Kealan Burke - Kin

“Aaron,” Pa chastised and yanked on his hand.

“Yes, Pa.”

They began to pray, and when next Aaron looked, he saw that Luke was no longer staring at the wall, but at him, his eyes empty and soulless.

Almost four hours after leaving Louise to die on the park bench, Pete arrived on Redwood Lane, a long tree-lined street wet from the recent rain. He had missed the turnoff the elderly man he’d approached for directions had told him to look for, and had ended up going almost three miles too far before turning around and going back.

Now he was on the street, but wasn’t sure which of the many houses was Claire’s. He rolled down the window admitting the smell of smoke and damp earth, the breeze winding through the boughs of fire-colored leaves to bring him the scent of autumn. After almost an hour spent driving the half-mile length of Redwood Lane hoping to catch a glimpse of her in one of the yards, or on the street, or perhaps as a pale ghost through one of the large windows at the front of many of the expensive looking houses, he conceded and pulled the truck up a short gravel driveway. The house was painted sky blue with rusty red trim, the lawn neatly clipped. As he got out and walked up the drive, an old man wearing a brown wool sweater and dark brown slacks opened the front door and peered warily out at him.

“Hi,” Pete said, and stopped in his tracks.

The old man stepped out, continued to stare, but nodded. “Evening.”

“My name’s Pete Lowell.”

The man said nothing.

Pete continued. “I’m lookin’ for Claire Lambert.”

A look of distaste passed over the man’s face, but he shut the door behind him and walked slowly toward Pete. “The Lamberts? What do you want with them?”

“I’m a friend.”

“That’s what everyone says who wants to bother them.”

“I don’t want to bother ’em, honest. I’m a friend of Claire’s. I’m from Alabama. From Elkwood, where the bad stuff happened to her. I brought her to the hospital, helped her get home.”

The breeze swept around the old man as he stopped close to Pete and appraised him. He smelled to Pete like pipe smoke and sardines. “You did, huh?”

Pete nodded. “She told me come see her. So I’m here, but I don’t know which house is hers.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully, and nibbled on his lower lip as if weighing the wisdom of telling the boy anything. Then he released a breath that somehow diminished his size, and nodded pointedly to his right. “Missed it by about two houses. That’s it over there. The white one with the SUV parked out front.”

Pete felt relief flood his senses. He had begun to fear he would never find Claire’s house, and had no intention of knocking on every door in the neighborhood until he did. Sooner or later it would make someone even more suspicious than the old man appeared to be, and they might call the police on him.

“Thank you,” Pete said, and smiled. “I’ve come a long way to see her.”

“You’re welcome,” the man said, and turned to go back inside. Then he stopped, and looked over his shoulder. “But if you’re who you say you are you know that they’ve been through Hell. No telling if you’ll be welcome or not. Could be they won’t appreciate the reminder.” He raised his eyebrows. “Something worth thinking about is all.”

Pete watched the old man disappear inside his house. He didn’t need to consider what the old man had said. He had thought about it a hundred times over the past few weeks, and had come to the same conclusion. Claire might not want to see him at all. She might greet his presence on her doorstep with hostility. But it was a chance he would have to take, because he had promised he would come see her, and in all his life, he had never reneged on a promise. He wasn’t about to start now.

He headed to the truck, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine, noticing as he did so the curtain move in the picture window of the old man’s house.

Kara straightened her blouse, checked her makeup in the hallway mirror and grabbed her keys from the kitchen table, where Claire was sitting eating messy spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream and staring at her.

“Can I trust you not to go running off playing Rambo with that maniac Finch while I’m gone?”

“Nope,” Claire said and grinned, her teeth brown. “But you needn’t worry. I’m sure he didn’t hang around waiting for you to fuck up his plans. In fact, knowing him, he’s already down there now, causing all kinds of trouble.”

“Don’t use that language with me, Claire. Please.” There was little vehemence in her tone. She was tired, and though she loved her sister, playing the role of nurturing guardian had proved exhausting and required from her levels of patience she hadn’t known she possessed. Ever since they had come home from the hospital and their mother had retreated into herself rather than face the task of caring for a damaged daughter, Kara had been forced to step up to the plate. She was tired, cranky, and today was her first day back to work. She had too much to worry about. Any more and her head was likely to explode from the stress of it all. She knew leaving Claire alone was not the wisest idea, and that it would not be at all surprising if she stole the SUV and headed off after Finch. But she didn’t think that would happen. The idea had excited her sister for a time, for one dangerous moment when the opportunity had been handed to her to see Finch’s warped sense of justice play out firsthand. But that moment had passed. Claire was right. Finch would already be gone, and God help him. But her sister was here, and Kara had come to realize that she could not stand watch over her forever, nor was it fair to impose such restrictions. A little leeway might mend the broken bridge of trust between them. Maybe sometime soon, counseling would expedite that process.

One thing at a time , she told herself.

The time she had taken off to care for Claire had ended an hour ago. Her boss at the manufacturing company she handled the accounting for would not be thrilled at her tardiness. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything, given the circumstances, but Kara herself loathed being late for anything.

“I have to go,” she said, exasperated and stuffed her wallet into her purse. “How do I look?”

“Flustered,” Claire said, without looking at her.

“I’ll be home at nine.” She leaned over so her face was almost level with her sister’s. “Please be here. Mom needs you.”

“Mom needs to lay off the Vicodin.”

Kara sighed and headed for the door. Hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked back into the kitchen. Claire was licking the spoon.

“A friend of mine from the police will be cruising by every now and then. Just to keep an eye on things.”

Claire lowered the spoon. She had a goatee of chocolate, which she fingered as she watched her sister open the door. Kara could tell that whatever she was going to say was not going to be pleasant, so she decided not to wait to hear it. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

The woman who stepped from the house was not Claire, but her sudden appearance had shaken him, and almost propelled him back to the truck. But he told himself to be calm, despite the feeling that the blood in his veins had been replaced with water, his bones turned to jelly. It had been a long hard road to get here, but he was here, and if he ran, he knew he’d regret it for the rest of his days.

The woman stepped off the porch and stopped abruptly as she saw him. Pete clutched his hands to keep them from shaking. The woman was pretty, but severe-looking, as if she spent so much of her time frowning that the lines had permanently etched themselves onto her face. She wore that frown now as she looked him up and down. Her expression was not that much different from her elderly neighbor’s. It was as if the houses had been invaded not so long ago, leaving the residents with a fear of strangers.