Alan raised his eyebrows.
Bob reached down into his bag. He pulled up the book that Rick Prescott had read from in the cabin. Alan pushed himself away from Bob. The sheet dragged across his bandage and pain flared from his foot. Alan shook his head violently. He put a finger to his lips.
“No?” Bob asked.
“No,” Alan said.
“Okay, I understand,” Bob said. “Definitely some weird thing going on. I’ve got a bunch of clothes here also. You were hanging on to them for dear life when we walked through the woods. I guess I should have given them to your wife last night, but I didn’t think of it. They look a little small for you.”
Bob pulled Joe’s hat, jacket, shoes, and pants from the bag. Folded in with the clothes, he saw the apology letter that Joe had written to Polly. Alan took them all from Bob and tucked them under the blanket next to himself.
“Thank you,” Alan said.
“No problem.”
“I should let you get some rest,” Bob said. “You have my number in case there’s anything you need.”
“No—it was in my phone,” Alan said.
“Oh, right,” Bob said. “Your wife has it. I’ll write it down.” He turned and wrote the digits on the notepad sitting on the little desk.
“You want me to take this with me?” Bob asked. He held up the book.
“Leave it,” Alan said.
Bob set it on the desk.
“Call me when you can talk, okay?” Bob said.
“Yes,” Alan said. “Thank you for everything. I mean it.” His emotion welled.
“No big deal. Hope you feel better. Joe? You want to see me out?”
Alan pulled Joe’s clothes in tighter to his body and watched as his son came in. Bob stood back as Joe unchained the door. Bob gave a wave as he left and Joe chained and locked the door behind him.
“You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah,” Alan said. He inched his way over to the edge of the bed.
“You need some help?”
“No. Thanks,” Alan said. Joe watched him as he swung his legs to the floor. He winced at the new throbbing from his foot. He pushed to his feet. “Hand me that crutch, please.”
Joe gave him the crutch. Alan took it and realized he was still holding Joe’s clothes.
“Put these somewhere safe, okay?”
He handed the clothes to Joe. His son looked puzzled and then took them to the other room. Alan crutched his way to the bathroom and looked at his pajamas. His shirt was embroidered with “Kingston Village Inn.” He used the facilities and then crutched his way back to the bed and sat down on the edge with the last of his energy. His head swam. Alan found his way under the sheet and drifted back to sleep.
He woke again to another knock at the door. This was the light, insistent knock of his wife—he would know it anywhere.
“Joe?” Alan asked. His son was already headed for the door.
Liz came in with two big bags.
“Who wants Indian food?”
“Did you get me gaboosh?” Joe asked.
Liz smiled. “It’s not called that.”
“I know,” Joe said. He took the bags to the desk and started pulling cartons from inside.
“You can eat in bed, Alan,” Liz said.
“No, thanks,” Alan said. He made his way from bed to the table next to the window. He pushed open the curtains and looked down on a strip of grass next to the lake. The view was beautiful. Technically, this wasn’t the same lake that emptied into the stream near their house. This was the next lake up in the chain. Somewhere near the southwest corner of this body of water, a little stream spilled over a dam into their lake. Alan sat down. He propped his leg up on the edge of the bed to relieve some of the throbbing from his foot.
Liz brought over a plastic container and set it in front of Alan. The spices smelled wonderful.
“I’ve got a bag down in the car with clothes for us.”
“What?” Alan asked.
Liz took a seat. Joe was still working on dishing out his food—picking out all his favorites.
“Your friend Bob called me after he left here and offered to come pick me up. The two of us went to the house so I could get my car. I figured while we were there, I might as well get us some clothes.”
“Liz, I wish,” Alan started.
“Look, I know you think it’s dangerous, but I didn’t go alone. I had Bob with me. The house is a bit of mess, but everything seems to be in order. They’ve got most of the roads open again except for the big washout. They said on the news that it might take a couple of weeks before that road opens again.”
“I don’t want you going there,” Alan said.
“What? Forever?” Liz asked. She lifted a forkful of rice to her mouth and caught some of it in her hand as it fell.
“It could be dangerous,” Alan said.
“I know. I understand, Alan. That’s why I was careful. Bob and I agreed—it looks like whatever was there is gone.”
Alan sighed. “How can we know? We didn’t know anything was there to begin with.”
Liz frowned and tilted her head a little.
“What are you saying, Alan?”
“Just that it’s dangerous. Maybe.”
“Understood—that’s why I was careful. I didn’t go alone. I went with your friend—the same thing you did last night, right?”
“That was an emergency.”
“Today I had to wear borrowed sweatpants into Sears so I could buy this lovely pantsuit you see on me right now. Your son is currently wearing someone else’s clothes, and you’re wearing hotel pajamas. I think having something to wear was a bit of an emergency as well,” Liz said. She abandoned her fork and picked at her food with delicate fingers.
“Fine,” Alan said. “But can we agree that we will go together next time?”
“Yes,” Liz said.
“And that we won’t move back until after Halloween?”
“I don’t know, honey. We’ve got off-season rates here, but this place is a bit pricey for a whole week, don’t you think?”
“Then somewhere else. We can go to that hotel near the highway,” Alan said. “That’s cheap, right?”
“Okay,” Liz said. “I’ll check into it tomorrow. The convention center is right down the street from there, so it might be full depending on whether there’s a show, but I’ll find out.”
“Is that the one next to the movies?” Joe asked.
“Yes,” Alan said. “We could walk over and see a movie while your mom is at work.”
“Minh has my schedule down to almost nothing next week, so maybe I can come too,” Liz said.
“Even better,” Alan said.
Alan got into bed when Liz turned out the lights, but he couldn’t sleep. It felt like he’d been asleep for a week. He stared at the glowing numbers on the clock. Almost a whole day had passed since his trip to the hospital, and his body felt better already. His eyes didn’t sting or itch. The pills kept his foot to a dull throb. When Liz’s breathing evened out, Alan slipped out of bed. He hopped over to the desk and sat on the rigid chair.
Alan turned on the desk lamp. It had two settings. He chose “Dim.”
He pulled Rick’s book under the small circle of light. Liz stirred and Alan froze. Her slow breathing resumed and Alan turned his attention back to the book. The cover was worn and dirty. There was no title on the cover or spine. It crackled as he open the cover and turned to the title page. In ornate letters, a single word decorated the page—“Diary.”
Alan turned the page.
The text was faded and difficult to read. After squinting at it for several seconds, Alan puzzled out the first line.
“July 7th.”
What year?
“Father has been gone for two weeks. Mother didn’t hoist the pig properly when she bled it. We ate as much as we could, but most of the meat went bad.”