He tips his head to the side. “That’s the garage closing. Caleb’s done. Go. Don’t forget to lock your door.”
Sarah dashes back up the stairs. She shuts the door, locks it. Leaning against the wall, she shuts her eyes, gulping for air. She’s no good to anyone, especially herself, if she succumbs to panic. Panic is what got her into this mess in the first place.
“Elijah!” Caleb calls out. “I’m going into town. Can you take care of Sarah’s lunch?”
“Sure thing, I’ll see you later,” Elijah yells back, and Sarah knows it’s for her benefit.
She doesn’t slink back downstairs, though. There’s no point, since Caleb has taken the truck. She takes her time getting dressed, leaving the pajamas crumpled on the unmade bed, and starts in on breakfast. The blueberry muffin Caleb left feels chalky in her mouth. She washes it down with cold coffee without tasting it, thoughts churning.
She’ll find a way to leave. She got out of a bad situation once, she can do it again. She rescues her wrinkled pajamas, folds them up, and stuffs them into the backpack. Ben’s death showed her she can be resourceful and act quickly. She only needs to be ready when the opportunity strikes.
The doorbell rings.
She hadn’t heard a car pulling up; she’d been in the bathroom brushing her teeth. The doorbell rings again. Multiple chimes announce the caller’s impatience. She holds her breath, feeling like a kid pretending no one’s home while her parents are out.
Sarah creeps to the front windows but doesn’t recognize the sedan parked in the driveway. The porch roof hides whoever’s at the door. Graham could’ve finally traded in his old SUV. Or maybe Isaac sent someone to check up on her. Or maybe it’s Old Man Doherty and Jerry the tow truck driver and everyone else they could rustle up, bearing torches and pitchforks to drive the interloper out of town.
The doorbell rings a third time, the caller pressing it for a full ten seconds. They won’t take no for an answer. The house comes alive as Elijah begins to move through it. Sarah tiptoes to the bedroom door and listens, breath thickening with dread.
A few minutes later, Elijah calls out, “Sarah! You have a visitor!”
Sarah sags against the door, relieved. It’s Graham. Who else would be so annoyingly insistent? He’s managed to come back for her without attracting notice from the townspeople. She unlocks the door and hurries down the hallway.
When she’s halfway down the stairs, Elijah steps away from the man standing in the foyer.
The man raises his masked face. Sarah clings to the railing, her knees buckling beneath her.
He’s alive.
“Hello, Sarah,” Ben says.
CHAPTER TEN
Sarah finds her voice, although it sounds distant above the panicked thundering of her pulse. She’d been sure he was dead. And how did he even find her? “What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to talk to your fiancé? We were supposed to get married in the summer,” he tells Elijah, “but then the pandemic hit.”
Sarah’s gut clenches. If she doesn’t get down these stairs immediately, her sweaty hands will slip off the railing and she’ll tumble to his feet. They’ve discussed marriage, but he can’t hold down a job long enough to afford a ring, let alone a wedding. “What are you doing here?” she repeats.
