What Happened to the Bennetts(13)

We passed an Arby’s, a Chick-fil-A, a McDonald’s, and a Dunkin’ Donuts, then got off Route 1. We drove through a series of beach communities, their quiet streets lined with houses, many of which were built up on stilts. Each one was different from the next; modern glass affairs, old weathered clapboard with screened-in porches, new multi-story homes with siding in colorful aluminum, flying novelty flags with lobsters and cartoon fish.

Seagulls scored the sky, and in time the houses grew fewer and farther apart. The landscape changed dramatically, and I shifted upward to take it in, trying to get my bearings. There were wooded patches here and there, but in time there were almost no trees, nor even land.

We drove through vast stretches of marsh, populated with tall green and brown reeds and a variety of water plants I couldn’t identify. A myriad of canals and creeks with brown, murky water snaked through the foliage. Random ponds appeared around every corner, their surfaces covered with moss and algae.

I felt an increasing sense of dislocation. I was a suburban dad, a farm boy at heart. It disoriented me to see the vanishing of terra firma, as if the land beneath my very feet were disappearing. Or maybe it was simply my mood, because I knew nothing would ever be familiar again.

I heard myself say, “I didn’t realize there was so much swamp down here.”

Special Agent Hallman turned to me. “We’re driving on the border of a nature preserve.”

“Oh.”

“But the fact is, about ninety percent of Delaware is wetlands. By the way, it’s not a swamp, it’s a marsh.”

“Good to know. I didn’t realize there was a difference.”

“There is. A swamp is generally standing water. What you’re seeing is saltwater tidal marsh. It flows into the Delaware Bay.”

“Sounds like you have the facts.”

“I’m local. I grew up in Lewes.”

Special Agent Kingston smiled. “Now you know why we call him Wiki. He’s Wikipedia Brown.”

Special Agent Hallman chuckled, and the van began to slow. Brownish sand drifted onto the asphalt, gritty under our tires, and we turned onto a street that had just a few houses. They were set back from the road, blocked from view by thick scrub pines and arborvitae.

I glimpsed shingled fa?ades, generous porches, and second-story decks to take advantage of the view over the marsh. We passed a small, decrepit house with rusting junk in its front yard, an eyesore among an enclave of nicer homes. There were no cars parked on the street or in the driveways, and I gathered they were vacation homes for the well-heeled, unoccupied this time of year.

I cleared my throat. “What’s the name of this town?”

“Reeford,” Special Agent Kingston answered, looking in the rearview mirror. “Your house is at the end of the street, a dead end. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths. You have the marsh out back and the beach out front, on the bay.”

I could tell he was trying to cheer me up, which I appreciated. “Sounds nice.”

“We’ll be in the au-pair suite, which is detached. It gives your family privacy. Fenced-in backyard for the dog, too.”

“Thanks.” I tried to wrap my mind around it. I hadn’t even noticed the street name. “How long do we stay here?”

“Six months through the application process. Then you make a permanent move. We’ll be there in a few minutes. You might want to wake up your wife and son.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to wake them. I wanted Lucinda to stay in whatever dreamworld she was in, because it had to be better than this one, in which her beloved daughter, her best friend, no longer lived. Ethan, too. He adored his sister, and I didn’t know if he was strong enough to live a life in which he had seen her shot to death, feeling like it was his fault. I didn’t know if we could get him professional help in the witness protection program. I didn’t know anything about the program except what I had seen in the movies. It was the one thing I had never had a deposition about.

We reached the end of the street, then turned onto a large square of driveway. It was of crushed seashells lined with thick railroad ties, holding back brush and trees. Shards popped under our tires as we slowed to a stop, and Special Agent Kingston shut the ignition.

The sudden silence brought up the sounds of Ethan’s snoring, still congested. Lucinda didn’t wake up, but stirred, lifting her head from me and shifting sleepily to the window.

“Jason, you wanna wake up—”

“Hold on.” I got up, eased around Ethan, and left the van, orienting myself. “Mind if I look around a sec?”

“Take your time.” Special Agent Kingston reached for his phone.

I took in the house, elevated on stilts, which was large and traditional in style, with a brown clapboard fa?ade weathering tastefully. A wooden staircase led to a front porch with two rocking chairs and a front door of forest green. There were plenty of windows, their frames a faded white, on both floors. Underneath were outdoor shower stalls next to air-conditioning units and propane tanks on elevated platforms. Next to the house stood a smaller version without the porch, presumably for the FBI agents.

I could see the fenced backyard on the right, and on the left a trail to the marsh, with its tall reeds, brownish creek, and vast expanse of cloudy sky. The air was heavy and smelled briny and organic, like decomposing matter. I turned away and was about to go back to the car when on the other side, I spotted a path to the beach.