CHAPTER SEVEN

Bill jumped off the couch when Dr. Davis came out of Summer’s room.

She looked slightly winded, like a jogger after a good, solid run. She told Bill that everything had gone according to plan. “We reinflated the lung, and her oxygen levels are returning to normal. We’ll continue to keep an eye on everything else. Our goal here is to make sure she’s stable. When she is, we’ll transfer her to our rehab wing.”

“I’m going to go back in and sit with her.”

“Give them a few minutes to get everything cleaned up.”

Bill imagined a room swimming in his daughter’s blood, the stained scalpel tossed on the floor amid soiled bandages. They needed to put her gown back on the proper way, to cover Summer up so everyone in the world couldn’t just walk in and see her breast exposed. His daughter had been handed over to strangers for the past two days. First when she was kidnapped and beaten and who knew what else. And again in the hospital where her body had been probed and prodded and sliced.

“I can contact the hospital social worker if you’d like,” Davis said. “Or the chaplain. I imagine people will want to come by and see Summer. Friends from school. Family. It might get complicated.”

“No, thanks,” Bill said. “I’m good.”

Davis considered him for a moment, then said, “The nurses will let you know when you can go back in.”

Bill returned to the couch and waited. The headache that had started forming when he was speaking with Hawkins seemed to have eased. He heard back from Paige. She told him, via text, that she intended to come directly to the hospital when she reached Jakesville the next day.

He hadn’t seen his younger sister in six months. They spoke on the phone from time to time, but mostly they communicated through texts and Facebook messages. They shared an irreverent sense of humor, and each tried to top the other by sending the most bizarre news stories or links to weird Web sites. On more than one occasion, Bill ended up chuckling to himself at work or at home over one of Paige’s messages.

Bill found himself looking forward to her arrival. He and Paige grew close the summer before he left for college when they spent a week driving around the country seeing R.E.M. in concert five times. Bill had never said it out loud, but he wished they’d grown closer sooner instead of right before he moved away. He always seemed to figure things out when it was too late. It was like a curse.

Someone said his name just then, and he looked up.

“There he is.”

Bill saw two figures approaching him from down the hallway. It took a moment, but then he saw who one of them was. Candy Rodgers, Haley’s mom. An older man with steel gray hair walked by her side. He wore a polo shirt and khaki pants with a cell phone clipped to the belt.

Bill stood up. Candy came directly toward Bill, her arms open for a hug. She wore black pants and a pink shirt, and a gold bracelet jangled from her wrist as she and Bill embraced. He caught a whiff of something floral, a shampoo or perfume.

“I’m so sorry, Candy.”

“I’m sorry too.”

They held each other longer than Bill was expecting. He’d never hugged Candy Rodgers before, didn’t even know her very well. He did know Haley’s parents were divorced—apparently a nasty split—and her father lived out west and had little contact with the family. Bill wondered if the man with Candy was a relative or a new love interest.

“This is our pastor,” Candy said, nodding at the man in the khaki pants. “Caleb Blankenship.”

The minister, who looked to be about sixty, gave Bill a firm handshake and a sympathetic look. Candy dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up tissue. She looked older than Bill remembered, but that may have been because she wasn’t wearing makeup. Her unnaturally blond hair hung limp and loose around her shoulders.

“I don’t know what to say, Candy,” Bill said. “I’m just so sorry about Haley. My God. She was such a wonderful, beautiful young girl.”

“I asked where you were, where Summer was, and they told us. I couldn’t leave the hospital without coming up here and seeing her.” She gestured widely. “The police have been asking a lot of questions, of course, and Caleb was kind enough to come with me while I... It turns out I couldn’t really make an identification. I mean, Haley, her body... It’s in bad shape.” Her voice sounded on the edge of breaking, but she held it together, impressing Bill with her poise. “We’re going to the funeral home next.”

“Oh, my God,” Bill said. “I can’t imagine.”

“How is Summer?” Candy asked. “They didn’t say much to us except that she was critically injured.”

Bill tried to explain what he knew of Summer’s condition. He managed to talk about the collapsed lung, but the rest of the words jumbled in his brain, and he found himself verbally flailing until Candy placed her hand on his elbow.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s all too complicated.”

