Purgatory Ridge

“I’ll be back,” he said. “You all just sit tight and don’t make any trouble. This’ll all be over soon.”

He left the water jug and the bag of food and headed back toward where he’d parked his truck among the trees at the edge of the clearing. The tall, dry stalks of foxtail and timothy snapped with a sound like small bones breaking as he pushed through. He turned back once. The cabin was a black square against a dark wall of trees that rose up into a sky grown murky with the approach of night. He was tired. The weight of what he was involved in seemed to have grown enormous. In addition to everything else, now he had the sick boy to worry about. Christ, maybe he should just let it be. What was the boy to him?

The thunderheads he’d seen earlier had continued to mount. Now there was lightning far to the northwest. As he opened the door of his pickup, he heard the low rumble of distant thunder, but he didn’t pay it much heed. He was deep in thought. Where the hell am I going to get insulin?

31

INSIDE THE HOUSE ON GOOSEBERRY LANE, it was a day out of place, out of time. Even amid all that was familiar, everything felt wrong. The quiet of Sunday afternoon, usually so welcome, seemed drawn taut, wrapped around something sinister. Rose set out cold cuts for supper. No one ate. Cork wondered if he should head back to Lindstrom’s, but what good could he do there? They had no answers. They offered no hope. And Schanno had promised that if anything developed, he’d let Cork know.

Near sunset, Cork stepped out and sat on the porch swing. Annie came, too, and sat with him. Rose drifted out, leaned against the railing, and stared west where thunderheads stumbled across the sky. Jenny joined them finally and stood on the porch steps with her arms crossed.

“I have to do something,” she said. “I can’t just wait anymore.”

“The question is what to do,” Cork replied.

“I want to kill somebody.”

“No, you don’t, Jenny,” Rose said.

Jenny uncrossed her arms. “I do. I want to kill the people who’d do this kind of thing.”

“Do you think they’re all right, Dad?” Annie asked.

“Yes.”

Jenny challenged him. “How do you know that?”

“In the absence of proof, you believe.”

“I wish you were sheriff,” Annie said.

“Why?”

“You could do something.”

“Wally Schanno is doing everything he can.”

“I trust you more.”

“Thanks, Anne.” He put his arm around her. “Come here, Jen.”

His oldest daughter sat beside him on the swing, and he had both daughters in his arms. It hadn’t been very long ago that he’d come near to losing his children, losing his whole family, losing everything he held most dear. They’d all had to struggle to hold together. He refused to believe that they’d come this far only to have happiness snatched away so cruelly. But then he’d never claimed to understand life. The only thing he knew absolutely was that he wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing himself for those he loved.

“I’m tired of sitting, too,” he said. “I think it’s about time I did something.”

“What?” Jenny asked.

“I’m going to start by talking to someone.”

“Who?” Annie looked up at him.

“Henry Meloux.”

“What can he do?”

“He always surprises me.” Cork stood up.

“May I come, too?” Jenny asked.

“Me, too,” Annie put in.

“I’d prefer someone to stay with Rose.”

“That’s not necessary, Cork,” Rose said.

“That’s okay.” Annie left the swing and put her arm around her aunt’s ample waist. “I think Dad’s right. I’ll stay.”

Cork ruffled her hair affectionately. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“It’s almost dark,” Rose pointed out. “You should go quickly.”

Cork kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek. “Hold down the fort.”

“Don’t I always?”

The thunderheads had completely muscled out the stars by the time the Bronco left the town limits of Aurora. Lightning-a lot of it-played across the clouds, illuminating the face of a storm that had yet to break.

Jenny leaned forward and looked up through the windshield. “How come it’s not raining?”

Cork said, “Maybe the air’s too dry, or maybe it’s too hot. I don’t know.”

They drove a while on a county road, the dark growing deeper around them, pierced only by the Bronco’s headlights and by the startling bursts of lightning that were growing more frequent by the minute.

“When you and Mom split up,” Jenny said after a time, “I used to lie in bed at night thinking of ways to trick you into getting back together. Like, you know, faking a deadly illness or running away.”

“You never did.”

“I was never sure what was the right thing to do, what would work. Is that how you feel right now?”

“Pretty much.”

Jenny stared out at the darkness of the North Woods. “I wish you had your gun.”

“Who would I shoot? It’s only Henry we’re going to be seeing.”

“Just in case.”

“Relying on your brain is better. First lesson I ever learned in law enforcement.”

Jenny sat back and Cork felt her staring at him.

“How did you feel when your dad was killed?” she asked.

“That was a long time ago.”

“But you haven’t forgotten.”

You never forget, he thought.