Saturday Night and Sunday
The next morning I decided to drive to the drugstore in Lake Geneva to buy a night-lite. Luke, Rachel, and I had arrived back at Luke’s at about four in the morning. Rachel hadn’t said a word since she’d been released, and the look of terror on her face told me everything. She refused to let me get farther than a few feet away from her, so we both crawled into a bed in one of Luke’s guest rooms. She wouldn’t let me turn out the light and wriggled as close to me as she could. I held her for what seemed like hours until I finally heard the deep, even breathing of sleep.
Between the overhead light and the stress of the past two days, there was no way I could sleep. Trying not to disturb Rachel, I climbed out of bed around seven and went downstairs. Luke had brewed a pot of coffee and was drinking it at the kitchen table. Dark circles gouged the pockets under his eyes, and he had the roughness and stubble of someone who hadn’t slept or showered. A pad of yellow legal paper lay in front of him, and he was making notes that, from across the room, I couldn’t decipher.
I went to him, put my hands on his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”
He didn’t turn around but reached up and squeezed one of my hands. I buried my head in his neck and nuzzled his cheek.
“It’s not over, you know,” he said. His voice was raw.
“You didn’t sleep, either.”
He shook his head.
“What are you doing?”
“Making notes.”
“Why? For interviews with the FBI and the cops?”
“Among other things.”
I straightened up, went over to the coffeepot, and poured myself a cup. “What other things?”
“He’s not going to get away with it.”
I faced Luke. “He already did.”
“That’s not what I mean, Ellie.” I inclined my head. His tone was one I hadn’t heard in years: heavy and solemn and freighted with smoldering anger. It reminded me of the first time we’d met. When he’d been accused of murder.
“What are you going to do?”
“How’s Rachel?” he asked, dodging my question.
“She refuses to let me leave her side. But she’s finally asleep. With the lights on.”
“So why are you leaving her?”
A trace of irritation came over me. I wasn’t leaving her. Then again, we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. We were apt to say things we didn’t really mean. At least I was. I forced my irritation down. “I’m going to the drugstore to pick up a night-lite. Do you need anything?”
“Why don’t I go instead?” He stood up. “I’ll get some groceries too. What should I get?”
“Whatever you want.” I crossed the room again and put my arms around him, relieved that I didn’t need to leave my little girl.
He hugged me back. “You know, there are going to be a pack of people here this afternoon. Do you think Rachel’s up to it?”
“If she’s not, they’ll just have to wait until she is. They can talk to us instead. She’s in bad shape, Luke.”
“I’ll tell Jimmy. He’s already called.”
I stepped out of his embrace. “I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think the vest exploded because you threw it off the airstrip? Or did Stokes activate it when they were speeding away?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait for the forensics analysis.”
“Will it make any difference? I mean, no one is going to blame you for doing that, are they?”
“Just let them try.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. In a way, I was reluctant to revisit what had happened the previous night. Not because it would bring back the terror of the events. I was afraid of my own rage. It had been building ever since we got Rachel back. A clear, pure rage. I wanted to tear Stokes from limb to limb. I knew I could do it. He had put my daughter through hell. Threatened the most vulnerable person in my life. And scared the shit out of a lot of other people. If revenge could ever be justified, this was the time. In fact, the strength of my feelings scared me.
Luke shrugged into his jacket. “Okay. I’ll be back in a while. If anyone calls, just let it go to voice mail.”
“I’m going to lie down with Rachel. Don’t forget the night-lite.”