“Isis, when you block the door, it won’t open,” I told her, moving her and her footstool out of the way.
I pulled open the door, and the lights flickered.
“Mommy, lights,” Isis announced, pointing at the ceiling.
“I saw, boo-bear,” I told her, filing through the freezer for the plastic bag of smoothie bites. I grabbed them just as the lights flickered and then went black.
“Damn. Oops, naughty word. Isis?” I reached down expecting to feel her soft blonde head, but my hand waved through the air.
“Isis?” I said louder, walking my hands down the refrigerator and then reaching into the darkness. She didn’t respond, and my pulse began to race.
“Sammy?” I called, moving cautiously along the counter toward the doorway. The great room had a fire. We could sit there and wait for the power to come back on. I glanced toward the dark window expecting to see lightning, but only more blackness greeted me.
I paused, listening. If Isis were hiding, she’d eventually give in and giggle. Unlike most two-year-olds, Isis was not afraid of the dark. Sometimes she and Sammy would climb into the furthest reaches of the closets to crouch in total blackness when we played hide-n-seek. I heard a shuffle near the kitchen island and blindly moved toward it.
“Got you,” I said as my hands found her. I touched the top of her head, but as my hand drifted down, I realized her hair was too long - very long, and tangled. She was too tall. This child stood above my waist, and Isis barely reached my thighs. My hands shook as they roamed from hair to face. Cold, waxy skin drifted beneath my fingers.
In the darkness, I stared down shaking, my mouth opening and closing like a fish plucked from the water and laid on the beach.
A terrible scream exploded from my chest, and almost instantly the lights flashed, on illuminating the kitchen. My hands were poised in front of me, but no child stood beneath them.
Sammy raced into the room, Isis propped on his hip.
“What? What’s happened?”
Sammy’s eyes darted around the kitchen.
Isis watched me with round, frightened eyes.
“I… the power went out. You have Isis?”
I tried to take her from Sammy, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, burying her face in his shoulder.
“The power went out?” Sammy asked, puzzled.
“Yes, didn’t it go out in the whole house?” I searched the kitchen with my eyes. Where had she gone?
“And that’s why you screamed? Good God, I thought you’d seen a knife-wielding lunatic peeking in the window.”
I shook my head, started to mention the child, and then I registered Sammy’s face, the lines of worry etched there, the fading shock.
“I couldn’t find Isis. I panicked.”
“She wandered in a few minutes ago. I figure you were bringing her snack to the great room.”
“Snack?” I asked, staring at the floor where I was sure the small outlines of two feet had stood, their remnants already vanishing. I squatted down and touch the place. It did not feel warm, but I did feel something.
“Let’s go out to dinner,” Sammy announced, swinging Isis high. “We’ll drive down to Glen Arbor to Art’s bar. You want tater tots, Isis?”
“Taters,” Isis shrieked, kicking her legs and smiling.
“Sure,” I mumbled miserably.
Sammy pulled me into a hug, crushing Isis between us. She laughed and wrapped an arm around my head.
I smiled and tried not to see the question in Sammy’s eyes.
“IT’S AVAILABLE RIGHT NOW?” I heard Sammy’s voice and paused.
I had woken again from a long nap that left me groggy and disoriented. It had taken several minutes of staring into the canopy of our bed before I remembered where I was.
“Dada, look, gween,” Isis announced.
“Yes, it is green. Good observation, Isis.”
“Gween gass,” she announced.
“We’d be looking to move in early November. No, we left our furniture at our own house in Traverse City. We’re sub-leasing it for the winter. Okay. Sounds good. I’ll come in next week to fill out the application.”
My head pulsed, and I experienced a strange sense of rage. For an instant I wanted to run into the room, snatch Sammy’s phone from his hand and throw it in the fire. I touched my temple and felt the steady thrum of my pulse, almost hot to the touch. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with something.
We were only two weeks from the Halloween party, and I didn’t want to be recovering from a cold or the flu.
I stepped into the doorway. Sammy held his cell phone clutched in his hand. Isis sat on the floor, coloring a flattened paper bag.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked.
He held up his phone, where Sarah’s face appeared on the screen.
“Hi Corrie,” she waved.
“Hi.” I waved back as Sammy ducked from the room, pecking me quick on the cheek. I watched him slip down the hallway and wondered who he’d been talking to before Sarah.
CHAPTER 22
Now
Sarah
Sarah kissed her mom on the cheek and handed her a wriggling Isis.
“How’s my sweet girl?” Helen asked, bouncing her granddaughter up and down.
“Gizmo,” Isis announced, proudly holding up her stuffed toy.
“Oh my, that Gizmo is a special critter, isn’t he?”
“Cookies!” Isis shouted, pointing at Helen’s counter stacked with plates of cookies.
Sarah grabbed her one and settled Isis in front of an episode of Sesame Street before returning to the kitchen. She plopped on a barstool.
“How’s Corrie?” Helen asked, returning to the counter.
“Okay,” Sarah lied. “She said she got a new book and planned to spend the day reading.”
Helen stood at the kitchen island, kneading and pounding dough as if she wanted to bake her grief into a cookie and feed it to someone else.
“What do you think happened, Sarah?” her mother asked,
Sarah leaned against the counter and shook her head.
“I don’t know, Mom. I keep replaying the night in my head. Was there a psychopath there and none of us knew it? Did Sammy get in a fight with someone? He had a lot to drink.” She bit back any mention of Corrie, still not able to consider any real possibility that her brother’s wife was also his murderer.
“Not Sammy,” Helen said, taking the dough she’d flattened and pushing it back into a ball to start over. She sprinkled flour on the top and shoved her hands deep into the creamy softness. “He never fought. He wasn’t a confrontational man.”
“Well, he didn’t fight back, that’s for sure. But someone might have attacked him. Maybe he made a snide comment, or…”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Helen snapped, and her voice wavered. She closed her eyes.
“Oh, Mom. I know that.” Sarah stood and wrapped her arms around her mother’s soft body. She leaned on her mother’s shoulder, wishing she could ease her pain. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even ease her own pain.
“I’m so worried for Corrie. What if he comes back? What if he murders Corrie and Isis? What if we lose them all?” Her voice rose, a hysterical edge slipping in.
“Shh,“ Sarah whispered, glancing toward the living room where Elmo sang about brushing his teeth. “Mom, here.” She pulled out a chair. “Sit for a minute.” Sarah sat across from her and took her hands. “That will not happen. I’ve been going out to the house almost every day. I think it was just a horrible, crazy thing that happened. Some lunatic showed up at the party, drank too much, and who knows - maybe he confused Sammy for someone else. I don’t think anyone had it in for Sammy, and I don’t think anyone will hurt Corrie and Isis. Okay? I believe that.”