Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(60)
“Daddy?” said Kyrstin in a panic, lurching forward to reach for him.
He stumbled backward, hitting a lampshade and knocking the lamp to the ground with a clatter. Grasping for the wall behind it, he knocked three framed pictures to the ground, shattering the glass. His eyes were wide and scared, his face paler by the second.
“Daddy? Daddy!!” screamed Issy, rocking her baby helplessly as their father slumped to his knees. “Call 911. LAIRE! CALL 911!”
But Laire couldn’t move, frozen with terror, sobbing silent tears as she watched her father—her beloved father—her only living parent—fall onto his side, hitting the floor with a loud thump that shook the little house.
“KYRSTIN, CALL 911!” screamed Issy, and Kyrstin, who was kneeling by their father, crawled to the end table, grappling for the phone.
Their father lay motionless on the floor.
And if he was dead, Laire had wielded the knife.
As that despicable thought flashed like white lightning across her consciousness, Laire fainted, smashing her forehead on the glass coffee table on the way down.
Chapter 14
When Laire didn’t show up to work on Friday night, Erik was disappointed to miss seeing her, especially after the mind-blowing night they’d spent together. But after reminding himself that they couldn’t easily get in touch with each other should she have to miss an evening of work, he decided not to indulge his worry and headed home early to spend some time with his mother, pack up for school, and get some sleep.
They certainly hadn’t gotten much last night, he thought, letting happy memories take over as he drove himself home.
After an hour-long nap, they had gotten up and showered together, touching each other, soaping and rinsing, their fingers sliding over each other’s bodies as they bathed and toweled off. Laire borrowed a shirt of his that just covered her, and Erik threw on some jeans before making a fire in his bedroom fireplace and lying down next to her. They talked and kissed, sharing plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas as a balm against their imminent separation.
When dawn lightened the skies, they stripped and climbed into his bed together, falling asleep for a few hours facing each other. Waking up with Laire in his arms was both miraculous and heartbreaking. Knowing that he would see her in November helped, but it seemed like an eternity. And yet, he wouldn’t trade a second of their sweet time together and promised her silently, in those sacred minutes of holding her quietly, that he would never love another as he loved her.
Still glowing, he picked up a bouquet of roses on the way to the restaurant on Saturday night, eager to see her. When she wasn’t at work again, he felt true misgivings and went to the kitchen to see Ms. Sebastian, politely asking her why Laire wasn’t working. With worried eyes, she told him that she hadn’t heard from Laire since she left early on Thursday.
That’s when Erik first felt icy panic seep into his blood.
What was going on? She’d left with plenty of time to get home, right? He doubted they’d been caught. Her father had said he wouldn’t be home until late afternoon, and she’d arrived home before noon, for sure. Unless she’d never arrived home?
His parents were back at the house entertaining friends, but he skipped polite greetings and beelined to his room, searching the Coast Guard website for any accidents in the Sound on Friday. When he didn’t see any, he called the local station to be sure, but they had no reports of a young woman in distress.
So where was she? Was she sick? Was she regretting their night together and avoiding him? Without speaking to her directly, he didn’t know.
He didn’t bother heading to the Pamlico House on Sunday morning to see if she’d turned up for the brunch shift. Instead, he called King Triton Seafood at precisely 10:01 and asked to speak with Laire.
“Who’s this?” asked a man’s voice.
“I, uh, I came in and bought some blue crab last week. I said I’d be back, um, for more today, but the girl there said to call before I came in again to be sure you had more in stock.” It was a lie, but he hoped it was a believable one.
“Huh. Well, Laire ain’t here today, but she knows better’n anyone that we always got blues.”
“Felt like she had a good eye for ’em,” said Erik, trying to disguise his voice to sound more local, more like Laire. “Will she be in later?”
“Negative,” said the man, his voice terse. “Her daddy had a heart attack.”
“Wait! What did you say?”
“Her daddy had a heart attack,” he enunciated, “so obviously she can’t be here while she’s sittin’ by his bedside. You want the blues, you’ll just have to let someone else help you. Okay, then?”
A heart attack. Fuck! That’s why she wasn’t coming to work. He knew how much she missed her mother—he could hardly imagine how much she was suffering if her father was in danger. His own heart twisted painfully, imagining her fear and sorrow.
“God, I’m . . .” Erik gulped, trying to hold back the emotion he felt and sound more conversational. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he, uh, is he goin’ to be okay?”
“How the fu—I mean, I don’t know, sir. He’s not dead yet. You wanna send flowers? He’s up in Nags Head.”
Nags Head? Laire was in Nags Head?