Afraid of the Dark

Chapter Forty-three

Brent and Bradley Hellendoorn, please come to the check-in counter,” said the gate attendant.

Shada Mays grabbed her purse and carry-on bag, hoping for her name to be called next. The gate at the Miami International Airport’s Terminal A was jammed with three-hundred-plus passengers, several of whom seemed more than capable of felony assault, if that was what it took to snag an upgrade to business class. Shada had the last available seat in the waiting area. It was right next to a family of seven, and three toddlers were tumbling on the floor in front of her. The 747 was right on the other side of a large plate-glass window, however, so at least she could keep an eye on it and make sure the flight didn’t leave without her. She didn’t normally worry about such silly things, but flying out of her hometown after a day like today was beyond stressful. She’d taken extra precautions to make sure no one would recognize her. Her traditional hijab dress included a half niqab, a veil tied on at the bridge of the nose that falls to cover the lower face. Only Homeland Security officers would see her full face. In hindsight, she should have worn a full niqab to the cemetery.

I can’t believe Chuck came before nine o’clock in the morning.

Shada had disappeared a month before her daughter would have turned seventeen. For three birthday anniversaries running, Shada had returned to Miami to visit McKenna’s grave. Any hour before noon should have been a safe time to make the pilgrimage. Never had Chuck been a morning person-especially a Sunday morning person. Apparently he wasn’t the late-Saturday-night party animal he used to be.

Admit it: You wanted him to see you.

Shada shook off the thought. If she’d wanted it, she wouldn’t have dressed like a Muslim. Shada had never worn the hijab-never practiced any Muslim traditions-as long as she’d known Chuck. The clothing was purely an expedient form of concealment that she’d adopted since her disappearance. It fooled most people. It was funny, however, the way a man could recognize his wife with so little to go on-maybe just the way she cocked her head, the way she lifted her chin, or the tilt of her shoulders. Chuck had recognized her, all right. Even at a distance, she’d felt it register.

“Maysoon Khan, please come to the counter.”

Shada immediately rose from her seat. “Maysoon” had been her name for more than two years now, and it had become as familiar to her as Shada. No longer was there even the slightest hesitation in her response to her assumed name.

There was a short line ahead of her at check-in, and she had to wait as the two brothers ahead of her insisted that they not sit together. It was starting to fray her nerves, all these little delays and bumps in the road. She needed to be on a plane and flying out of this city now, away from the most terrible of memories, beyond the reach of her old fears. Fears that kept her up at night. Fears that she had struggled to conquer since that text-message exchange on the day before she had driven her car to Everglades, staged her own suicide, and disappeared.

Are you afraid?

Not at all.

Maybe you should be.

No way. Never. I will see you tomorrow.

Beneath the veil, Shada bit her lip, trying to stop it from quivering. This time, she hadn’t returned to Miami simply to visit McKenna’s grave and mark another birthday never reached. For nearly three years, Shada had believed that Jamal was McKenna’s killer. For nearly as long, she had lived in fear that he would find and kill her, too. She’d come to Miami to see him brought to justice. Now Jamal was dead, leaving questions unanswered as to his whereabouts not only at the time of McKenna’s death, but also at the time of Shada’s disappearance. It was the latter that had prompted Shada to leave the message for Chuck at their daughter’s grave.

Dear Chuck,

I can never come back, not even if you wanted me to. It won’t erase the past, but I promise I won’t let anyone blame you for what happened to me. Or for what I made them believe happened. I’m sorry it had to be this way.

“Can I help you?” asked the attendant.

The line in front of her had disappeared, and it was Shada’s turn to upgrade from coach. She placed her documents on the counter. “I’m Maysoon Khan,” she said.

“Lucky you. I have one seat left in business class.”

Shada watched in silence as the attendant checked her passport. With the push of a button, he reprinted her boarding pass to London/Heathrow.

“Have a nice trip home,” the man said.

Home, thought Shada. It didn’t feel anything like home.

“Thank you,” she said as she retrieved her documents. “I will.”