A Mother Would Know (57)

“Okay, listen to me.” I gripped him by the shoulders. “I need you to do exactly as I say, all right?”

He nodded, his eyes large round circles hypnotized with relief at someone else taking charge.

“Pull yourself together. Go find your friends. Share a beer—” I cringed...what parent told their fifteen-year-old to do that? “—and act normal. Mention that you’ve been walking around, mingling with the other guys. Say something about how you haven’t seen Heather in a while. Then go find her friends. Find Katie. Tell them the same thing. Ask where she is.” I squeeze tighter. “This is the important part. Make sure someone else finds her; have them call 911. At that point, call me and I’ll come back.”

His eyes flashed with something akin to terror. It reminded me of the night of my launch party. I wouldn’t let him down this time. “Where are you going?”

“I won’t be far. Only a few miles away. Out of sight.”

He hesitated. His eyes were ringed in red, his cheeks damp. I swiped at his tears with my thumbs.

“You can do this.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You need to go now before someone sees me.” I released my grip. “You remember what to do?”

His head bobbed up and down again, slowly, almost unsure.

“Hudson?” I pressed, nervous.

“Yeah, I got it.” This time he sounded more like himself. Assured. Maybe even a little annoyed.

“Okay. See you soon.” I looked at him one last time before hurrying to my car. I thought of Heather, the little girl who had built forts in my backyard, done her homework at my dining table, sat with her feet in my son’s lap while we all watched movies together—now lying lifeless and crumpled somewhere on the ground below me. And I prayed Hudson could pull this off.



* * *



When Hudson goes upstairs to take a shower, I head to the kitchen. If there was ever a night that called for wine, it’s tonight. With slow movements, I get a wineglass down and place it on the counter. As I pour wine into the glass, I find my gaze once again darting out the window toward Leslie’s house. It’s like I’m unable to stop myself.

Back when we were friends, Leslie used to host a book club at her house once a month—well, clearly she still does. Or did. Anyway, I just haven’t been invited in ages. But back then, for months, she tried to recruit me into it. Tired of turning her down, I finally gave in. Before the first meeting, I read the book and jotted down some questions. But about a half an hour in, I realized it was more of a wine club than a book club. The entire two hours were a drink-and-gab session. I think we talked about the book for a total of five minutes. I ended up attending for about a year, and the only time I remember Leslie being into the book was when we read The Time Traveler’s Wife. She was always a sucker for romances.

After carrying my full wineglass into the family room, I sit on the couch and reach for the remote. Propping my feet up on the coffee table, I click the television on. In honor of Leslie, I find the Hallmark Channel. It’s halfway through a romantic movie, but it doesn’t take long for me to get the gist. A city girl with a high-powered corporate job is falling for a small-town boy who runs a farm. I nestle into the couch cushions and sip my wine. The movie doesn’t exactly take my mind off of the day’s events, but it is a welcome distraction.

Right at the moment when it reaches the conclusion and the guy and girl are about to kiss, I’m startled by a rustling noise outside. I sit up, feet slipping from the table. Footfalls ring out upstairs. I’d heard Hudson getting out of the shower a little while ago; now he moves about his room, floor creaking overhead. Maybe that’s all it was. It seemed like it was coming from outside, but perhaps it was from upstairs.

I lean back, shifting to get comfortable against the cushions, when I hear it again.

No, it’s definitely coming from outside.

I set my wineglass on the coffee table. The credits are rolling. I groan. After all that, I missed the happy ending. Standing up, I preemptively feel silly. Most likely, all I’m going to find is a squirrel playing in the bushes. A bird in a tree. Bill next door in the driveway between our houses, throwing something in the trash.

At the window, I lean forward, so close to the glass I can feel the cold seeping in, smell the dampness in the air. It’s dark and hard to make anything out. We’ve never had great lighting on this street, and my own porch lights are dim. I make a note to talk to Hudson about replacing them, even though I still haven’t given him that list of chores I made when he first moved in.

I squint, pressing my nose to the windowpane.

And then I hear it again.

Something glints, like the flicker of a light.

No, not a light. Something reflective.

Glasses?

I look harder.

Yes, glasses perched on a man’s nose.

A man who’s lurking in my front yard.





19





I duck down below the windowsill, hoping he hasn’t already seen me. The man wears all black, so it almost appears as if his head is floating in the night sky. If it weren’t for his glasses, I wouldn’t have noticed him at all. It’s unclear what he’s doing, but he’s near the side gate.

I clutch my chest, and my heart dances against my palms.