With communications spotty, they hadn’t reached Jeff until after Claire was found. Once he heard, two things became clear. One, they had leaks in their supply chain because the men at the camp had known the tribe was in this area. Two, Claire was a danger and needed her father.
And now, Jeff is here and he knows what they learned between his last communication and his arrival. Those three men were not Claire’s first. She had done the same to another pair of men only a week before and never said a word.
Watching Jeff, Willa says, “It’s no one’s fault, Jeff. If anything, we should have been more observant. Perhaps we would have seen something.”
Jeff’s smile is tired after a long night of sneaking through the wilderness. “No. You wouldn’t have seen if she didn’t want you to.” He gazes off toward the little outbuilding where Claire is still sleeping. “My baby girl is a serial killer. What do I do with that?”
Again, Beau tries to ease his mind. “And if it’s true that both groups were looking for us? If so, I’d have to say it wasn’t a bad thing she did. How she did it and how easy it was for her is a worry, yes, but that she killed them…no. She’s a child and her world is very black and white.”
Willa can see Jeff grab for that like a lifeline. “Do you think that’s all it is? Do you think she simply doesn’t understand?”
“I do,” Beau says. “How can she truly understand at her age?”
Glancing at Bee, Willa sees the same skepticism she feels in the other woman’s expression. Beau may think Claire’s childishly direct way of dealing with the world is innocent, but Willa does not. Claire isn’t misunderstanding the severity of her actions or unaware of the permanence of death.
No. Claire understands very well. The mathematics of loss and gain are clear in her head. She simply dealt with the problem in a way that she found most logical. That, more than anything else in this whole affair, is what frightens Willa the most.
Miranda
“That’s all it is, Miranda. I promise you that.”
Tom has explained it all and Miranda feels foolish for doubting him. After the workmen with their local accents and truck from the nearest town finished their job and left, Miranda had stewed in her questions and doubts for weeks. She should have simply asked Tom the moment they left, but she hadn’t.
Her doubts had made her feel uncertain. Her reluctance to bring them up made her feel weak and cowardly. Once begun, that cycle continued, spiraling her further and further into herself. As spring turned the world green and summer brought it into bloom, she’d stayed more often in the basement with her grow lights and plants.
Eventually, it was Tom that brought it up, coaxing out of her the reason for her retreat and solitude. And now she feels foolish. His explanations are so logical and reasonable that Miranda wonders if she’s losing touch with reality.
It had bothered her that the men who came to work on the electrical system were a local company, yet Tom had told her the village nearby was all but empty. She’d been dwelling on it, developing convoluted reasons that would explain why Tom would lie about the village.
In the end, it had been simple. Yes, the village was emptying out, but that didn’t mean the workmen there had disappeared from the face of the earth. Tom had simply engaged the once-local companies to return to this area because they knew the house. They also knew him and wouldn’t question his presence here in the old house. And by engaging companies that had been local but had gone to the cities, he could help those who had been displaced. Perhaps if there was enough local work, they might even return.
It all made perfect sense.
“I’m so sorry, Tom. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Miranda says, twisting her hands in her lap.
She glances at the window. A sliver of light is leaking in around the curtains and it disturbs her. It could touch her if she sat long enough for the sun to move across the sky. She wants to return to the basement until night falls again. The nights are so short in the summer that she no longer feels comfortable upstairs in their kitchen turned living area.
Tom sighs. “Miranda, that light won’t hurt you.”
She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It could. It might. We can never know. And someone could see me.”
Spreading his arms wide, Toms says, “There’s no one to see. I’ve told you that. The grounds are empty and any homes within walking distance are abandoned. You might even go out for a walk in the walled garden.”
She cringes at the idea. “No, I have my garden downstairs.”
They’re sitting opposite each other in the comfortable chairs near the fireplace, though there’s no fire lit now that summer is well underway. Even the woodstove is cold now that they’ve gotten a new stove and oven delivered.
Reaching across the gap, Tom touches Miranda’s knee and says, “You know I’ll keep you safe and hidden. Always. No one will ever know you’re here. You can enjoy life a little now. It’s been over a year.”
“A year,” Miranda muses. Can it really have been that long?
“Yes, a year. A year in which you’ve been careful and cautious and stayed safe. You’ve been around light and even the sun by accident and yet, here you are. You can relax some, Miranda. The small garden just outside the kitchen has a high wall and you used to go out there, but now, you don’t even go at night.”
Miranda watches Tom as he speaks, looking for hints of disdain or disappointment. Is he tired of her creeping about? Is he growing weary of taking care of her? The thought sends a spike of alarm through her. What would she do on her own? She has to
