River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(37)
She had let him take control of how she’d spent her free time outside of the clinic, whether it had been jetting to Washington, DC, for some benefit dinner or driving into New York City to catch a Broadway show. It had been exciting, extravagant, uncomfortable.
She’d forgotten how much she missed her time away from the rest of the world, alone with only the river, the woods, and its animals for company. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel the kind of peace she felt on the inside when she’d been still. She’d forgotten how she’d once shared this feeling with someone, with Parker.
She turned, sensing his presence at the top of the stairs, feeling his eyes on her; he was watching her from the back deck. He didn’t say anything. In the next moment he was gone. She heard his car starting, the tires crackling on the gravel driveway, the sound disappearing once the wheels hit the blacktop. She reached down to pet Romy and then remembered she’d left her at home.
Her gaze returned to the river. She was left with only the sound of water lapping against the shore, the occasional bird calling to anyone who was listening.
After leaving Parker’s sometime later, she turned into the driveway of her father’s house. As she was pulling in, Toby was pulling out. He stopped alongside her, rolled down his window.
“Becca,” he said.
“Hey, Toby, or should I say Chief?” He looked older than she remembered, heavier in the face and neck, creases by his eyes. It wasn’t that aging was surprising, but his expression was disconcerting. “Is everything okay?” She motioned toward the house, her father.
“Sure, he’s, well, he’s . . .” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel. “What can I say?”
She understood it was hard for Toby to see her father so ill. Her father and Toby went way back, having worked side by side for over fifteen years.
“It’s good to see you home,” he said.
She nodded and was about to take her foot off the brake when he added, “You be careful, you hear?” and pulled away.
“Yeah, okay,” she said, watched him drive down the road, wondered what the heck he’d meant by that. She parked her Jeep by the garage and got out. Romy greeted her, tail wagging, prancing, licking Becca’s hands and face when she stooped to pet her.
“You can come next time,” she said, feeling bad about not taking the dog fishing with her, but she’d been worried about the casting, Romy getting hooked by a lure. Now that she’d seen the size of Parker’s dock, she knew it could easily accommodate a dog. She kissed Romy’s head and stood, but she wasn’t ready to go inside the house just yet. She needed a little more time before she faced her father for another day.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she said to Romy.
She trekked through the crabgrass and the weeds of what had become of the backyard, moving in the direction of the woods. Romy jumped and ran in front of her, stopping to sniff the ground, a rock, a leaf, following a scent known only to dogs. It didn’t take long for Becca to find the path at the bottom of the mountain, the one that crossed the stream where she’d spent many hours playing when she’d been a kid, the same one that led straight to the river.
The leaves were starting to fall from the trees; yellows and reds and oranges blanketed the ground. Squirrels scurried along branches, their cheeks packed with nuts, preparing for the winter months ahead. She and Romy walked on, pausing when they came upon John’s old barn. Romy stopped, ears perked, teeth bared.
“It’s okay, girl,” Becca said, reassuring the dog and herself. “I know the man who lives here.” John’s farmhouse was on the other side of the barn.
“Come on, we’ll walk around.” She started to lead Romy away, but after taking a few steps, she paused, glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of the farmhouse, a single motorcycle parked outside.
She started moving faster than she had been before, covering the ground in long strides as much as the thick brush would allow. Romy trotted on the right side of Becca a couple yards away, putting Becca between the dog and the barn.
Becca continued to pick up her pace. Something in the back of her mind, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, drove her forward with a kind of fury. She started running. She was used to running in the woods and dashed through the scrub. Twigs and small branches whipped her arms and legs, most of them missing her face. She had to watch her footing on the rocks and branches and uneven terrain.
She ran a half mile, maybe more.
It was hard to gauge distance when you were surrounded by maple and oak trees, pines, ferns, and brush, all blending into one colorful, autumn-enhanced visual. Her heart pounded; her breathing was heavy. The collar of her shirt was damp underneath her windbreaker. She heard the river. Her pace slowed as she approached a small clearing. Romy panted beside her after racing ahead and then doubling back.
Becca was certain she’d never been to the clearing before, but she knew it was there like she knew about all of the places along the river where kids weren’t supposed to go. There were certain areas they stayed away from, locations considered off-limits where the Scions congregated for outings, hangouts, meetings of unknown business. No one had to tell them to stay away from these places. It was just another part of growing up in the town, as much a part of the area as were the tourism and tubing, the fishing and hunting, the bears and wolves.