A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(126)

Ben and Samantha were at Steve’s this weekend, so Abby didn’t need to worry about anything. Besides her eternal concerns that the kids ate junk food at Steve’s, watched things they shouldn’t watch at Steve’s, played violent video games at Steve’s, and went to sleep too late at Steve’s. But she was getting good at pushing away those nagging concerns, never voicing them, and healthily letting them fester. Because letting dark thoughts and anxieties fester in your brain was a big part of being a parent.

Finally, Eden hung up the phone. “Are we here?”

“Yup,” Abby said. “Welcome to Georgetown, Delaware.”

“It’s very . . . spacious,” Eden said, sounding a bit jealous.

“Tell me about it.” Abby didn’t share Eden’s newly found desire to leave the city. She loved the city. Here, every house was dozens of yards from the next one—and nothing but grass in between. It seemed so dull.

“Do you think he’ll be home?” Eden asked for the tenth time since they’d left.

“I hope so.”

They had no way of being sure. Isaac hadn’t answered their texts in which they’d announced they were coming together to visit him.

Ever since that night with Carver, Abby’s trust in her own memories had been disintegrating. Discussing things she remembered with Eden and Isaac raised endless contradictions and gaps. Isaac recalled the day they’d hidden in the poppy field but claimed that they’d found a weird-looking rock and not a bullet. Eden insisted that the sinks they’d washed their hands in hadn’t been outside at all; they had been indoors. Each of them remembered Moses Wilcox differently. And the three of them had varying memories of that last, terrible day.

Eden and Isaac were content to let it drop, but Abby couldn’t. The guilt from that day, intertwined with the uncertainty of her own recollections, kept gnawing at her at all times. She slept badly and during the day was tense and irritable. She needed to put those days behind her once and for all.

It was Eden who suggested that they all meet together. Abby instantly said yes. Isaac was less than thrilled. He couldn’t get time off from work, and the workload spilled into the weekends as well. He suggested that they meet in a few months when things calmed down. The idea was unbearable to Abby, and finally she suggested that she and Eden come over to his place during the weekend. He explained that wouldn’t work, though couldn’t really give them a straight answer why.

He was hiding something. And Abby had a hunch what it was. Unlike Eden and her, Isaac had had a few things packed when they’d left the Wilcox cult. He’d mentioned it a few times during chats, and had even sent Eden the picture of Moses Wilcox. Perhaps he had something else there. Something that would shed light on past events.

Was he hiding it to protect her? Or was there something there that cast him in a different light? She needed to know.

She’d managed to track him down. He lived in Georgetown. Less than four hours away. They could drive to see him and get back home in the same day.

“How’s Nathan?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

“During the day he’s fine, but at night . . .” Eden sighed. “He ends up in my bed every night.”

“What is the therapist saying?”

“To give him time.”

Gabrielle paid for the therapist with her increasing income. Abby had no doubt that she was outearning her mother now. In fact, she was probably outearning Abby and Eden put together. Abby still occasionally checked Gabrielle’s Instagram account and found it confounding that a person could make so much money doing . . . well, practically nothing. Though Eden explained that Gabrielle worked from the moment she woke up until the late hours of the evening. Answering fans, reading comments, connecting with other influencers . . . apparently it was constant work.

“This is the place,” Abby muttered, parking the car. A tiny white-tiled house. The yard was covered in grass, only one bush breaking the monotony. The windows were shuttered, uninviting. During the long drive Abby had avoided thinking about the actual encounter, meeting Isaac, the three of them together for the first time since the Wilcox massacre. She knew how he looked, of course; they’d sent each other countless photos over the years. But she couldn’t imagine his expression when he opened the door.

She got out of the car before she had time to let her anxiety settle in. She imagined him glancing at them through the shutters, watching his past as it marched toward his house.

A man opened the door before she had the time to knock.

“Can I help you?” he asked guardedly.

She had no idea who this was.

“Um . . . we’re looking for Isaac. Is he home?” Abby asked.

“I’m Isaac.”

“Oh.” Disappointment filled her. This had all been for nothing. She’d tracked down the wrong man. “I’m sorry; I thought this was Isaac Reed’s home.”

“I’m Isaac Reed.” He frowned, squinting at her. “Who are you?”

“So sorry, we’ve definitely got the wrong—”

“Isaac?” Eden whispered behind her.

The man glanced over Abby’s shoulder, his eyes widening. He grasped the doorway as if to steady himself. “Eden?”

Abby stared at him, then at Eden, confounded. What the hell? This wasn’t Isaac. He didn’t look anything like the photos.