The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(6)

“It feels fine,” Joan lied. Ever since her shower her skin was starting to hum all over, and even though she knew she couldn’t, Joan had felt like she could almost sense a burning smell coming off her.

“Did you know there’s a library here?” Lizzie said, clearly trying to change the subject, and for that, Joan was thankful.

“Is there?” her mother said.

Joan’s parents and her sister all began talking about the books they were planning on reading during their vacation while Joan pushed a hard crust of garlic bread around her plate.

Joan was keeping her eye on the table where both Duane and Richard sat. She wondered if Duane was scared of running into her, if he wondered whether she’d told anyone how he’d acted. But he didn’t look nervous from across the room. He was slouched in his chair and kept looking at his watch. After about five minutes he got up and walked out of the dining room. Joan kept watching the table. Richard got up and went back to the buffet to look at the desserts. She found herself standing, then walking over to the buffet, as well.

“What is that?” she said, when she’d gotten close enough to Richard so that he could hear her.

“It’s rice pudding,” he said. “But there’s also chocolate cake.”

“Was that your cousin at the table with you?” Joan said.

“He was there a moment ago. That’s my aunt and uncle there now.”

“What’s your cousin like?”

“Who, Duane?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s maybe the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” Joan said, not really bothering to hide her excitement. It was what she’d been hoping to hear. “What makes him so terrible?”

“Pretty much everything. Why are you asking? You want to meet him or something?”

“I already met him. Yesterday.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, he invited me down to the beach for a bonfire at night and I stupidly went.”

“Did he attack you?” Richard said, as though he were asking her if she’d had dessert yet.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice rising in pitch reflexively, but then, whispering, she said, “He kind of tried, but I got away.”

“Yeah, I figured he probably would the way he talks about girls. You’re lucky, I guess.”

A large, bearded man was now across from them on the other side of the buffet, meticulously touching the rim of each dessert plate before selecting the biggest piece of cake.

“I should go back to my table,” Richard said.

“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you at the beach tomorrow,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Richard said, almost as though he weren’t really listening to her, and then went back to his table with a bowl of rice pudding.

That night, lying in bed, Joan couldn’t sleep. Her whole body felt as though tiny pins were being poked through her skin, and she was too warm. Lizzie had spent all night reading a book called White Teeth in bed, wearing headphones, while Joan had flipped through channels trying to find something to watch. There were only about twelve channels here, three of them showing baseball games. She ended up watching the Julia Roberts movie where she runs away from her husband. When it was over it just started up again, and now she was wide awake in her bed. Lizzie was asleep.

She kept thinking about the close call the night before with Duane, but also Richard. Even though he’d grown up in the same small town as she had, she probably hadn’t thought once about him since that time in middle school when she’d walked into Mr. Barclay’s science class and Mr. Barclay was handing Richard a stick of deodorant. It was not a total surprise. Richard basically wore the same shirt to school every day, and he reeked. Joan had run to lunch and told everyone at her table what she’d seen, and for a while everyone called Richard Old Spice, which was probably an improvement on Dickless.

After eighth grade all the Middleham kids went to the Dartford-Middleham High School, and Joan barely saw Richard anymore. He’d grown a ton between middle school and high school and looked less like that scrawny kid with clothes that didn’t fit and a homemade haircut. He was still a complete freak, though. It was strange that, right now, he felt like an actual friend in this place. They had stuff in common. Not just that they grew up in the same town and went to the same school, but it turned out that they shared a common enemy. She was hoping to find Richard tomorrow, and get more information about Duane.





Chapter 3





Kimball


The night after seeing Joan Grieve Whalen again I went online and studied her husband’s company’s extensive website. Blackburn Properties had photographs and profiles of the brokers, the agents, and the office staff. Richard Whalen’s profile picture had been taken outside on a sunny day, some sort of parkland behind him. He had short cropped gray hair and the kind of raw but handsome face that looked as though he spent time on boats. In the short biography that accompanied his picture he mentioned his hobbies were paddleboarding, freshwater fishing, and road biking. There was no mention of a wife.

Pam O’Neil, the woman Joan was convinced was sleeping with her husband, listed her hobbies as horseback riding and boogie boarding. She had long blond hair, and very white teeth, although it was possible the picture had been touched up. She looked as though she was in her mid-twenties, about ten years younger than Richard Whalen or Joan.