Chapter 9: Before He Comes Home
Patrice talked.
Carol listened.
The plan was not complicated, but it had to move in the right order.
First, the sister.
Patrice would make the call — not Carol, because Carol's phone was compromised and the emotion of that first conversation needed to land cleanly, without Garrett's surveillance in the background.
Second, Danny.
He needed to pack one bag, small, nothing that would look like packing if Garrett came home early.
School bag was best — it already had a reason to be full.
Third, the car.
Carol's name was on the registration, but Garrett had the keys.
They would leave on foot, through the back yards, to my car in my driveway.
Four blocks to the church parking lot where Patrice had left her own car.
From there, wherever the sister said.
"What about the evidence?" Carol asked.
"I have the drive," I said.
"I'll keep it here.
Patrice has copies of the key documents already."
"He'll look for it."
"He doesn't know it exists," I said.
"He knows about the pies.
He doesn't know what was in them."
Carol thought about that.
"He'll search the house."
"Let him," Patrice said.
"There's nothing there.
You've been careful for three years.
Be careful for two more hours."
Carol nodded slowly.
Then she looked at me.
"The sister.
Her name is Ruth.
She's in Millhaven — about ninety minutes from here.
I haven't spoken to her in four years."
"Does she know why?"
"She knows something was wrong.
She kept sending the cards." Carol's voice was steady, but only just.
"I don't know if she'll—"
"She'll answer," Patrice said simply.
She picked up her phone.
"What's her last name?"
"Dempsey.
Ruth Dempsey."
Patrice found the number in under a minute — directory listing, still active.
She stepped into my hallway to make the call.
Carol and I sat at the table.
The clock on my microwave read 4:28.
"Danny doesn't know we're leaving tonight," Carol said.
"Do you want to tell him, or do you want me to?"
"I'll tell him." She straightened in her chair.
"He'll be relieved.
He's been waiting for this longer than I have." Her voice broke slightly on the last word.
She pressed her lips together and held it.
From the hallway, I could hear Patrice's voice — low, calm, professional.
Then a pause.
Then something warmer.
She came back into the kitchen two minutes later.
"Ruth says to come," Patrice said.
"She said, and I'm quoting — 'Tell her I never stopped waiting.'"
Carol put both hands over her mouth.
She sat like that for a moment.
Then she lowered her hands and pressed them flat on the table again, the same way she had when she first sat down.
Grounding herself.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay."
"I'll text Danny," I said.
*Tell your mom it's time.
Pack your school bag.
Don't make it look like packing.
Fifteen minutes.*
His reply came back in thirty seconds.
*Already packed.
I packed it last week.*
I showed Carol the message.
She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and pressed her hand over her mouth again.
"He knew," she said.
"He's been ready," I said.
"Just like you."
At 4:51, Carol's phone — the one she'd left at home — began ringing.
The sound carried faintly through the wall between our houses.
We all heard it.
Patrice looked at Carol.
"Don't answer it."
"He'll know."
"He already knows something.
Answering it won't help." Patrice was already standing.
"We need to move now.
Before he decides not to wait until six."
Carol stood.
She didn't look around my kitchen.
She didn't hesitate.
"Let's go," she said.
I grabbed my car keys.
Patrice took the folder.
I pocketed the USB drive.
We went out the back door.
Danny was already in the yard, school bag on both shoulders, standing very still in the way that children learn to stand still when stillness has kept them safe.
He saw his mother come through the door and his whole body changed — shoulders dropped, chin came up.
Carol crossed the yard and pulled him into her arms without a word.
He let her hold him for exactly three seconds.
Then he said, quietly and practically, into her shoulder:
"The back gate is faster."
She laughed.
May you like
Really laughed, for just a moment.
Then we moved.
