The Killing Kind

3

A single drop of rain smacked against the windshield of Evelyn Walker’s Jetta as she turned off the narrow country road and onto her rutted dirt drive. Seconds later, the sky opened, unleashing sheets of heavy rain. Evie sighed and turned her wipers on as fast as they would go, but still her visibility was reduced to nothing. She slowed to a crawl and felt her tires sinking in, the ruts they traveled now twin rivers of churning, muddy water. Rain pounded on the car’s roof as loud as hail.

It was sunny when I left Warrenton, she thought with a sigh. Still, she shouldn’t have been surprised. During summer in Virginia, the weather had a habit of turning on a dime.

The Jetta fishtailed as Evie rounded the bend that brought her rambling, buttercream farmhouse into view, her groceries jostling in the backseat. The trees that crowded the length of the driveway gave way to rolling lawn. Evie pulled in next to Stuart’s pickup and waited a moment, car idling, for the rain to abate before deciding it wasn’t likely to slow anytime soon. So she thumbed the ignition and the car shuddered off, heat and humidity encroaching immediately once the air conditioner stopped.

Getting out of the car was harder than it had been a few months ago, before she’d started to show. Took three tries and one decidedly un-ladylike groan. As soon as she stepped out, one wedge-heeled sandal sank into a mud puddle. