Lost at Sea by Erica Boyce

Author:Erica Boyce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2019-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Friday, November 10, 2017

Rebecca lost her breath when Addie told her the whole story that morning. “Did you hear about what happened to John Staybrook?” she’d said in a fake whisper. “Have you heard anything from Diane?” When Rebecca stared blankly at her, a light went up behind Addie’s eyes. If there was one thing she loved more than hearing gossip, it was telling it.

It didn’t seem real. She’d just seen John the week before. He’d slipped her an extra twenty on her way out his front door after watching Ella, which she didn’t find until she’d gotten home and counted the small folded pile of bills. She had the twenty in her wallet, ready to give back to him the next time she saw him.

She had to sit down. She landed in one of the cheap wooden chairs they kept behind the circulation desk. To her credit, Addie murmured in sympathy and ran across the street to the Dunkin’ Donuts, returning with a coffee that she left on the desk for Rebecca. Rebecca stared at the Styrofoam cup. The coffee grew lukewarm while Addie chatted with patrons in hushed tones, her voice occasionally rising for an “I know!” or “Can you believe it?” followed immediately by a worried glance in Rebecca’s direction. At the end of the day, Rebecca dumped the coffee in the trash.

On the drive home, all she could think of was Ella, inhaling that book on the floor the day before and asking unanswerable questions about Lacey. How had Diane told her about her dad? Had she cried? Rebecca imagined she must have and was glad she hadn’t had to see it.

At home, she walked slowly up the steps to the bedroom. The room was dark; they kept the curtains drawn so Mack could fall into bed, no matter what time of day he got home. The covers were still taut across the mattress where she’d tucked them that morning. He wasn’t back yet.

The closet door, swollen since the house was built, had to be jiggled just so before it would moan open. She pushed aside the dresses and skirts hanging there. Behind them was a space barely large enough for her to curl up in. She climbed back and let her clothes fall together behind her, closing her in.

She sat on the dusty floor and squeezed her eyes shut. It was childish, she knew, but she’d always liked small spaces, nooks and crannies that held her in and couldn’t surprise her. She brushed one hand out across the floor. And there were the boots. She pulled one into her lap. It was impossibly small—the sole fit into one hand. They were brown, the brand name long ago worn away.

They’d been hers when she was a kid. She’d toddled after her father and older brothers in them almost every afternoon when her mother would drop her off at the boat and cheerfully proclaim that she needed a break. Rebecca had taken them home in a burst of optimism over two years ago when she and Mack had first decided they were ready to try.

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