She grabbed my robe with her good hand.
“Mom.”
“Keep humming, baby,” I said.
“If you hum, I’ll know you’re okay.”
Then I stood up.
And I went back out.
“Jason,” I said.
“Go inside.”
“Be with her.”
“If he gets past me, you’re the last door.”
Jason stared at me.
Then he did the hardest thing I’ve ever watched him do.
He listened.
He went inside.
Meredith went with him.
The latch clicked.
It was just me and Scout.
Barefoot.
In a bathrobe.
In an orchard full of rotten apples.
Dale stopped about twenty feet away.
He looked older.
Thinner.
His face was the same.
That was the worst part.
It was still the same face.
“Hannah,” he said.
He smiled.
He used to smile like that before.
Right before.
“Look at you.”
“Out here in your robe.”
“You always did look good when you were scared.”
“Go back to your truck, Dale.”
“You know, I went to her fu.neral.”
“Well.”
“Across the street.”
“Sat there the whole time.”
“Thinking how funny it is.”
“A little white box.”
“And nobody ever lets the mother look.”
He tilted his head.
“Then your dog starts running to the same spot every day.”
“Then you come flying out the back door without your shoes.”
“Now why would you do that?”
“For a kid who’s gone?”
I didn’t answer.
“She’s in there,” he said.
“Isn’t she.”
“I heard her.”
“That little song.”
“I remember that song.”
“She used to hum it in her car seat.”
My hands were shaking.
I put them in my robe pockets.
Right next to the phone.
“Dale,” I said.
“Did you drive that truck into my husband’s car?”
He laughed.
“I didn’t drive it into anything.”
“I drove it in front of him.”
“He’s the one who didn’t stop.”
“I just wanted to take her for the day.”
“One day.”
“Saturday.”
“Art class.”
“You told me yourself.”
He spread his hands.
“You wanted me to see her, Hannah.”
“You sent me the picture.”
“You told me where she’d be.”
“You practically buckled her into my truck.”
Inside the shed, nothing moved.
