“I didn’t,” I mutter. “This time, I didn’t.”
Stokes doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride, until we turn into my neighbourhood and I sit up straight, scanning the streets over the dashboard, bracing myself to turn onto mine and see the black car in front of the house.
“I want to talk to Roy. I’m going to try to call him when we get back.”
I nod, and he takes a quick glance at me.
“Hey,” he says before the final turn. “I’m not leaving you. You know that, right?”
I nod and take a deep breath.
Chapter 27
I lie in bed,
sleeping with regret and dread.
Twisted fantasies,
arriving before,
the killer at our door.
Realities, I came too late, won’t call it fate,
It cannot be. Come crashing down on me.
The headlights of Stokes’s car cast their shine against the first few houses on my street as we make the turn, and then toward the road ahead. The grey curb and dark grey road lie empty. No cars parked in front of the house. No cars in the Hilden’s driveway, either. I breathe a sigh of relief as we roll past their house. Most of the neighbourhood’s lights are off, except a few in the house across the street.
As we pull into my driveway, Stokes looks over his shoulder, surveying our immediate surroundings. “You good?”
I nod and he gets out of the car, walking around the back while I dig out my keys from my bag. He approaches my door, glancing all around the street. I open the door and get out as he reaches my side.
“We’re good.” He wraps his arm over my shoulder, and we walk up the path to the front door together.
“I can’t wait to see Stevie. She’ll need to be let out.”
“I’m on it.” He smiles, maybe at the relief he sees in my eyes.
I unlock the door and step inside as Stevie’s nails click against the wood floors upstairs. She bounds down the steps toward me as Stokes locks the door behind us. I go behind him and double-check it as Stevie jumps up on my leg. I bend to greet her. As soon as her soft fur rubs against my hands and arms, and her cute tongue lashes out at me for kisses, more of my anxiety melts away.
I smooth my hands against the sides of her face. “Hey, girl, I’m home. Were you good while I was gone? Do you need out?”
She backs up and wags her tail.
“You wanna go outside?” Stokes asks and walks down the hallway to the kitchen with his shoes still on as she bounds up and down, following him.
“Be careful,” I call, watching them until they disappear, and I wait to hear something, all my muscles clenched.
I wait for Stokes to exclaim that the back door is open.
I wait for a noise I’m not expecting.
I wait for him to open the back door to someone waiting on the other side.
My phone rings in my purse, making me jump. I grab it out and set my purse down on the bench. Mom.
I tap answer and press it to my ear. “Mom?”
“When you didn’t answer, I got so worried. We were leaving the resort, and I wanted to try you one last time. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Stokes is with me here at the house.”
“Good.” Her voice fades. “Yeah, she’s safe.” Her breath returns to the phone. “Stevie’s good?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine. Mom, are you okay?”
“No. I won’t be until I’m with you. We’re at the airport. Ron got us tickets and the plane’s leaving in half an hour. We have to board now, so I had to call you once more before we left. We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait.” I walk down the hall and Stokes is pouring himself a cup of coffee.
I let my shoulders relax and flick the light on in the living room. “Mom, you were saying there were things you should have talked to me about… about Dad? Or about that night?”
“I’d really like to just talk when I see you. I don’t have time right now, but it’s important we talk about the hard things. About that night—” She pauses and I plunk down in the golden armchair, staring at the closed blinds of the front windows. “They’re calling for us to board.”
“Mom, is there something I should know?”
“Lyn, please, not now.”
No, it’s something. It can’t wait. “Mom.”
She sighs and whispers something to Ron before another brief pause and then her breathing returns, and it’s quiet in the background. “The night your father was killed… when I got home from work, I left early that day. I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
So she feels guilty? Or like she shouldn’t have been there? We both weren’t supposed to have been there. I’ve always thought about the different scenarios that could have played out that night. Wondered if I’d just come home sooner, if things could have been different.
“When I walked in and saw that man—Byron—standing over your father with our bloody knife in his hand, I screamed. When he turned around… I recognized him.”
“Okay… from the bar, when Dad played?”
“Yes. But I didn’t tell the police that. I also didn’t tell them that I’d spoken to him several times before.”
“You did?” I ask in a meek voice and lean forward.
“A handful of times, not more than ten. It was usually small talk while your dad played, or in between his sets. Your dad spoke with him a few times, too. He… I think he liked to think he was keeping me company while your dad played. He’d make funny comments, compliment me sometimes, too, but it was never inappropriate or—I never took it seriously. I even joked with him, too. It was just harmless…I don’t know—” her voice chokes at the end.
“Mom… did something happen between you?”
I picture Byron, standing in the kitchen, holding my mom’s wrists, pinning them against the wall.
“No,” she gasps, breathlessly. “Never. But I think… I think I’m
