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‘Now she’s dead.’ The porch seemed to spin. Forcing herself to focus, Kendall gripped the doorjamb tightly. ‘What? Your mother is dead, and you’re here looking for Reid?’ ‘He came to see Grandpa this morning. He told him she was dead.’ There were a lot of pronouns in that sentence. Sorting through them, Kendall realized the dead body this morning must have been Amy. ‘Wow. Well. Do you want to come in?’ Annie followed Kendall into the house. ‘Are you married to Reid?’ Kendall smiled despite everything. ‘Not yet.’ Gesturing to the brown leather sofa she asked, ‘Do we need to call your grandparents? Surely they’re worried about you.’ The question earned a vigorous shake of blonde curls. ‘They think I’m at Amanda’s.’ ‘You want to wait for Reid to get home, don’t you?’ She hated to be the bearer of bad news, but she knew Reid had asked for a paternity test when Amy’s baby was born, proving he wasn’t the father. If he had been, he would have done right by her. It didn’t take long until. Sarah had already cleaned the rooms. The beds were made, the lights were on, and the floors were vacuumed. Even the desks had been restocked with new pens and pads of paper.Leaving the rooms, he ran into Walt. Concerned about seeing the man given the information that Cathy had provided about him talking with Dr. Hayes, he asked, “What’s up?”“The good doctor has gone to take a nap. He said that he wanted to be alert when the kids showed up.”“Okay. That’s good thinking on his part,” replied Ed. There were still doubts in his mind about how well the doctor was handling the death of his wife. It was well known that when one spouse died, the other often followed within a year.“I think the kids will be a good influence on his mental state. They’ll give him something to live for.”“I hope so,” replied Ed.“Well, I’m going to double check everything for the arrival of the family. It’s going to be nice to have everyone here again,” said Walt. The house had been too quite for too long.Satisfied.
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She turns abruptly and walks outside onto the veranda. Moonlight washes the old wooden flooring in pale white light. The gnarled fingers of the old sycamore tree snatch at the shadows, swayed by the wind. She fumbles in her pocket for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. The scratch of the match striking against the sandpapery face of the battered matchbox seems irrepressibly loud. A cricket’s mating call from somewhere in the bushes grates against her ear, insistent – lonely. She is so very lonely. The glowing red light of the cigarette seems to act as a tiny, blinking beacon in the sea of darkness. She takes in a drag of the cigarette and puffs out cloudy white smoke. She sighs to herself, revelling in the peace. It is not to last, of course. From inside, the phone rings. She moves automatically to answer it, then in a brief moment of rebellion hesitates – decides to ignore it. There will be consequences. She does not care. At least, not now. The phone stops ringing. He comes up.

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