Lost in the Never Woods(88)

A brown leather armchair sat in one corner of the room with a reading lamp perched on an end table next to it. Set in the back of the room was a heavy-looking wooden desk. There were opened letters, a couple stacks of paper, and a scotch decanter set on the corner. The decanter only had about two inches of amber liquid left in it.

Wendy crossed the room to the trash basket tucked under the desk. There were only a couple of empty beer bottles inside.

She emptied them into the large garbage bag in her hand. When she went to pluck a lone beer bottle from the desk, she noticed a small wooden tray filled with loose change, a letter opener, and a half-empty pack of gum. However, what caught her attention was a key, or rather the keychain attached to it. It was a circular piece of dark leather with #1 Dad sloppily burned into it. Wendy recognized it as the keychain she, John, and Michael had made for their father when they were away at summer camp one year. Since Father’s Day had happened while they were away, they decided to make him a keychain in woodshop. They picked out a piece of leather and Wendy used a wood-burning pen to brand #1 Dad into it with the help of an instructor.

Wendy stared at the key. What did it open? It wasn’t the house key—it was too small—and it wasn’t his office key—that one he kept attached to his work badge.

The only other door with a lock was her old room.

Wendy picked up the key and turned it over in her hand. Maybe this was it?

“What are you doing in here?”

Wendy jumped and looked up to see her father standing in the doorway.

“Dad, hi!” She tucked the key into her pocket and snatched the beer bottle off the desk. Wendy turned to face him. “Nothing, Mom just asked me to take out your trash,” she told him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Mr. Darling squinted at her for a moment. He looked tired. His eyes were bloodshot and his bushy hair was matted down on one side. A tall, army green thermos was in his hand. Wendy thought he was going to say something more, but all he did was grunt, cross to the armchair, and pick up the jacket draped over the back.

“Where are you going?” Wendy asked, following him back into the living room, garbage bag in tow.

“I’m heading back out with the search party,” Mr. Darling told her gruffly.

“Oh, okay,” she said. If that meant he would be out all night again, it would be easier for her and Peter to sneak around. “I saw the hunting shack on the news,” Wendy said, testing the murky waters of her father’s mood. “Did they find anything?”

Mr. Darling made another grunting noise. “Just some clothes and food. Looked like someone had been hiding out. There was still wood burning in the stove,” he told her, not making eye contact as he spoke. “Doubt those sorry excuses for detectives will find anything useful,” he growled. “It’ll be up to us to bring them back home.”

Wendy knew her father disliked the police even more than she did. They were supposed to find his missing boys, and they had let him down. No wonder he didn’t trust them to be any use now.

“I’ll be back late again,” Mr. Darling continued. “Lock up tonight.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He stared at her for a moment. It felt like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. Wendy was trying to guess what when he reached out and gave her a side hug, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder with his big hand. The weight of it felt foreign. Before Wendy could register what was happening, he turned and left through the front door.

Wendy stood there, frozen in place. He hadn’t tried to hug her in … she didn’t even know how long. The missing kids, being thrown into the same situation Wendy had lived through five years ago, had clearly gotten to him.

She shook the strange feeling from her shoulders.

After she took out the garbage, her mother had her hose down the two lounge chairs in the backyard, dry them off, and put the cushions on them. Mrs. Darling had decided that today was a good day to lie out in the sun and read for a bit, and that they deserved a break after all the hard work they had done around the house. Wendy threw together some peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch.

The key hung heavy in Wendy’s pocket. She urged the afternoon to go by faster so she could find Peter.

While her mom easily settled in with a book, Wendy’s eyes couldn’t stay on the page. They kept wandering over to the woods. As it grew later in the day, Wendy began to worry about Peter. He hadn’t been gone for this long before. Did something happen? Was he okay? Every time she thought about her hand in his last night, something in her chest fluttered. Was he avoiding her?

When the daylight started to wane, they headed inside. Mrs. Darling threw together a quick dinner of sliced chicken breast and salad, a late dinner since she would be working through the night, but Wendy couldn’t even eat half the food on her plate. In just a little while, the day would be over and it would be nighttime. She and Peter had lost their window of opportunity to go into the woods. And where was he?

“Don’t forget to lock the back door,” Mrs. Darling reminded Wendy as she gathered up her purse for work.

“I know,” Wendy groaned. She sat at the kitchen table, pushing her salad around with her fork.

“And make sure to—”

Knock knock.

Mrs. Darling frowned and looked at the door. Wendy put her fork down and sat up straight. Judging by the look on her mom’s face, they weren’t expecting anyone.