Page 49 of Darkwater Lane

“Hey, Mom,” she calls, as if it’s just an ordinary day. As if she hadn’t recently walked in on a gruesome murder scene in our own living room. As if our entire life hadn’t been upended in a matter of days.

I open my arms for a hug, and she obliges. I hold her tightly, wishing I could erase the burden of the last few days from her. “Thank you for taking care of your brother,” I tell her. “You did a good job getting away from the house. I’m proud of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t drilled that into us a hundred million times.”

“And you complained for 99% of them,” I remind her.

“Yeah, well, apparently, I was paying attention.”

“You were,” I agree. I’ve started to realize that I’m so often looking for the gaps and lapses in our security that I fail to acknowledge the successes. It’s important for me to reinforce when my kids do things right.

She glances past me at the truck. “Where’s Vee? Did she decide not to come after all?”

As soon as we made the decision to leave, we asked Vee if she wanted to join us at Stillhouse Lake. Initially she said yes and even helped pack up the house. But then this morning she backed out. “She didn’t want to lose her apprenticeship at the shop,” I tell her. “I think she’s pretty happy where she is, but we told her she’s always welcome. I’m sure we’ll see her soon.”

Lanny frowns slightly. “And my field trip to DC? Is that still on?”

I wince. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“So Vee’s allowed to be an adult but I’m not?”

I start to protest but she waves a hand. “Never mind. It’s not like you were going to let me go anyway. We all knew you were going to change your mind.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she’s right. In fact, until she brought it up, I’d completely forgotten about the trip. It makes me feel like an absolutely shitty mom and is yet another reminder of how easy it has been to fall back into the same patterns as before: constantly vigilant, always awaiting the next threat, erring on the side of caution. All the things I promised Lanny I’d try to dial back so we could try to live a little more normally.

Except this time is different. A man was murdered in our house. Until we understand who did it and why, I don’t want my kids out of my sight.

She has to recognize the uniqueness of our situation. “I’m sorry, honey,” I tell her. I mean it. I hate that I’m asking her to make sacrifices. Again.

She lifts a shoulder. “I’m used to it by now.”

The way she says it is like a physical blow. These kids have had to give up too much of their lives. They’re being punished for their father’s crimes, and it isn’t fair.

It’s even more reason for me to find a way to make it stop. I have to figure out how to give my kids their lives back. They’ll never get to be normal, but they should at least be able to grow up without the shadow of Melvin Royal hanging over them constantly.

We spend the rest of the day unpacking the trailer and sorting boxes. Slowly, we start to make the house feel more like home. Connor tacks up a few posters on his bedroom wall, and Lanny fills her half of the bathroom counter with an eclectic collection of makeup tubes and bottles.

While we’d been renting out the house, we’d stored some of our belongings in the panic room located off the kitchen, using it as a quasi-utility closet. I push aside the bookshelf blocking the door and enter the code to unlock it. The room itself isn’t huge, and the walls are still covered in the zombie apocalypse posters we put up when we first moved into the house and Connor had dubbed this our Zombie Bugout Shelter.

Boxes are piled in one corner, while a few pieces of furniture we didn’t want to leave out for renters, including several wooden Adirondack chairs Sam and Connor built together, are stacked in another. I start hauling those out to the deck, already looking forward to spending time out there with a beer after dinner. Sam grabs a couple of the boxes markedkitchenand starts sorting through them, pulling out some of our nicer cooking equipment that we hadn’t wanted to leave out for renters. We don’t say much as we work. Lanny has connected her phone to speakers in her room and is blasting the soundtrack toHamilton. Every now and again, I hear Sam singing along and smile.

The last few days have been rough for him. For all of us. Iappreciate that even with all the pressure mounting, there are still pockets of normalcy in our lives. For now, we’re all okay: we’re healthy and whole and together.

I don’t ever take those things for granted.

We’re still unpacking when I hear tires crunching over gravel. My first thought is to wonder where the closest firearm is located, but then glance out the window to see a familiar truck pulling up behind my SUV. I immediately start for the door and key in the alarm code before stepping outside, just as Kez hefts her bulky frame from the passenger seat.

She’s wearing black leggings and a crisp white button-down that stretches tight across her large, pregnant belly. The sight of it—of her so healthy and glowing—brings tears to my eyes. There’s something about knowing the little life growing inside her, kicking and twisting and ready to take on the world, that fills my soul.

It’s a reminder that life continues. So does hope.

“Kez,” I say, clutching my hands to my heart. “Look at you!” I start toward her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m massive and I waddle like a duck.”

I reach her and pull her into a hug. Her bump presses against me, unyielding. “I can’t believe how close you are to your due date. How are you feeling?”

“Doctor says I’ve still got a while before I have to worry about the little one making an appearance,” she tells me. “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or bad thing. I feel like there’s still so much to do before he gets here.”

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