Such a Quiet Place: A Novel(14)

CHAPTER 5


THE DELIVERY BOXES WERE stacked on my front porch by the time we arrived back home—all in my name but meant for Ruby. We dropped the kayak in the front yard, and Ruby darted up the porch steps. She scooped up the boxes like a child on Christmas, bringing each upstairs to her room one at a time.

“I’ll pay you back,” she said as she balanced the final box on her hip. “Promise.”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“I have some cash, but there’s not much left.”

“You have cash?” This detail, above all, caught me by surprise.

“Yeah, my lawyer gave me some to get me here. To get started.” Of course. How else had she taken a cab? Maybe that’s why she was here, to retrieve what was left behind. But I’d gotten rid of her things, ruining her plans—and suddenly another path presented itself to me.

“Do you need more?” I asked. The prosecutor had made her out to be a grifter, a thief, a sociopath—take your pick. Maybe I needed to accept that possibility, too. I might be a victim, but I was a willing victim. I held my breath, hoping she would take the offering and move on, move out. Leave Hollow’s Edge and never look back.

Ruby paused, one hand on the stair rail. “You’ve done enough,” she said. “But maybe you can get me a job in the meantime?” I stared at her—her expression unreadable, eyes fixed firmly on mine—until finally, she added, “You are the director of admissions now, right?”

The air between us felt charged, alive. “Right.” A pause. “We’re not exactly hiring right now…”

Her face split into a smile. “I’m kidding, Harper. Oh my God, can you even imagine?” she asked. “Can you imagine if I worked in that department now, after everything? How that would look?”

She said it with levity, but I couldn’t shake the chill, rooted to my spot. I wasn’t sure how she knew that—what sort of information she’d had access to or why she’d been searching: What I had been doing for the last fourteen months. The role I’d acquired. My life, continuing on, while she was locked away—

I needed to get out of this house. Clear my head. But I didn’t want to leave her unattended.

When she disappeared upstairs, I stepped outside but stayed close.

I hosed off the kayak, hosed our shoes, muddy water streaming down my driveway. Waiting for one of the neighbors to come out—Tate, demanding to know what Ruby was doing here; Charlotte, filling me in about the meeting—but the street remained empty and quiet.

A dog started barking from somewhere down the street, and—like always—my shoulders tensed, my stomach turned. A sign. A warning. An unshakable reminder that something unspeakably terrible had happened here.



* * *



THAT CRISP MORNING LAST March, I’d been outside; I’d gone for a run. When I’d left, I heard the dog barking next door at the Truett house. And I’d thought: Of all people to neglect their pet. Look who’s violating the noise ordinance now.

When I’d gotten back, thirty minutes later, the dog was still barking out back—louder now, a periodic whimper, and this time I thought: Maybe Ruby was supposed to walk their dog and forgot. It was the first day of spring break, and maybe the Truetts were heading out of town. Maybe they’d left the dog out back, assuming Ruby would be over shortly.

But then I’d thought of Ruby getting in at two a.m., the sound of the shower running, and hadn’t wanted to wake her if I was wrong.

It was nearly seven a.m., but they were typically early risers. Still, I knocked gently, not wanting to wake anyone on a vacation day. Especially not my boss, who didn’t like running into me outside of our work environment.

It was then, as I’d waited on their front porch, that I heard the hum from the garage. The running car, like maybe someone was getting ready to go. I’d waited for the garage door to slide open, but it didn’t. I kept waiting until I knew, in my gut, that too much time had passed.

I rang the bell this time, twice in a row, and still no one came to the door.

My hand shook as I reached for the handle. It was unlocked.

I pushed the door open, and I knew. Immediately, I knew.

I did not go in. I stumbled back, looked frantically around, saw another jogger at the corner, and recognized the familiar stride. I screamed for him—Chase! Chase!—and there must’ve been something in my tone that warned him. Because he shifted direction, his stride faster, more erratic. Charlotte must’ve heard me, too, because she came outside in her pajamas, met me on their porch. The car has been running, I said, and her hands rose to her face.

It was Chase who covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm as he raced inside to turn off the car engine, yelling at us to open the doors and windows.

It was too late.

Ever since, the sound of a dog barking put me on edge, brought me back to that moment—the moment before I knew, and everything changed.

Thinking about that time was like thinking of another version of this neighborhood, when the perception of our own safety was shattering. When we were realizing that here—with our lazy summers, with our neighbors who were also colleagues and friends, with our cop down the street—we had only convinced ourselves that we would be protected.

This was not the same place anymore, and we were not the same people.