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Melinda only whispered a noncommittal, “Mmm.”
Together they moved away from Luke’s final resting spot and she watched her mother cross the wet grass to the parking lot, where she’d left her car. Rachel had parked on the street, and as she climbed into her Explorer, she looked back at the cemetery and remembered that day so long ago, when the shock was still fresh, her life in chaos as they’d laid her brother to rest.
It seemed like a lifetime ago in some ways, though some details of those days were still vivid and painful.
She watched her mother drive away and noticed the landscaping truck was gone as well. She was alone.
On the seat beside her, Reno whined. “It’s okay,” she said, reaching over to pat his neck,
only to feel the stiff hairs at his nape at attention. “What?” The dog was staring through the rain-spattered windshield, eyes trained on the rise where Luke’s ashes were buried.
Rachel felt an unwelcome chill. “You see the squirrel?”
But no . . . the chattering had stopped, the gray squirrel was gone, and the cemetery was silent aside from the plop of raindrops and the rush of the wind.
Her throat went dry. She stared at the lonely hill and saw no one.
And yet . . . she had the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
“You’re spooking me,” she whispered to the dog and felt his shoulder muscles bunch. “It’s nothing.”
Just an empty graveyard on this gloomy day in May. Nothing, not one thing out of the ordinary. But as she started the Ford, its old engine turning over and catching, she couldn’t quite convince herself. She reached for her phone, realized she’d left it charging in the kitchen, and pulled away from the curb.
As she did she noticed in her rearview mirror that a white car that had been parked farther down the street did the same. It followed her for a few blocks, caught behind her Explorer at the light. The driver was hunched over the wheel, his dark cap visible as the wipers slapped the raindrops off the glass, a dog on the passenger seat with its long snout sticking out of the partially open window.
Nothing. It’s nothing. Your nerves are shot.
The light turned green and she turned right, heading back home to grab her phone and make some calls before the meeting tonight. The white car followed and she tried to make out the driver—a man—but did she know him?
It’s just a stranger in a car you’ve never seen before, but no big deal. Get a grip, Rachel. It happens all the time. Every damned day.
But her heart was racing and she hit the gas.
The white car followed, increasing its speed, but keeping the same distance between them.
That was weird, right?
Or not.
At the next intersection, rather than driving directly home, she turned away from the town, toward the highway, and sure enough the white car followed.
Don’t panic.
But she was and she took a corner a little too fast, her vehicle sliding, tires screaming.
Pull yourself together!
When she reached the highway, she barely stopped, just rolled through the light and punched it, the Explorer leaping forward and roaring away.
Around a wide corner, she saw the back end of a lumbering travel coach, coasting along at forty. Through the rain, she saw no oncoming car, so she hit the gas and passed, the driver honking irritably. As it turned out the coach was following a slow-moving pickup. She sped past both the coach and truck, then caught her wild eyes in the mirror.
The road crested, and barreling in the opposite direction was a huge semi.
What’re you doing, Rachel?
Her heart knocked and she could barely breathe. She was a mother, an adult, a . . . She glanced in the rearview and saw that the white car had peeked its nose out from behind the RV, but ducked back as the driver saw the semi.
“Good. Stay there,” she said, then caught herself.
