43. SKYE

Cascade, Idaho

I really missed sleeping. The ability to just turn your brain off for a while was something I'd really taken for granted while I was alive. Without a body that needed sleep to physically recharge, my thoughts never turned off. Except for the times when I got caught up in a memory.

Meghan called it "drifting." That was how she'd found her grandmother, the one who was waiting to welcome her at the end of this horror show.

The three of us gathered around April, speaking the truth about her husband in turn.

April's eyes, wide in the darkness, gave no indication that she sensed any of it. She was finally awake to the gravity of her situation. But only time would tell if that awakening would be enough.

I knew that look in her eyes. It was that same wild-animal feeling I'd gotten when I realized I might have made a terrible mistake getting into his car. And that my choices were now limited to whatever mercy the universe would grant me. In my case, there had been none. But maybe things would be different for April and the girls. I hoped so.

Once James's breathing grew deep and measured, April scooted to the far edge of the bed, clutching the quilt and no longer trying to feign sleep.

The seconds ticked by like hours as we waited for her to move. To do something. To run.

"Move, girl," I kept telling her. "He's asleep. Move."

Brecia shook her head. "The girls are too heavy to carry. And if she wakes them up, they'll wake him up too. They're too little to listen when they're tired and cranky. It's too risky."

So we all just sat there, gathered around April, listening to the whistling sound of his breath, in and out, in and out.

I pulled my thoughts back toward me again and again, like a puppy on a leash, refusing to allow myself to drift. It was excruciating to stay present. And from the feeling in the room, I knew I wasn't alone.

Suddenly, I had an idea. "Brecia, you know that thing that happened in the impound lot when we were talking?"

Brecia nodded. "The same thing happened with Meghan when I hugged her." She looked at Meghan, whose confused expression dissolved into understanding.

"Could we try that again?" I asked, feeling weirdly shy. I was asking for a literal glimpse into their souls. "It wasn't the same as drifting in my own memories. I didn't feel all deep and dreamy. I just kind of, I don't know, got a really clear picture of the story you were telling me. Like you'd shown it to me."

"It was like a movie," Meghan said. "A super high-def movie with a D-BOX. I could actually sort of feel it."

Brecia burst out laughing. "A D-BOX. If my dad knew that you got your own personal D-BOX theater when you died . . ." She stopped herself. "Sorry, Meg. I'm not making fun of you. I know what you mean. It's the perfect way to describe it."

"Can I show you my cat?" Brecia asked softly. "I know that's weird. But I miss him. He's really cute. His name is Frank."

"Please baby Jesus, yes," I told her. "Show us."

We shuffled closer together on the floor, on April's side of the bed. Then we held hands. It was like a seance in reverse, all of us making contact with the land of the living.

As soon as we touched hands, I saw the memories like a living movie in stunning detail. I could almost feel that sweet little furball with the downy white fur and orange ears purring on Brecia's lap. And when I whispered, "Oh, he's a doll," the Brecia inside the memory looked up at me, her eyes full of joy at the cat sleeping on her lap while she watched Netflix before bed.

It was just a cat. But in that moment, it was everything.

We drifted together like that all night, trading memories. Some sweet, some shallow, some heartbreaking, some that filled up the room with a sadness so thick we swam in it. I wasn't sure how it was happening, but I understood now what Meghan had been saying about her Bubbie: The memory wasn't static anymore, but rather a little secret doorway.

All the while, April stayed where she was, frozen, her breaths shallow and fast until the first rays of sunlight finally hit the window in the little bedroom.

At that first clear sign of morning, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the kitchen. The girls were still asleep, and she didn't wake them.

Meghan, Brecia, and I watched eagerly as she scanned the countertops, felt in his coat pockets, and quietly opened drawers in the tiny kitchen.

"She's looking for the keys," Brecia said in disbelief. "She's going to do it. Oh my god."

"But where are they?" Meghan fretted. "I didn't see where he put them down. Did any of you?"

None of us had. And as April's search grew more creative—under the dusty pot holders by the stove, beneath the tattered rug, in the back of cupboards—all while pausing at the slightest noise from the bedrooms, the hope that the keys were here to be found seemed increasingly unlikely.

He'd tucked them away somewhere he knew she wouldn't look. Because, like all three of the ghosts standing in this kitchen, she might have gotten into the car willingly at one point. But once she did, the chances she'd get out alive went down astronomically.

The lid to the coffee maker slid onto the floor with a loud clatter as April tilted it to see behind the ancient plastic pot.

She froze as the sound was followed by a muffled creak—then heavy footfalls—from down the hallway. She grabbed the coffee pot and ran to the sink to fill it with water.

