The New Husband(85)

“Connor,” I said, reaching for my phone. “There’s something … something I need to tell you.”

But before I could get the words out, I heard the sound of car wheels coming down the road. All three of us froze like deer sensing a predator.

“Get down,” Connor said in a harsh whisper, no joking this time.

We all went down quickly as the car came into view. But it wasn’t a car, it was Simon’s truck, which I recognized even before he turned into the driveway, flashing us his signature bumper sticker: I’M A TEACHER, WHAT’S YOUR SUPERPOWER?

“What’s he doing here?” whispered Ben, who looked extremely nervous, like this was the first time he’d done something wrong and was about to get caught in the act.

“I bet he’s meeting a prostitute,” Connor said with a grin. “It is his house, dummies.”

Ben shook his head in disgust as if to say Connor was too immature for his liking.

“Quiet,” I hushed them as Simon got out of his truck. He did not look suspicious, worried, hurried, or anything like that. He looked exactly like, well, Simon—khaki pants and a heavy jacket over what I presumed was some kind of polo shirt. He closed the door of the truck with a bang. Connor shifted position and a large branch snapped under his weight. The crack drew Simon’s attention, and his head pivoted in the direction of the noise.

I let out a gasp, loud enough for Ben to shush me. We lay frozen on the ground as if encased in ice. Simon’s probing eyes searched the trees for the source of the noise. I turned my head to look at Connor, who didn’t look so cocky anymore. He must have been thinking what I was thinking: We can’t explain being here. Talk about things getting awkward at home.

Ben was breathing loudly beside me. I watched Simon advance down the driveway, his gaze locked on the woods.

“Oh shit, I think he sees us.”

Connor’s warning got Ben ready to bolt, but I held him down. Even that little bit of movement rustled the leaves underneath him, drawing Simon forward right up to the top of his driveway, then beyond.

When he crossed the road, Simon walked to the edge of the woods, put his hands on his hips, and stood perfectly still. Ben’s breathing became increasingly shallow. I risked a glance. His face was white as a sheet. Dots of sweat popped up on his forehead even in this chill.

Simon took a single step into the woods. I heard leaves crunch under his foot. For a second, I thought Ben was going to get up and make a run for it. I moved my hand, slowly as could be, over to Ben, whose cold fingers interlocked with mine. We made eye contact. I tried not to breathe too hard, too fast, but I was quaking inside. Turning my head, I watched Simon take another step into the woods, peering through the trees, now no more than fifteen yards from our hiding spot. Ben squeezed my hand harder. I was coiled so tight I thought I might spring up by accident. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Connor looking as nervous as I felt.

Simon took another step. I held my breath. I’m sure both Ben and Connor were doing the same. He fixed his gaze right on the spot where I was hiding, and I swore he saw me, but instead of advancing, he turned and started walking back to his driveway. Moments later, he was inside his house. We waited. Nobody moved a muscle for what felt like an hour, but it was probably only a few minutes.

“Okay,” Connor whispered. “Take the bikes through the woods. Don’t get on them until we reach Black Oak.”

I nodded as I stood. My legs were stiff and cold. We formed a line, Connor in front, me in the middle, Ben taking up the rear. We kept low as we pushed our bikes as quiet as could be over the dead leaves carpeting the forest floor. I took the whole terrifying encounter as a sign from Dad to keep his secret at least for one more day.

I turned my head to look back at the house and felt my stomach drop when I saw that the curtains in the front room were parted. From my position, I could see Simon looking out the window in our direction. Then, I watched as he pulled those curtains closed.





CHAPTER 46


Regret is an awful thing. It filled Glen with shame and sadness. There were things he missed, of course. Football games. Lacrosse games. Cookouts. Fishing. Those hazy memories that would flitter in and out of his mind at random intervals all the days he sat chained in the box. But regret was its own special kind of torture. It was more potent than depression, boredom, longing, even memories. Because at the root of regret lay helplessness—an inability to change a desired outcome.

If only …

Those, he’d come to believe, were the two most destructive words for the mind.

If. Only.

If only he’d told Maggie to run.

If only he’d passed a message to her.

If only he’d kept his mouth shut at his job.

If only he hadn’t gone to the Muddy Moose.

If only he appreciated his family more.

If only …

Glen kept hearing Maggie’s voice over and over in his head, sweet and unsure, and the sound crimped his heart anew. He had failed his family in a whole new way. He had one chance, one swing of the bat, and he had missed. Simon would never let him talk to Maggie again. He had made that abundantly clear.

Glen’s stomach rumbled with hunger. He’d been left with no food. He embraced the pain; he deserved it for his failure.

Swing and a miss …

But hours went by, and maybe even days; hard to track time down here.