Now what?
“Are you sure we can’t get out of this garden without crossing the deck?” Jo Ellen asked on a whisper.
“Unless you want to burrow under the deck. It has been done…by creatures, not old ladies spying on their sons-in-law.”
“Mags, look.” She pointed to a light upstairs.
“That’s their bedroom.”
“He’s up there. And what’s that?”
“The bathroom,” Maggie said, straightening and wincing at her back pain. She was too old for this.
“Could we make a run for it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t run.”
“Then walk really fast.” Jo Ellen tugged on her sleeve. “Ready? Up and across and out, silent and fast like a ninja! Do not stop, sit in the egg chair, or make a noise.”
“But I?—”
“Now!” With a jerk, Jo Ellen pulled her up the steps, the two of them prancing over the wood like aging ballerinas, neither turning to look at the house. They made it down the other stairs, slipped out the gate, and reached the path breathless.
“We didn’t get shot!” Jo Ellen announced on a laugh.
“He doesn’t have a gun.”
“Oh, Maggie, you had me?—”
“But he does have evening conversations with someone named Pamela,” Maggie said, still hurting. “We have to find out who that is.”
“Oh, we will,” Jo Ellen agreed. “How?”
“I’m counting on you to figure that out, Jo. And I’m sure it will involve an elaborate lie.”
“At least one,” Jo muttered. “Come on. Let’s go have a drink and judge the furniture at our free Airbnb.”
Maggie tried to smile but it felt forced. Because a tiny, nagging, unwelcome doubt had just slipped into her heart. And after the horrible disregard Anthony showed for her roses?
Clearly, the man was capable ofanything.
Tessa was almost used to the silence, which was a sound she certainly didn’t expect when she’d suggested a two-year-old stay in her home. Like every other day since Olive had arrived, the mornings at Tessa’s house dawned quiet and strangely ordinary.
As always, Tessa had awakened multiple times during the night to tiptoe down the hall and peer into the guest room where Olive slept in a small mound of blankets and stuffed animals. Each time, she stood there listening to the soft whisper of Olive’s breath, waiting until her own pulse slowed.
Now, mid-morning, Olive was awake, sitting cross-legged on the rug in her pajamas, lining up wooden blocks in careful rows. She didn’t look up when Tessa padded in to watch. She didn’t speak. Sheneverspoke.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Tessa said softly.
Olive slid one block into place.
Tessa had learned that Olive answered with motion, not words. With nods. With glances. With tiny choices.
Hearing only the quiet, Tessa buttered toast and cut it into triangles. She filled a small bowl with blueberries, poured a littleorange juice into a sippy cup, and took the whole thing to the table.
The child’s silence hadn’t bothered Dusty at first, but yesterday he did seem concerned when she just wouldn’t answer even a simple question.
“Breakfast,” she said. “Come over here, honey.”