Bill felt calmed by seeing Candy’s familiar face. He had little in common with Haley’s family and didn’t really travel in the same circles they did, with the exception of attending the same events at the school and picking up and dropping the girls off at each other’s house. If it hadn’t been for the kids’ friendship—which started when they were in the first grade and never stopped—he wouldn’t know much about Candy at all. But Candy’s was the first friendly face he’d seen all morning, and he found the tension in his chest, the grinding of his back molars against each other, easing in her presence.

“Do you know anything about this, Candy?” Bill asked. “Do you know what the girls were doing or how they ended up out in that park? Or who might have tipped off the police?”

“I don’t know anything,” Candy said. “The police don’t sound like they know very much either. Nobody does. They said you thought they were coming to our house, but they never showed up. I was home. I would have seen them. Haley told me she was going to your house.”

“We have a lot of unanswered questions now,” Caleb, the pastor, said.

Bill gave him a quick look. “The police are hinting at all kinds of things.”

“Let’s not delve into these complicated matters in a time of grief,” Caleb said. “Candy has to go—”

“Candy, do you know something about these boys? Do you think they’re involved? Detective Hawkins was asking me about them.”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” she said. Her lip quivered for a long moment, and she lifted her hand to her chest while she suppressed a deep sob. Collected again, she turned to Bill. “The police have been asking me about everything, but I don’t know what I can tell them. Haley’s sex life.” She shivered. “All kinds of things. I mean, I’m no dummy. I know what kids do. But I can’t imagine who would do this.” She made a vague gesture in the direction of Summer’s room.

“I don’t know anything either,” Bill said, studying Candy’s face. He wanted her to say something, anything, to convince him none of it was real. Candy was a mother. She must know more than he did. “He was asking me about Clinton Fields and those other kids. Remember he beat that kid up a couple of years ago? Beat him up bad—”

But then Bill remembered himself. The woman standing before him had just lost her daughter. Lost. Gone forever. He dialed back on his own zealousness. He knew Candy was experiencing the same things he was experiencing. But multiplied to an infinite degree.

“I’m sorry, Candy,” he said. “I shouldn’t be pushing about these things. Haley was a wonderful girl. She and Summer... They were such good friends. My God... since first grade. All those trips to the mall, the sleepovers. Girl Scouts...”

“They were great friends, yes.”

“Maybe...” He didn’t know if completing the thought would bring any comfort to anyone. But Candy gave him an expectant look, so he finished by saying, “Well, at least they weren’t alone. They were together when this happened.”

Candy considered the statement for a moment, her face distant, her eyes red with grief. “That is a good thought.”

A young nurse with long red hair tied in a ponytail emerged from Summer’s room and approached Bill. She told him that he could go back in and sit with his daughter whenever he wanted, that she was resting comfortably and breathing normally.

“I should get back inside there,” Bill said. “I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Of course.” She looked at Caleb. “I think I have to be the one to call Rich.” Bill knew Rich was Haley’s father. Candy’s voice held steady. “He’s going to be shocked. I don’t know what other word to use.”

Bill looked to the pastor for help and, finding none, said, “Can you tell Rich... tell him how sorry I am? I don’t know what else to say right now.”

But Candy’s eyes drifted past Bill in the direction of Summer’s room. Bill looked back, expecting to see something, but there was nothing going on. Nothing he could see.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We were wondering about something,” Candy said, looking over at Caleb.

“We were wondering if we could step inside and pray for Summer,” Caleb said.

“I don’t...”

Candy reached out and took Bill’s hand. Her skin felt hot, almost feverish. “I know you haven’t been attending a church, not since Julia died.” She looked over at Caleb as though seeking encouragement. “We thought maybe prayers would help right now as Summer heals.”

Bill looked down to where their hands were joined, felt the pressure she exerted against his skin. It seemed like a form of pleading, a way of begging Bill to let them into Summer’s room. And while he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the religious display, he also couldn’t say no to a mother who had just lost her daughter in such a horrible way.

“Okay,” Bill said. “Sure.”

Candy squeezed even harder. “Good. I think you’ll see God can do a lot of good in Summer’s life. It’s never too late for that to happen.” mImZpY8ownYhlKTdBAVh4EBXy8QEOi8JnR6pWhZQe1ffTj51ic4B3EBlJ8IZvIb6