Brian Freeman - The Burying Place

'What else?'

'That was all.'

Serena could see Valerie covering up the rest of the story the way a mother covers a baby. She was protecting a secret. 'You're holding out on me, Valerie,' she said.

Valerie stood up and smoothed her skirt. 'There wasn't anything else. She didn't know what happened to Callie.'

'I can't find your daughter if you keep things from me. Even the things you don't want to face.'

'I'm sorry. I don't have anything more to tell you.'

Valerie walked away. Serena watched her leave the hotel with the elegant march of a woman who was at ease in high heels. Two of the women from the prayer group waited by the door, but Valerie didn't acknowledge them. When Serena went outside herself, she saw Valerie climbing into her Mercedes in the parking lot. Their eyes met. In that instant, Serena saw through Valerie's shell and felt the other woman reaching out to her for help, as if she were apologizing for having a secret that was too awful to share. Then the moment passed, and Valerie drove off on to Pokegama Road.

Serena wondered what sin Valerie thought she was being punished for. How could any sin be worth the life of a child?

Valerie didn't go home. She didn't want to see Marcus or run the gauntlet of police and media. Instead, she drove to her sister's house by the river and parked outside. Denise was gone; she always left early. Tom's car was in the driveway. The kids were already in school, except for the youngest, and Valerie knew that Tom dropped Maureen at day care on his way to work.

She sat in the car with the engine running and reached over and opened the glove compartment. The envelope that Regan Conrad had given her was inside. She took it out and turned it over gently in her hands, feeling the slight bulge of the paper sealed under the flap. All she had to do was rip the envelope open.

I don't have to tell you why, do I?

Valerie shook her head. She wouldn't let her mind be poisoned by Regan Conrad, and she wouldn't let Serena be poisoned either. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know. She slid the envelope back into the glove compartment and closed it.

'Valerie.'

She looked up at a knock on the window and the muffled sound of a voice. Tom Sheridan stood outside the car with Maureen in his arms. He wore a heavy coat over a brown business suit.

'Hi,' she said, unlocking the door.

Tom climbed inside. He warmed a hand at the hot air vent and didn't say anything. Maureen was bundled up in a fleece blanket, with a pink cap on her head. Valerie reached out and ran a finger along the girl's soft cheek and was rewarded with a giggle.

'Hello, sweetheart,' she said.

Valerie couldn't help it. Seeing Maureen made the pain of losing Callie even worse. Despite Maureen's disability, there was a resemblance between the faces of the two girls. Denise's daughter had Callie's eyes and an echo of her smile.

'How are you, Val?' Tom asked.

'I'm OK,' she murmured, not taking her eyes off Maureen.

'Do you want to come inside?'

'I can't. I just needed to get away from the circus for a couple of minutes.'

Tom nodded and stared at his lap. Valerie held out her hand and let Maureen grab her fingers. Their breath made steam on the car windows.

'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.

'No. I wish there was.'

'I can't think about anything else,' he said.

'I know. I appreciate it.'

'Are you sure you don't want to come inside with me?'

'No. I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' He added, 'I was going to call you this morning, but this is easier in person.'

Valerie tensed. 'What?'

'That reporter Blair Rowe came by my office last night.'

'What did she want?'

Tom hesitated. 'It's a problem.'

'What is it?'

'Someone gave her some information. I begged her not to go ahead with it, but she's going to put it on the news tonight.'

'Oh, my God.' Valerie closed her eyes. 'What is it this time? Is it something new about Marcus?'

Tom shook his head. 'No. I'm really sorry, Val. This one's not about Marcus.'

Maggie grabbed two bags of fast food breakfast and a foam drink caddy that held coffee and orange juice. With her hands full, she navigated the steps of Stride's cottage in her heels. Her sunglasses — which were mostly for show, because the sun wasn't shining — slipped to the end of her nose. Red hair swished in front of her eyes. She reached Stride's front door and kicked with the toe of her boot.

'Hey, it's me,' she shouted.

No one came to the door. Maggie put down the tray of drinks and dug in her pocket for her keys. Stride's key had a purple tab on her chain. She maneuvered her body between the screen door and the oak front door and undid both locks. With her shoulder, she shoved the door open and spilled inside.

'You around? I've got McMuffins and a couple breakfast burritos.' Maggie listened for the noise of the shower, but the cottage was quiet. 'Hello?'

Maggie deposited the food on the dining-room table. She unwrapped a straw and stuck it into the lid of one of the cups of orange juice. Her cheeks dimpled as she sucked on the drink. She strolled around the island separating the dining room from the kitchen, in order to retrieve plates for the table.

That was when she saw him.

'Oh my God.'

Maggie dropped her drink. The lid popped, and orange juice splashed on the floor. She sank to her knees. Stride sat with his back against the cabinets. Sharp glass fragments surrounded him like popcorn.

There was blood on his face and on his hands. His eyes were open, but he stared through her as if she were invisible.

'Are you OK?'

He didn't reply.

Maggie crawled to him, dodging the crumbles of glass. She took his hands and wiped away some of the blood on her shirt. She held his face and lifted his chin, and his eyes slowly focused on her. They were no more than six inches apart.

'Stay there,' she said, holding his shoulders as he tried to move.

She pulled a towel from the oven handle, soaked it in water under the sink, and washed the blood from his face. She did the same with his arms. When she was finished, she saw that he had no serious injuries, just surface cuts that had bled profusely. The cool water began to bring him back to life.

'Damn, I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I'll be fine.'

Maggie stroked his hair. One of the cuts on his cheek began to bleed, and she used the damp towel on his face again.

'Can you stand up?' she asked.

He nodded.

'Take it slow,' she said.

With an arm around him, she helped him to his feet. He swayed as he stood upright and grabbed the counter for balance. She led him through the great space to the bathroom, where he held on to the sink with both hands. He bowed his head, and his hair fell across his face. She yanked the shower curtain back and turned on the water. She grabbed another towel, put it under the water, and carefully dabbed at the remaining blood on his skin. When she switched on the faucet, pink liquid swirled in the wash basin.

She helped him off with his bloody shirt. His bare chest was damp with sweat. 'Take a shower, OK?' she said. 'That'll help.'

He ran his hand through his hair. A few pieces of glass sprinkled to the floor.

'I'll clean up,' she said.

Maggie left him in the bathroom. She returned to the kitchen and grabbed a broom from the utility closet and swept up the glass. With a fistful of paper towels, she swabbed the blood and orange juice from the floor. Everything went in the trash. She went into Stride's bedroom and found a pair of boxer shorts in his bureau. She opened the bathroom door and saw his shadow behind the shower curtain. His hands were propped on the shower wall. She grabbed his dirty clothes under her arm and left the boxers on the towel rack, then picked up the remaining pieces of glass with her fingers.