"What the hell is she doing?" Meghan cried. "They don't even drink coffee."

When he appeared around the corner from the hallway with a sour expression on his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked at her in irritation. "Are you serious right now? It's barely morning. Why are you banging around in here?" His eyes focused on the coffee pot in her hand, and he scowled. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him with a thousand-watt smile, turning off the sink as the water reached the brim of the pot. "Babe, I'm so sorry. I remembered we had a couple of hot chocolate packets, and I was trying to do something fun for breakfast. Surprise the girls before they woke up." She made a face at the coffee pot. "I thought this might heat the water up faster than the stove. I'm so sorry I woke you!"

"Damn, April," Brecia said. "Good save."

I was impressed too. I almost believed her myself. But did he?

I studied his face as the scowl softened into irritation. He was mad. He clearly thought she was a moron. But not enough to fly off the handle. April latched onto it and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm really sorry, hon. Go back to sleep, okay?"

He didn't move. "Just use one packet," he muttered, eyeing the lines of food.

She followed his gaze. Then I saw something light up in her eyes. "What would you think about me making a quick trip into town today? I could get us some canned food and maybe some fresh stuff that will last a while? Apples, beans—"

"Yes," Meghan encouraged her. "Yes, girl. Get out of here."

I didn't have time to cheer. The scowl was back on his face. "Are you kidding me right now, April? How stupid can you be? You think you're just going to go shopping and then toddle back here? Someone will recognize you. Someone will recognize the van. Unless maybe that's what you want?" The scowl deepened into something even uglier. It was the first time I'd seen him seriously consider the idea that she might run. Despite berating her at every turn since they'd gotten to this miserable little prison, he'd clearly never really thought she'd turn on him. She wasn't real to him. She and the girls had never been more than accessories to his life. Worth keeping around when they were useful. No reason not to discard them when they became inconvenient.

April tried again, raking her hand through the back of her thin, blond hair to fluff it up in a nervous tell I'd started to recognize. I could hear the desperation bleeding into her voice now. "They're looking for you, not me, and I'll park way before town and walk in. Nobody would see the license plate or anything. I could wear a hat, and without makeup I really don't look like myself—"

He cut her off, snatching the coffee maker out of her hand and splashing water down the front of her shirt. "You have to plug it in, you moron. And no, we are not taking the risk for apples and beans. I'm sorry we aren't eating high on the hog, but you're the one who packed all these meals. Maybe if you'd done the math right, or figured out that they all tasted disgusting and would give everybody the runs, things might be a little nicer."

She stared at him in stunned silence, and I prayed to God that he couldn't tell as well as I could that his wife was hearing every word he said with a new filter. No more rationalizing. No more pretending. He was a ticking time bomb about to blow up in her face.

He stared back, as if daring her to try again. From down the hallway, there was the sound of a door opening and little-girl voices.

April snapped her mask back in place, grabbing a threadbare towel from above the stove to press against her soaked shirt. "You're right," she told him apologetically. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea. I'll clean all this up and have the girls help me with breakfast. I'm sorry," she repeated, reaching out for his arm again.

He shrugged her away and turned toward the hall, not bothering to respond to the excited chorus of "Hi, Daddy!" as he walked back to the bedroom.

The long fluorescent bulbs in the kitchen light overhead blinked erratically for a few seconds. They seemed to be less susceptible to our emotions than the halogen variety. I knew the halogen variety would have popped a long time ago.

April glanced at the light then turned on a smile as the girls burst into the kitchen. "Is Daddy angry again?" Emma pouted.

Kimmie's eyes landed on April's wet shirt. "You have an accident, Mommy?"

"God, find a way to get these babies out of here," I mumbled, watching Kimmie pat April's hip comfortingly. I still didn't know what I thought about God. I'd really expected to have some answers by now. I prayed anyway, though. Because there wasn't much else to do.

"It's okay, Mommy," Kimmie assured her, echoing the words I'd heard April say when Kimmie herself really did have an accident once in a while.

For a split second, it looked like April's mask might come down. Her lip trembled slightly as she looked at the girls and around the small kitchen, her gaze resting on the hallway where he'd disappeared a few seconds ago. The babies were awake. There were no car keys to be found. They were trapped.

She pursed her lips and grabbed Kimmie's hand, directing her to the meals along the living room wall. "Oh, I just spilled, baby! I was trying to surprise you guys with hot cocoa. Will you help me find the packet? We'll share it and drink little tea party cups."

The girls eagerly helped search through the buckets while April took steadying breaths and quickly swiped at a tear that had managed to escape down one of her cheeks.