Taking the stairs as quickly as I dare, I try to think where my cell phone is. What about my wallet? I’m not big on purses, so when I’m on duty, I just carry a small credit-card-style wallet with my license and pertinent plastic. Anything else I need, I stick in my jacket pocket.
I would rather avoid the kitchen since David is probably in there and will want some sort of explanation, but my keys and fob aren’t in the entry hall. They’re likely in the kitchen, on the counter, since he said I left my muddy shoes on the side porch.
I push my wet hair from my face. Water from the ends seeps into the cotton of my sweatshirt.
“Coffee?” He lifts his cup as I enter the room.
“No time.” I walk straight to the counter by the side door and reach for what I need to be on my way.
“You’re just going to leave? Liv, you need to see a doctor. I am really worried about you.”
I close my eyes and wish for a way to explain, but there is no way. I have no idea what’s happening to me. How am I supposed to explain it to him?
“We’ll talk when I get home,” I promise the same way I’ve promised a dozen times before. Just this week I’ve made that promise several times.
He moves up behind me, and I shiver with the urge to run. He has no idea that I am falling apart—unraveling at the seams—and I don’t know why. I only know that I have to go and find out what I was digging up last night. Or burying.
My mother is buried at Woodlawn in the same family plot as her parents and her brother, who died as a toddler. My father was buried next to her just a few months ago. There can’t possibly be anyone buried at the farm.
“Areweokay, Liv? Maybe you just don’t know how to tell me you don’t want me anymore.”
I turn to him, can’t leave him feeling this way. “It isn’t you, David.” I stare up into his eyes and tell him as much of the truth as I can ... as I understand. “Something is wrong with me. Something I can’t comprehend. These headaches are coming with bizarre flashes of memory, and I don’t know what any of it means. I have to figure this out before I can do anything else, do you understand?”
Maybe it was the sheer agony in my voice or the fear in my eyes, but he nods. “Is there anything I can do? I want to help.”
I hug him tight for a moment, then I draw back. “Just let me do what I have to do. I promise I will explain everything when I know how.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ll be here waiting.”
Then I do what I should have done minutes before. I walk out the door.
My cell phone and my wallet are in my car. The cell phone is dead, so I put it in the charging slot and drive away from the man who will thank me when this—whatever the hell it is—is over. No matter that I have no idea what any of this means, I understand with utter certainty that David is far better off without me.
The blisters on my palms burning, I grip the steering wheel more tightly and barrel out onto the street.
I drive like a bat out of hell. The sooner I get to the farm, the sooner I’ll know what really happened last night.
Half an hour later, I park in front of the house. The door stands wide open.
My heart drums in my chest.
I swallow, wish I had some water.
I climb out of the car and walk toward the porch. My fingers curl around the butt of my weapon. Without making a sound, I climb the steps. The breeze whispers in my ears. I tune it out. Slowly I move across the porch and into the house. Total silence. Room by room, I go through the downstairs. All is clear, the safe room is just as I left it, with the dried vomit on the floor and files spread around like discarded life stories.
I check the library and that side of the house, then slowly climb the stairs. I go through the four rooms, including the one that was mine until recently. No one. Nothing.
The house is clear. I must have left the front door open.
Deep breath. I descend the stairs and walk back outside. The sun is warm and so bright, it hurts my eyes.
There’s no mud on the porch, so I left the house open before I got muddy. Did I see something in the files that made me believe something was buried on the property? Other files my father wanted to hide? Information about Fanning?
Or was I the one doing the burying? It’s possible that during some sort of crazy blackout, I decided I needed to protect my father from whatever I found. I may have buried evidence.
My body begins to shake and I feel sick to my stomach. My gaze rests on the barn. I start in that direction, but then I notice the shed door is standing open. Behind the house, there is the detached garage, and a few yards beyond that is a garden shed that belonged to my mother. It was her haven. Her gardening tools and fertilizers are still stored there.
Did I go in there? My heart thumps.
