nothing to do with this. God would’ve brought my little girl home. Which is more than I can say for you, isn’t it?”
“That’s not fair.” Stepping around the field of glass, Izzy approached the bed. “I’ve spent the entire day looking for her.”
“Tell me, how did that go for you? Are there any leads? Are you ‘hot on the trail’?”
Izzy sat down on the edge of the bed, Stanley’s bent knees resting near her. Gesturing to the light bulbs, she said, “This isn’t helping. We’ve both got to keep it together. If you start losing it….” She scrubbed her face with her hands. She was exhausted and didn’t need this right now. “Look, there’s going to be a search tomorrow morning. Lots of people have agreed to help. Something’s going turn up.”
“You’re a day late and a dollar short, Iz. The search should’ve been done today .”
“These things take time. I’ve done my best to pull everything together. And even if Natalie’s hurt, we still have enough time to find her before—”
“She’s not hurt. She’s dead. I can tell.” He knuckled his chest with a fist. “In here.”
“It’s only been a day,” she said with a hint of irritation. “We need to stay positive.”
“It’s that feeling you get,” Stanley went on as if he hadn't heard her. “You know, after your child is born. That connection, like some kind of psychic tether, that tells you she’s all right. I’ve felt it every day—every single day—since Natalie was born. I felt her here, in my heart, and I knew she was okay. I don’t feel that anymore. I don’t feel anything.”
“No,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “You’re not doing this. You’re not giving up. Natalie needs you, now more than ever. You’re her father. Start acting like one.”
“I’m not giving up,” Stanley said, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. “I’m facing the facts. She never came out of those woods. She never found her way to a road or the trail. She didn’t follow the shoreline to the campgrounds. She didn’t do any of those things.” He pulled the blanket up to his chin. “She didn’t do any of those things, because she’s dead.”
She turned to face him, anger flaring within her. This self-centered apathy was what had driven a wedge between them. “I refuse to believe that. I refuse to even consider it. Our daughter is alive, damn it! And we’re going to keep looking for her—both of us—and we aren’t going to stop until we find her.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll keep looking, but for different reasons.” He sighed, and closed his eyes.
She returned to her earlier question. “Are you going to tell me what’s with the light bulbs?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “The darkness made me feel safe. It hid anything that might remind me of Natalie. By taking away the light, it took away some of the pain.” He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “Guess I went a little overboard.”
“Couldn’t you have just turned them off?”
“It wouldn’t have been the same.” His voice was so low she had to lean in to hear him. “Don’t ask me why, but it wouldn’t have been the same.”
“Okay, then why are they on the floor?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Natalie,” he said. “I was afraid that she would come back—a dead, shuffling, shambling thing —and that she would accuse me, the man who was supposed to keep her safe, to protect her, of failing. I was afraid she would take me away and make me suffer for letting her die.” He shivered. “The light bulbs were there to warn me.
“Now, go away and leave me alone.”
Then he buried his face into the pillow.
Izzy wanted to tell him that Natalie wasn’t coming for him, that it was his own misplaced guilt that stalked him, but decided that it would be heaping cruelty upon his own self-inflicted punishment.
She got up and started picking up the light bulbs. It wouldn’t take her long to replace them.
There
“That’s not fair.” Stepping around the field of glass, Izzy approached the bed. “I’ve spent the entire day looking for her.”
“Tell me, how did that go for you? Are there any leads? Are you ‘hot on the trail’?”
Izzy sat down on the edge of the bed, Stanley’s bent knees resting near her. Gesturing to the light bulbs, she said, “This isn’t helping. We’ve both got to keep it together. If you start losing it….” She scrubbed her face with her hands. She was exhausted and didn’t need this right now. “Look, there’s going to be a search tomorrow morning. Lots of people have agreed to help. Something’s going turn up.”
“You’re a day late and a dollar short, Iz. The search should’ve been done today .”
“These things take time. I’ve done my best to pull everything together. And even if Natalie’s hurt, we still have enough time to find her before—”
“She’s not hurt. She’s dead. I can tell.” He knuckled his chest with a fist. “In here.”
“It’s only been a day,” she said with a hint of irritation. “We need to stay positive.”
“It’s that feeling you get,” Stanley went on as if he hadn't heard her. “You know, after your child is born. That connection, like some kind of psychic tether, that tells you she’s all right. I’ve felt it every day—every single day—since Natalie was born. I felt her here, in my heart, and I knew she was okay. I don’t feel that anymore. I don’t feel anything.”
“No,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “You’re not doing this. You’re not giving up. Natalie needs you, now more than ever. You’re her father. Start acting like one.”
“I’m not giving up,” Stanley said, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. “I’m facing the facts. She never came out of those woods. She never found her way to a road or the trail. She didn’t follow the shoreline to the campgrounds. She didn’t do any of those things.” He pulled the blanket up to his chin. “She didn’t do any of those things, because she’s dead.”
She turned to face him, anger flaring within her. This self-centered apathy was what had driven a wedge between them. “I refuse to believe that. I refuse to even consider it. Our daughter is alive, damn it! And we’re going to keep looking for her—both of us—and we aren’t going to stop until we find her.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll keep looking, but for different reasons.” He sighed, and closed his eyes.
She returned to her earlier question. “Are you going to tell me what’s with the light bulbs?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “The darkness made me feel safe. It hid anything that might remind me of Natalie. By taking away the light, it took away some of the pain.” He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “Guess I went a little overboard.”
“Couldn’t you have just turned them off?”
“It wouldn’t have been the same.” His voice was so low she had to lean in to hear him. “Don’t ask me why, but it wouldn’t have been the same.”
“Okay, then why are they on the floor?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Natalie,” he said. “I was afraid that she would come back—a dead, shuffling, shambling thing —and that she would accuse me, the man who was supposed to keep her safe, to protect her, of failing. I was afraid she would take me away and make me suffer for letting her die.” He shivered. “The light bulbs were there to warn me.
“Now, go away and leave me alone.”
Then he buried his face into the pillow.
Izzy wanted to tell him that Natalie wasn’t coming for him, that it was his own misplaced guilt that stalked him, but decided that it would be heaping cruelty upon his own self-inflicted punishment.
She got up and started picking up the light bulbs. It wouldn’t take her long to replace them.
There
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