What Happened to the Bennetts(8)

I needed to reconfigure who I was. I was still her father, but she was gone. I had only one living child now, just a boy, my son.

I would always be Allison’s father, even without Allison. Lucinda whispered, “You awake?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know . . . our baby girl.”

I hugged her tighter, in the darkness.

“It’s . . . this is . . . unreal.”

“I feel the same way.”

“We’re here . . . without . . . her. She’s too . . . young . . . she has everything . . . her whole . . . life.” Lucinda began to cry again. “Why . . . why her . . . why? She was so . . . great . . . she was just a great kid . . . and now, now, that’s it? That’s her . . . life? Her whole . . . entire life?”

I closed my eyes.

“She wasn’t even sixteen . . . we were just talking about . . . what kind of . . . party . . .”

I swallowed hard. Allison’s birthday was January 18. It would have been her sweet sixteen. Most of her friends were already sixteen. She hated that. She was competitive.

“She doesn’t . . . get to graduate? Go to . . . college? Get married?”

I couldn’t even get that far.

“This happened . . . to her? This is what happens?”

I felt the same, that this was unfathomable.

“What will . . . we do? What? How?” Lucinda fell silent a moment, then whispered, “Do you know what’s . . . the worst?”

“Everything,” I whispered back, without thinking.

“Yes,” Lucinda said, after a minute. “She was . . . my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” I said. It was true. Lucinda and Allison were best friends. Lucinda had other girlfriends, like Melissa. They were field hockey and lacrosse moms, walking buddies, yoga on Mondays and Thursdays. But none was as close as Allison.

“We were . . . two peas . . .”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. I said it all the time. Mother and daughter were so much alike they were almost the same person. They looked alike, they even had the same walk, slightly duck-toed. They both talked too fast. They were both all over everything. Intense, strong.

“I loved her . . . I love her so . . . much . . . Ethan loved her . . . we loved her . . .”

“We always will.”

Lucinda cried harder. Tears filled my eyes, but I held them back. I was already feeling the weight of the awful tasks ahead. I would have to call the funeral home in the morning. Make an appointment to choose a casket. We would tell Allison’s friends, our friends. Troy, the new boyfriend. The coaches, the school. Lucinda would cancel the coveted day-of appointment for beachy waves. She would have to pick out Allison’s dress.

Not for homecoming.

Forever and ever.



* * *



—

    I awoke to Moonie’s barking downstairs, then the doorbell ringing. I reached for my phone to check the time. Three-fifteen a.m. I had no idea who would be here at this hour, then realized it could be the detectives. Maybe they had caught the guy.

I jumped out of bed and flew from the room, still in my bloody undershirt. I hurried downstairs to find Moonie barking and jumping around the entrance hall, his nails clicking on the hardwood.

I looked through the window in the front door and saw two men in suits. The one in front was a trim, fit African-American about my age. He spotted me, then held up a bifold wallet that read FBI under a golden badge. Behind him stood a younger White man with short brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a blocky build, holding up his own FBI bifold ID.

I didn’t know what the FBI wanted, but I opened the door. “Hello—”

“Mr. Bennett, I’m Special Agent Dom Kingston of the FBI, out of Philly. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Hallman. Our condolences on the loss of your daughter. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. May we come in?”

“Okay.” I stepped aside, and they entered to Moonie sniffing their shoes. “What’s the FBI’s involvement? I thought Chester County was handling this.”

“Not anymore.” Special Agent Kingston looked grave.

“Did you catch the guy?”

“No, not yet. May we speak with you and your wife?”

“It’s the middle of the night, and she finally got to sleep.”

“It’s important. Can you wake her?”

“Now?”

“Time is of the essence.”





Chapter Five



I was on the couch between my wife and son, and we sat opposite Special Agents Kingston and Hallman. Puffy-eyed and exhausted, Lucinda had changed into a chambray shirt and jeans before coming downstairs, taking off her blood-spattered clothes. Ethan still had on his Nike shirt and jeans. I would have let him sleep, but Moonie’s barking woke him.

We had exchanged introductions in the family room, where Special Agent Kingston seemed to take command merely by his presence, which was quietly authoritative. His face was a long rectangle, with a strong jawline and a small mouth. His hair was cut short, with a hairline beginning to recede. He was about my height, too, and muscular in a dark, well-cut suit. Special Agent Hallman ceded him the floor, with an impassive expression on his round face. Dimpled cheeks emphasized his youth.