The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) A.J. Flynn (ebook reader play store TXT) 📖

“Thank you for driving me, Lieutenant,” she said, as she hurried out of the car. “I’ll never forget it.”

“Let me walk you to your door.”

Her smile was intended to be grateful, but came off as pitiable. “No. I meant what I said about wanting to be alone, but you’ll let me know as soon as I can make arrangements for Harry, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But it may still be a few days. There are still some questions that have to be settled. If you need anything, or if there’s anything you would like to know, feel free to give me a call,” she said earnestly.

Hayley reached out her hand. “I will. Thank you again, and goodbye.”

There was truth in that saying, old as you feel. The girl looked as though she had aged ten years in the last hour.

McPherson sat and watched the house for a while. There were still things to do, but she couldn’t seem to muster the inertia to get started. She looked over at the Johnson’s and wondered what Detective Aiden had been able to learn from Mrs. Johnson. Sure, the woman wasn’t apt to be free with information, but the young man was tenacious and wouldn’t give up easily.

It never felt good to catch someone in a lie, but in the case of Mrs. Johnson, she was willing to make an exception. The woman had rubbed her the wrong way, ever since she’d first laid eyes on her.

The Fitts house looked quiet. She hadn’t heard anything about Mr. Fitts being charged with the attack on Mr. Rogers, but it was only a matter of time. She wondered how Mrs. Fitts might feel when she heard about it.

Finally, she flicked her cigarette out the window and started the car. She had to begin sometime, so it might as well be now.

XIX

Hayley let herself into the still house. It didn’t feel like home anymore, but it was a place where she could be by herself. She hung her coat up in the closet with her usual grace and began pacing slowly about the room. Her fatigue was so great that every step felt like she was forcing her way through wet sand, but for some reason she was frightened to sit down. It seemed like so long as she kept moving, she could somehow avoid the reality of her situation.

She made her way to the back closet and dug around for a dust rag. There was no good reason to wear the housework gloves she always used. Nobody would be seeing her hands now.

She began working like a robot, mechanically doing one thing at a time, but doing it well. No nook or cranny missed the steadfast polishing of her dust cloth.

While she worked, her mind raced in a tumultuous storm of thoughts. She remembered back to the summers when she had been a child. Happier times, when the only worry was whether or not her parents would punish her for not getting home on time. She thought of the surplus charge on the electric bill and how she would have to remember to talk to the company about it. Her mind jumped from one thing to another like a hopped-up grasshopper, and time passed by without notice, until it began to grow dark. She tapped on some lamps and drew the curtains. There wasn’t any need to think of dinner, but a shower may help her relax.

She undressed and stepped into the shower stall. A warm shower seemed best. The spray was forceful and she let it wash over her for a long time. The pounding water had a calming effect that was like a drug.

After apathetically drying herself, she made her way to the closet and picked out an old fluffy robe. She had owned it for years, and it was faded now with sagging seams. Harry would have laughed at the sight of it, but it was soft and warm, and she needed its warmth tonight.

Out of force of habit, she walked over to the dressing table and picked up her hairbrush, then slowly put it back down. There wasn’t any need to brush her hair or do her makeup tonight. It was the first time since Harry had been released from prison that she had skipped the ritual.

The thought of eating made her stomach churn, but she thought she might be able to manage a cup of tea. She went to the kitchen and put a pot of water on the burner, then made her way to the front door and picked up the paper. Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that her world had fallen apart.

Once the water was hot she poured it out over the tea leaves, and set the pot on a tray, along with a cup and saucer. Then she brought the tray into the living room.

It was her routine to skim through the paper, picking up whatever facts caught her interest without reading too closely, but tonight she flipped to the editorial page and began reading. She was halfway into the second paragraph, when the words began to swim in front of her eyes. Her tears could no longer be denied. The paper fell onto the floor, and she buried her head in her hands. The sobs were heavy and deep.

He hadn’t had to die. It was all such a waste. Harry, for all of his faults, was her man, and she had loved him.

Even when he had chosen to take what looked like the easy way out to relieve their troubles, she could never bring herself to blame him. She knew that stealing to help someone you love was wrong, but it was understandable. Even the judge had sensed this, and decided to be lenient.

All the time spent waiting for him had been hard, but the hard work had been worth it. A new start in a new location looked like the answer,