Drowning Instinct(58)
Author: Ilsa J. Bick

And stopped dead in my tracks.

No, I thought. No, that’s not right.

c

A thin rivulet of gray smoke trickled from the chimney. Two windows fired with a yellow light that was not a reflection of the sun.

Someone was in our cabin. Mitch? But he was down in Madison, wasn‘t he? I hadn‘t looked in his garage. I had no reason. Was Mitch—?

I wasn‘t watching the trail and my shoe caught in a branch and then the snow was rushing at my face. I managed to get my arms out in time to avoid a spectacular face-plant, but not by much. Spitting and snorting snow, I dragged a gloved hand across my watering eyes and got to my feet.

That‘s when I saw something white and ghostly dart across a window to the right of the door, and then the blurry oval of a face.

A face that was not Mitch‘s at all.

d

I went absolutely still.

I‘d only registered a face: a general impression of dark eyes and the gash of a mouth. Then whoever was in the cabin backed away and out of sight.

I stood there as snow melted on my neck and my heart thumped. My brain churned.

Someone must‘ve found the key. A homeless person? Maybe a runaway. Either was possible. Mitch said that people broke into cabins all the time. Maybe some of those people were dangerous. Whoever was inside must have come in from the park or the opposite side of the lake because mine were the only tracks on this path. Either way, they‘d either bypassed the house intentionally or accidentally stumbled on the cabin.

What should I do? If I called the police, what would I say? What could I say that wouldn‘t get Mitch and me both in big trouble?

It came to me then that I was completely alone. No one knew where I was. Mitch was gone, too far away to help. I had my cell, but I‘d left it behind in the Lexus, figuring that if Psycho-Dad called, I could legitimately say I hadn‘t known or gotten the message until later.

I was on my own, and I‘d been seen.

The thought stroked gooseflesh on my arms and raised the hairs on my neck. I shivered, partly from sweat chilling on my skin but mostly from fear. Whoever was in the cabin knew I was here.

Get out, I thought. Get out now.

You can‘t back up in snowshoes, but you can turn around and hustle pretty quick.

Which is exactly what I did. Twice I looked over my shoulder to see if some crazy meth head was bursting out of the cabin, ax in hand. But there was no one, only the constant stream of smoke and sun-dazzle bouncing off the windows.

When I made it back to the car, there were eight calls from my father on the cell. All the messages were the same, more or less. Only the profanity changed.

43: a

It was full dark by the time I got home. Meryl was back and my father was snorting fire—just not at me.

―We‘ll talk about punishment for you later,‖ he said, scrubbing away my explanations with the flat of his hand. ―Right now, I want to know where your mother is.‖

―Uh . . .‖ I shot a glance at Meryl. Thought: Shit, Mom really is with Bartholomew.

Decided to play dumb. ―She‘s not at the store?‖

―No, and she‘s not answering her cell,‖ Meryl said. ―Your father called all the hospitals, but of course, she isn‘t there and there hasn‘t been an accident. Elliot, calm down before you have a stroke.‖

He ignored her. ―Do you know where she is?‖ he asked me.

―No,‖ I said, which was mostly true. Sure, I knew who she was with, but not where.

―Have you tried Evan?‖

―Of course. He hasn‘t heard from her either.‖

―Then she‘s probably just driving around.‖

―That‘s what I told him,‖ Meryl said. ―Where were you?‖

―I was driving around, too,‖ I said.

My father seemed to see me for the first time. ―You‘re wet.‖

―I fell in the snow.‖

―I thought you said you were driving around.‖

―I went for a walk.‖ I was still freaked about the cabin and just so sick of their drama. ―Look, I‘m sure Mom‘s okay. She‘s just angry, Dad. What did you expect? She was going to be thrilled you decided to let her store crater?‖

―Don‘t tell me you‘re taking her side in this. This is for her own good.‖ My father‘s lower lip actually pouched. He looked like a three-year-old ready to take his ball and go home. ―You and she will both see that, eventually.‖

―It‘s not important what I see. But you have to give her some space to be mad. Why is it okay for you to storm off to the hospital whenever you get pissed off but not okay for Mom?‖

―She‘s got you there,‖ Meryl put in.

―Stay out of this.‖ Dad glared down at me, but for once, I wasn‘t frightened of him, maybe because I‘d already gotten my allotment of having the shit scared of me. ―While you were gone, we got a call from Pine Manor. Apparently, your mother went to see your grandfather after she left here.‖

That was a surprise. ―Mom did that? Why were they calling us?‖

―Because he was so agitated when she left they had to put him in restraints and they wanted to know if anything unusual had—‖

―Restraints?‖ I interrupted. God, what had Mom said? ―What did she do?‖

―They don‘t know, and neither do we. I want you to call her.‖

―You said she‘s not answering her cell. Maybe she switched it off.‖

―No, it rings. She . . . she‘s clearly screening her calls. So it‘s me . . . my cell, she doesn‘t want . . . but maybe she‘lll. . . if it‘s you . . . if you‘d just please . . .‖ My father‘s face mottled an angry, embarrassed vermillion. I‘d never known him to be reduced to incomplete sentences. He was mortified to have to beg his daughter to do something. ―Will you please call her?‖

My eyes shifted to Meryl. ―She won‘t pick up for me either,‖ she said. ―Much as I hate to side with your father, I think it would be good if we knew she‘s safe.‖

So I dialed, listened to the rings, then heard my mother tell me to leave a message.

―Hi, Mom, it‘s Jenna. I‘m going to hang up and call you again. Please answer.‖ I punched out, counted to ten then redialed.

Mom picked up at the first ring. ―I‘m fine,‖ she said. ―I‘m more than fine. I‘m great.‖

―Uhm . . .‖ Dad looked ready to swoop, so I turned away. ―Are you going to come home?‖

―Maybe. Eventually. I don‘t know.‖ Was that a slur I heard? The image of my mother squatting somewhere, with a Stoli bottle clutched in one hand, flashed before my eyes. ―I have to decide what to do.‖

―Okay.‖ I didn‘t have the slightest idea if she meant about her marriage, us, the store, or all three.