“Why didn’t you just let me die that night?” she demanded. “Don’t you think I know what I’m like? Don’t you think I know how people talk about me and look at me? And it isn’t any different here than it was in Atlanta. It’s always the same! Why didn’t you just let me die!”
Slamming the door, she dashed away from the truck, stumbling across a vine-choked field toward one of the canals. Ted, still reeling from his daughter’s words, opened the driver’s door of the truck, dropped to the pavement and started after her.
“Kelly!” he called. “Kelly, come back!”
He came to the center of the field, searching the darkness for any sign of her. For a moment he saw nothing, but then there was a movement near the canal. He took off again, running and calling out for her.
He came to the path that edged the canal and paused, breathing hard.
Then he saw her.
She was fifty yards away, at the near end of one of the footbridges that crossed the canal, linking the path with the wilderness on the other side.
“Kelly! Kelly, wait! I didn’t mean—” He started running, but by the time he got to the bridge, she was out of sight.
At the other end of the bridge he could see nothing but the black darkness of the wilderness.
The last of his anger drained out of him as he crossed the bridge and saw the dense vegetation on the other side. In place of his anger a cold knot of fear began to form in his belly. “Kelly?” he called out yet again. “Kelly, where are you?”
He listened, silently praying that she would answer his call, but all he heard was the steady droning of the insects and frogs, and the hoot of an owl.
Kelly had disappeared into the darkness.
16
Mary, pale and shaken, listened numbly as Ted tried to explain what had happened. Her hand instinctively clutched at the lapels of her robe as a chill passed through her. “Why?” she demanded when her husband had finished. Her voice had gone hollow. “Why couldn’t you have waited until you got home?”
Carl rose from his chair and went to the phone. A moment later, as Mary listened with growing panic, he said, “Kitteridge? This is Carl Anderson. We’ve got a problem. My granddaughter’s gone into the swamp.” There was a moment of silence, then: “It doesn’t matter a damn
He hung up the phone and turned to Ted. “I’m going to start calling everyone I can think of. If we’re lucky, she won’t have gone far, and we’ll find her right away.” As Mary and Ted sat numbly, feeling totally helpless in the face of what had happened, Carl began organizing a search party. Fifteen minutes later, as the doorbell rang and he went to let the police chief into the house, the phone began jangling. Mary, startled by the sound, stared blankly at the instrument for a moment, then felt a surge of hope.
“It’s Kelly,” she said, hurrying across the room and snatching up the receiver. “Kelly? Kelly, is that you?”
There was a moment of silence, and then she heard Barbara Sheffield’s voice. “It’s Barbara, Mary. Craig just called from the police department. What can I do to help?”
Mary felt herself floundering. “I–I don’t know. The police chief just got here …”
“Craig’s on his way home,” Barbara told her. “We’ll be over as soon as he gets here.”
“You don’t have to do that—” Mary automatically began to protest, but Barbara cut her off.
“Don’t be silly, Mary. I’m not going to leave you sitting alone there. You’d go crazy. And don’t worry. Judd Duval knows the swamp like the back of his hand. I’m sure they’ll find Kelly within an hour or two.”
“Will they?” Mary heard herself asking. “But what if she doesn’t want to be found, Barbara? What if—”
“Stop it, Mary,” Barbara told her. “Don’t even think about anything like that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Mary silently put the receiver back on the cradle as Barbara Sheffield hung up. She turned to find Tim Kitteridge gazing curiously at her.
“Mrs. Anderson? What did you mean just now?”
Mary frowned uncertainly. “Mean? I–I’m sorry …”
“What you just said, Mrs. Anderson. About your daughter not wanting to be found.”
Mary closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself against the table on which the telephone sat. “I — She—”
“My granddaughter had a problem a few weeks back.” Carl Anderson spoke into the silence that had suddenly descended on the room. “She was very unhappy, and she tried to kill herself. But that’s all over with now.”
Kitteridge, his brows knitting, turned to Ted. “I need to know what happened. Did your daughter just take off?”
Unable to meet Kitteridge’s steady gaze, Ted haltingly repeated what had happened, glossing over the worst of it. “She was really upset about being picked up by the police,” he finished, but Mary broke in, her eyes fixed angrily on her husband.
“It wasn’t like that at all, Ted! It was your fault! You blew up!” She shifted her attention to the police chief. “He told her she was crazy,” she said, her voice trembling. “He told her — Oh, God, I don’t know! What does it matter? Just find her.” She began sobbing, sinking brokenly into a chair and burying her face in her hands. “Please — just find her.…”
• • •
“I’m going, Dad,” Michael said, his voice carrying a quiet determination that Craig Sheffield had never heard before. Craig had been home only a few minutes, and was about to leave with Barbara to go to the Andersons’ when Michael appeared in the kitchen.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Craig replied. “You’re going to stay right here and take care of your sister. She’s too young to stay by herself, and your mother’s going to sit with Mary Anderson.”
Michael’s features set stubbornly. “Let Jen go with Mom. I know the swamp better than practically anyone in town. Besides, I feel like it’s my fault that Kelly’s out there. If I hadn’t gotten into that fight, none of this would have happened.”
“So I’m supposed to reward you for your irresponsibility by letting you go out and prowl around the swamp all night?” Craig replied, intentionally infusing his words with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
Michael ignored his father’s mocking tone. “I can help, Dad. I know my way around.”
Craig looked to Barbara for support, but instead of backing him up, she nodded. “He’s right, Craig. He knows the swamp as well as anyone, and he’s never gotten lost. I’ll go get Jenny.”
While they waited for Barbara, Craig, still unconvinced, turned the matter over in his mind. Finally he spoke: “All right, but here’s the deal. You don’t take off by yourself, and you keep either me or someone else in sight at all times. Fair enough?”
Michael nodded his agreement. By the time Barbara appeared with Jenny, who, though dressed, was still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, he’d gathered two flashlights, some extra batteries, and some rope. “She could be caught in mud, and there might not be a way to get to her,” he told his father.
“Who?” Jenny asked, the last of her sleepiness disappearing.
“It’s Kelly, darling,” Barbara explained. “She went for a walk in the swamp, and now people are going to look for her.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. “Is she lost?”
Barbara hesitated, but saw no reason not to tell her daughter the truth. “Yes, she is. And that’s why I’ve always told you never to go into the swamp by yourself.” She looked up at Craig. “Ready?”
They went out the back door and crossed the lawn to the dock, where Michael got into the outboard-powered rowboat while his parents and sister climbed into the larger Bayliner. Checking the gas supply, Michael jumped out
