Miracle Creek(100)

Eighty thousand dollars. He looked at his wife’s face, the earnestness in her eyes and deep furrows between her brows, and he wanted to laugh. All this fucking drama over eighty fucking thousand dollars, which (she was right) he’d never even noticed was gone, in the aftermath of the explosion. Instead, he nodded, said, “All this is making me rethink everything. I didn’t get a chance to tell Abe, but I saw Pak and Mary burning something today. I think maybe cigarettes. You know, in that metal trash can they have?”

Janine looked at him. “You went over there today? When? When you said you were going to the hospital?”

Matt nodded. “This morning, I realized I needed to tell Abe everything, and I figured Mary deserved a warning. But I got there, and they were burning stuff, and it made me wonder if maybe…” He shook his head. “Anyway, I came straight here, grabbed you, and—”

“And fucking ambushed me. With no warning.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I just needed to come clean, and I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if I didn’t do it right away.”

Janine didn’t say anything. She just frowned at him, like he was a stranger and she was trying to figure out why he looked familiar.

“Say something,” he finally said.

“I don’t think,” she said—slowly, word by word, with each syllable separated—“that it’s a sign of a good marriage that we’ve both been hiding stuff from each other for a year.”

“But we talked about this, last night—”

“And I really don’t think it’s a good sign that even after we said we’d tell each other everything last night, we still didn’t.”

Matt took a deep breath. She was right. He knew that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She swallowed and covered her face again and scrubbed hard, like she was rubbing off dried-in grime. Something vibrated in her purse, and she reached in for her phone. She looked at the screen and smiled, a crooked, tiny smile of sadness and fatigue.

“What is it?”

“Fertility clinic. Probably confirming our appointment.” He’d forgotten; they were supposed to go after court today, to start in vitro fertilization.

She stood and walked to the corner, facing it, like a kid in time-out. “I don’t think we should go.”

Matt nodded. “You want to reschedule? Tomorrow?”

She leaned against the wall, her head on it as if she was too weak to hold herself up. “No. I don’t know. I just … I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He went to her and wrapped his arms around her. He’d braced himself for her pushing him away, but she didn’t, just leaned back into him, letting him spoon her. They stood like this for a while, his heart thudding her back, and he felt something tingly—sadness, but peace, too, and relief—spread through his chest and permeate through to her skin. They had a lot more talking to do—to each other, the police, Abe, maybe a judge. There would be many more questions to ask and answer, of each other and of themselves. And there would be no fertility clinic—not tomorrow, not next week. He knew that, could tell in the way their embrace felt like good-bye. But in the meantime, for the present, he savored this: the two of them together, alone, not saying anything, not thinking, not planning. Just being.

The door opened behind them, and footsteps rushed in. Janine jerked, like someone drifting to sleep being startled awake. Matt turned. Abe was grabbing his briefcase and running out.

“Abe? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Matt said.

“It’s Elizabeth,” Abe said. “We can’t find her anywhere. She’s gone.”





ELIZABETH





A CAR WAS FOLLOWING HER. A boxy silver sedan, the nondescript type she imagined undercover cops drove. It had been behind her in Pineburg, and she’d told herself to relax, it was just someone leaving town after lunch, but when she turned onto a random road, it also turned. The car kept its distance, so she couldn’t see who was in it. She tried slowing down, speeding up, then slowing again, but the car maintained the same distance, which seemed like something, again, that undercover cops would do. There was a clearing ahead. She pulled off and stopped. If she was caught, so be it, but she couldn’t keep this up. Her nerves were frayed and fried.

The car slowed but kept coming. She thought for sure it’d stop and the window would slide down to reveal guys in sunglasses holding up badges, Men in Black–style, but it rolled by. It was a young couple, the guy driving and the woman studying a map. They turned off onto a large driveway marked by a grape sign.

Tourists. Of course. In a rental car, following the Virginia winery-trail signs. She slumped back and took deep, slow breaths to get her heart to stop fluttering against her rib cage the way it had ever since she decided to steal Shannon’s car. It was a minor miracle she’d made it this far, past all the near misses along the way. In the room, while she was transferring Shannon’s keys to her own purse, Anna had walked in and she’d had to tell a quick lie about needing tampons and Shannon having said to get change from her wallet. Thankfully, Anna didn’t insist on accompanying her to the bathroom, but two guards were manning the courthouse doors, so she had to wait for a big group to arrive and slip out while they were checking bags. Finding Shannon’s car was easy, but there was an attendant at the booth. She’d forgotten she’d have to pay—did she have cash?—and what if he recognized her and knew she wasn’t allowed to drive? She put on Shannon’s sunglasses and hat from the glove box, pulled the visor down, and looked away as she paid, but she definitely heard “Sorry, ma’am, but are you—” as she drove away.