was listening.
“I broke my arm when I wasn’t much older than you because I climbed a tree after my dad said I couldn’t. My brother and I used to climb out a skylight to sit on the roof at night, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you fall off?”
“No, and your grandma and grandad never caught us.” Of course, there was the time Adam had jumped off, but that was another story.
Her forehead crinkled, and she gave a small nod.
Give your kid ideas, why don’t you?
“The point is, kids don’t always do what their parents or other adults say. Once in a while, they even hurt themselves, like I did when I broke my arm. But it would never have occurred to me that someone else might get hurt because of what I did. That’s because it almost never happens. You didn’t mean it to happen.”
Nate was disconcerted to realize he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He forged on, anyway.
“Why did you sneak away?”
She didn’t want to answer, but finally said, “I was bored. I was s’posed to stay with the other girls Mommy had to watch, but they didn’t want to play with me. And anyway—” she began to sound indignant “—Melissa said we were going to the river, but instead there was this big, boring field, and I didn’t want to play soccer or run dumb three-legged races or just sit there. Mommy wasn’t any fun, ’cuz she was—” She shrank from him in alarm at what she’d almost said.
Sonja was what? He decided not to press; asking Molly to betray her mother, if that was the case, would only do more damage.
“I would give anything to have been able to come with you that day,” he said finally. “But I can’t go back and make a different decision.”
She nodded solemnly.
“I bet you feel the same.”
Her face crumpled and she swallowed, but nodded again.
“Same deal. You can’t go back. I’m more grateful than I can say to Mr. Grainger. I can’t imagine losing you.”
“But...Josh and his little sister lost their dad.” Tears fell anew. “Because of me. And...and I can swim.”
“Mr. Grainger knew that a girl your size couldn’t possibly be a strong enough swimmer to get out of the current. It pulled you away from the bank, didn’t it?”
Her head bobbed. “I was so scared, Daddy.”
“I doubt he expected to die. He probably thought he’d be able to put his feet down, because rivers aren’t deep like the lake, especially at this time of year. Or he hoped to reach a gravel bar or a snag he could grab. But because he wasn’t a good swimmer, he must also have known that he might be giving his life to save yours. And you know what?”
She waited.
“Wherever he is, I don’t think he regrets making that decision. Most adults would have made the same one.”
“But you’re a good swimmer,” she argued.
“Sure, I probably could have battled my way out of the river. But something could happen another time.” He groped for illustrations. “I might have to step out onto a ledge I know won’t support my weight so I can throw a little girl to safety before it gives way. Run out into traffic on the freeway to save a child, even when the chances are good that the cars won’t be able to stop and I’ll be hit.” He paused. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Would Mommy do that, too?”
“Of course she would,” he said, hugging Molly harder, even though he really didn’t know. For Molly, yes—whatever Sonja’s flaws, she loved her daughter. Otherwise? He hated that he even had to wonder.
“I wish...”
“I know, punkin, I know.” He rested his cheek on the top of Molly’s head. She’d talked to him. Thank God, for the first time in a long while she’d opened up.
Now he was left with that unfinished sentence. What had Sonja been doing while her daughter slipped away?
And what about the kids who’d lost their father? The woman who lost her husband? Every time he remembered that moment, her grief becoming horror when she realized who he was, the claws of guilt sank deeper into his flesh.
* * *
A MONTH LATER, Anna trotted down the sidewalk toward the nearest park. Wanting to stay aware of traffic, she hadn’t yet turned on her iPod. There was a time she’d exercised when Kyle was home with the kids. Now, she had to pay Mrs. Schaub to watch Jenna for even this brief escape. Today she was killing two birds with one stone—awful saying that it was—because a real estate agent was showing her house. She knew he actually was, because she hadn’t gone a block when she’d heard an engine and glanced back to see a gleaming silver sedan turning into her driveway.
If there wasn’t an offer soon, she’d have to go to the bank that held the mortgage and explain why she couldn’t make her payments. She prayed they’d give her some time although, of course, the unmade payments, and presumably a penalty, too, would then come out of the already too-skimpy proceeds when the house did sell.
Running was supposed to be a time when she could zone out, but no more.
At least the park lay just ahead. The trail was packed dirt, easier on her knees. Reaching the last crosswalk, she scanned automatically for traffic, seeing only parked cars.
She’d stepped off the curb when alarm zinged through her. There’d been an odd glint of light, as if... Was that a camera pointing at her? Continuing across the street, she looked.
A man sat in a black SUV, the driver’s side window rolled down, and, yes, he was still pointing a camera with a huge lens at her.
The camera disappeared fast when he realized she’d seen him. When she broke into a run diagonally across the street toward the SUV, his window slid up. With the glass tinted, she couldn’t make out his face.
Maneuvering out of the parking spot was taking him too long, though. Maybe this was stupid, but Anna harbored so much anger atop her fear these days, she didn’t care if this was dangerous. She flung herself at the driver’s door and hammered on the window, yelling “Stop!”
He edged forward. She leaped in front of his bumper, forcing him to brake or hit her. He braked. When she pulled her phone from the cuff on her upper arm, the window slid down.
She took a quick picture of the license plate before she confronted him. Taking courage from the presence of a couple across the street who’d started to get into their own car but were now gaping, instead, Anna glared. “Who are you, and why were you photographing me?”
Late thirties, early forties, the man was thin, pleasant-looking. Nondescript, really. “I’m a private investigator,” he admitted. “Ah, your insurance claim...”
“I made no insurance claim. I want to see your license.”
He produced it. His name was Darren
