River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(75)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Becca stayed at her father’s bedside, refusing to leave him for even a moment. Twice since the sun had set, she’d used the bathroom, but otherwise she hadn’t left the room. She’d skipped dinner and Jackie’s soup. Romy had stayed outside the door in the hallway. The dog had been aware of what was happening from her body language. She’d kept her head lowered, a deep sadness in her eyes. Becca had wanted Romy in the bedroom with her so that she could pet and comfort her, so they could comfort each other. But the last thing Becca wanted to do was upset her father by bringing a dog into his room. The truth of it made her sad, the power he held over her still, the leftover childhood fear.

It wasn’t until sometime after midnight that she rose and stared out the window at the darkened sky. The night was clear and cool. The stars were plentiful, shimmering and glittering, dancing around the moon. It was almost too beautiful to look at, too happy, a sharp contrast to the sorrow staining the walls of the house.

The small lamp on the nightstand gave off a dim yellow glow that spread across her father’s face and chest. Jackie was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, silent, watching him rest. She’d taken his hand and began massaging his fingers and palm, working her way to his wrist and forearm. All the while, she whispered to him. Becca couldn’t make out everything she’d said, but she’d caught some of the words. “We’re with you. You’re not alone.”

It was now close to three o’clock. He opened his eyes. Becca stood and peered at him. “We’re here, Dad. We’re right here with you.” She said the words not knowing if he understood. His eyes were glazed over, and the longer she stared at him, the more she realized he wasn’t there. Oh, he was there physically. But whatever had made her father who he was had disappeared. His eyes no longer held any of the emotions he’d once carried, nothing of the life he’d lived.

She sat back down and took his hand, rubbing his fingers and palm the way Jackie had done. His skin was dry and cool, as though his body heat had left him. His nails were blue. “Maybe we should get him another blanket,” she said.

“It’s normal for his skin to feel cool,” Jackie said. “But there’s another blanket in the hall closet if it makes you feel better.”

Yes, it would make her feel better. She would take any little thing she could to make herself feel better. Becca stood and left the room. Outside the door, she stopped and put her back against the wall, sliding down to the floor next to Romy. The sixty-five-pound dog crawled into Becca’s lap, and Becca buried her face in Romy’s fur.

Some time had passed, not much time, and Becca stood once again, giving Romy a kiss on the top of her head. Becca pulled a blanket from the hall closet and returned to her father’s room. Jackie helped her spread it over him.

They sat in silence. The house was so quiet she could hear the clock in the kitchen downstairs tick off the seconds. On occasion, the old electric heat kicked on, the pipes pinging, the sound much louder than Becca had remembered.

“I told your dad he needed to get a new furnace,” Jackie said. “The first time I heard those pipes rattle, I thought someone had lit firecrackers under the bed.” She laughed and gazed at his face, seeming to be lost in a memory she’d shared with him.

Becca didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched on. They continued massaging his hands and arms, talking to him in whispering voices. He’d stopped drinking more than forty-eight hours ago. It was almost another three hours before his eyes opened wide again. Becca stood over him, touching his shoulder.

“Dad. Can you hear me?”

He looked at her with the same vacant eyes. She would never again see the sternness of his glare, the fear, the twinkle of his charm, the shades of love in his gaze. A deep sadness moved through her, a great sorrow for all the things they were to each other, all the things they could’ve been, all the things they would never get to be.

“I came home for you,” she told him. “I came because I wanted to be here with you.”

His eyelids fluttered once, twice, and closed. His skin was dusky. His jaw relaxed, and his mouth hung open as the hollows in his cheeks collapsed. His breaths came in short, shallow spurts with long pauses in between. It was five forty-five in the morning.

Jackie continued rubbing his forearm and bicep and shoulder. Becca lowered herself in the chair, unable to do anything but watch.

“We’re here, baby,” Jackie said. “You’re not alone.”

No, Becca thought, they were the ones who were alone. He was gone from them. Maybe Jackie hadn’t realized it yet. Maybe she had yet to feel the void, the emptiness in the room.

At six o’clock his breathing stopped, his last breath no different from the one before.

Slowly, Becca rose from the chair and crossed the room to the window. She folded her arms as though she were hugging herself. The top of the sun appeared behind the mountain, lighting the ground with its golden rays. Yellow and orange leaves blew in the breeze and scattered across the yard. Romy entered the room, sat by Becca’s side.

Behind her, Jackie crawled into the bed with him. She wrapped her arms around him, rested his head on her shoulder, and quietly sobbed.



Becca left Jackie that way, curled around Becca’s father, and walked out of the room with Romy. She dressed in running gear, long black pants and a bright-pink shirt, the color bold and vivid like her father had told her to wear in case there were hunters in the woods. She tied the laces of her sneakers. Then she folded the sheet of paper with the witness’s statement into a small square and shoved it into the front pocket of her pants. Romy jumped and pranced at her side, tired of being cooped up in the house, ready for her morning exercise.