Missing Pieces(72)

“Thank you,” Sarah said, slowly easing herself from the backseat. Her shoulder twinged painfully.

“Where are you headed?” the deputy asked. “I’ll follow you and make sure you get to where you’re going okay.”

“Thanks. I can’t seem to contact my husband...” Sarah’s shoulder throbbed and tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was hurt more than she thought. “I’m staying at Dean and Celia Quinlan’s home.”

“I know just where that is. Go ahead and I’ll follow you.” The deputy watched as Sarah got into her car and then pulled onto the road behind her.

When they arrived at the house, Sarah thanked the deputy and walked up the porch steps to the front door. She turned and waved to let him know that she would be okay. He lifted his hand in return and waited until she was safely inside and then rumbled away.

Sarah pushed open the front door and quietly shut it behind her. She followed the soft voices coming from the kitchen but stopped short, remaining unseen in the darkened hallway to listen.

“Is everything okay between you and Sarah?” Celia asked, her voice filled with concern. “She seems really uncomfortable being here.”

“She’s had a lot come at her in the past few days,” Jack said, his voice laced with exhaustion. “I think she just wants to go home.”

“But you’re the one whose aunt died,” Celia protested. “It’s your sister who’s in trouble. You’re the one who has had to come home to the last place in the world you want to be.” Celia’s voice sounded indistinct, loose.

Sarah felt white-hot anger rise in her chest. She couldn’t believe that Jack and Celia were sitting in the kitchen talking about her. She waited for Jack to come to her defense. To say that of course Sarah was uncomfortable and tense staying in the home where his mother was murdered and his former girlfriend now lived. He remained silent.

“Do you remember the time when things were so bad at my house?” Celia asked. “We were, like, fourteen and my dad was out of control. I called you, crying, and you took your dad’s truck without asking and picked me up.”

Jack gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, we only got as far as Storm Lake before the highway patrolman stopped us. Our parents were pissed.”

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened,” Celia asked, “if we would have kept on driving?”

Sarah stepped from the shadows of the hallway, not wanting to hear Jack’s response, not wanting to hear him say that he wished things had turned out differently between him and Celia.

She found Jack and Celia sitting side by side at the kitchen table, heads close together, a bottle of vodka set on the table between them.

They both looked up, startled, when they heard her.

“Sarah,” Celia said a little too loudly, and Jack shushed her. “Sorry,” she giggled. “Sarah.” She lowered her voice. “Come join us. We’re just having a drink to celebrate the end of this god-awful day.”

“No, thanks,” Sarah said, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her.

“Oh, come on,” Celia urged. “It’s Grey Goose and cranberry juice, Jack’s favorite.” She was right, Sarah thought, cringing. It was his favorite drink. “Remember back in high school,” Celia said, her face only inches from Jack’s, her hand resting on his arm. “You would steal your dad’s vodka and I would smuggle cranberry juice out of my house.”

“Just a second, Celia,” Jack said, standing and going to Sarah’s side. “Sarah, are you okay?”

“Where’s Dean?” Sarah asked. “Where’s Hal?”

“Sarah,” Jack said again, studying her carefully. “What happened to your arm?”

“I was in a car accident,” Sarah said, her voice cracking. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost an hour. You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Jack’s hand flew to his back pocket and he pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “Jesus, I’m sorry. What happened? Are you okay?”

“Sit here,” Celia said, rising from her seat unsteadily and then sitting back down. “Are you hurt?”

Sarah ignored Celia and looked to Jack. “My shoulder hurts.”

“Can you lift it?” Jack asked.

Sarah slowly lifted her arm and nodded.

“Was it a deer?” Celia asked, her words slightly slurred. “Lots of deer running across the roads this time of year.”

“It wasn’t a deer,” Sarah said sharply, looking at Celia. “Are you drunk?”

Celia choked back a laugh. “Maybe.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Just a little bit, though.”

“What happened?” Jack asked.

“I was driving here from the church. A truck came flying up behind me and hit my bumper.” Sarah shivered at the memory of seeing the glaring headlights of the truck bearing down on her. “I went off the road and into a ditch. Ended up in a cornfield.”

Jack hurried into the living room and reappeared with a throw blanket and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. “Jesus. What happened to the other guy? Did he stop? How did you get home?”

Sarah shrugged the blanket away, irritated by Jack’s ministrations. “He didn’t stop. I called the sheriff’s department. I could drive the car, but it’s got a little damage.”