As we round the corner, I see that the kitchen is empty. My eyes dart around the expansive room, and I notice the back door wide open. Abel must have let himself out. Thank God. I go to close it and lock it behind me.
“The crime rate out here is low, isn’t it?” John is saying. “That’s another concern we have in Austin.”
“Anhalt is a very safe community,” I say, walking back from the door. “Nothing bad ever happens here.”
Faith looks up at her husband, smiling like she’s already made up her mind.
“Now about that cookie,” I say. “I hope you like chocolate chip, it’s an old family recipe.”
John puts a protective arm around Faith’s shoulder, squeezes her in tight.
Then I see the tray of cookies and can’t help the small gasp that escapes my lips.
They’ve all been smashed, as though fists have been pressed down purposefully into each one. Nothing but crumbs scattered across the platter, spilling over onto the once-gleaming countertop.
CHAPTER TWELVEINGRID
I pull up to the house, the house Mom and Dad never sold, the house Izzy never came back to. The pecan tree out front is taller, the shade of it shielding the entire front porch. When we were little, Dad hung a swing from the strong lower branch. He made it himself, sanding the wooden seat smooth as silk, so we wouldn’t get splinters.
The swing isn’t there anymore. Eventually the wood warped from rain, the rope frayed and broke. Dad cut it down, so it wouldn’t choke the branch.
But I can still see it. One of those quick pop bursts of memory. Izzy lying on the grass, counting dandelion petals.He loves me, he loves me not.While Ben pushed me higher and higher until the toes of my sneakers brushed the yellow leaves.
Even my good memories—maybe especially the good ones—taste sour on my tongue.
Sheriff Ryan never did get that warrant. Because there was never any evidence to find. Izzy’s car was parked near the Sherman land, but not on it, abandoned at the river entrance that everyone in town used. In Texas, the waterways are public, even if the land is private. The sheriff and a few deputies floated the Blanco on kayaks, calling Izzy’s name down every bend, while Abel looked on from his front porch, a shotgun across his lap, making sure no one set so much as a toe onto the bank. The missing posters plastered around town slowly weathered and faded. The tip lines stoppedringing. Life kept going, and we were never given any answers. Izzy had simply vanished.
As soon as I park in the driveway, the garage door begins to rise and Dad emerges, like he’d been looking out the window for me.
Mom has given me constant updates on the state of Dad’s knee, which has been giving him trouble lately, but seeing him now, he has an easy stride about him. Dad has always made things seem easy. He’s shrunk just a little in that way older men seem to deflate.
“How you doing, kiddo?” he asks.
“I picked up new air filters, cleaning supplies, and we need to assemble the shower chair.”
He follows me to the trunk and proceeds to tuck the box of air filters under his arm, load all the bags onto his forearms, and hold my luggage waist high in his hands.
“Dad, stop it. Let me help. And the luggage has wheels.”
“Those are for regular humans. Strongest daddy in the world, remember?”
Dad’s entire parenting method was displaying—at least from a child’s perspective—impossible feats of strength. Lifting our toddler bed with one arm and hoisting it above his head. Swinging the hammer on the strongman game at Anhalt’s Oktoberfest and winning us the biggest teddy bear.
Once, when he tucked us in, I asked him to leave the door cracked.What if there’s a monster?
He sat on the edge of my bed.I’ll rip that monster apart. Strongest daddy in the world, remember?
It was more reassuring than if he’d said monsters didn’t exist. Because if Daddy was strong, we were safe.
Now, he grunts under the weight of the luggage and the groceries.
“I’m going to end up taking care of both of you while I’m down here,” I say, following with empty arms.
“Oh, me and your mother manage, more than you give us credit for,” he says, trying to hide the strain in his breath.
We enter through the garage, where everything is neat and orderly,tools cascaded and evenly aligned above his tool bench, stacked and labeled camping supplies. I rush ahead to open the door to the kitchen, and make sure Dad has enough counter space to finish his grand demonstration of power.
He heaves the bags, luggage, and air filters all in one thrust onto the kitchen island. Then casually places his hands on his hips, gazing at the sprawl of his accomplishment as we stand shoulder to shoulder.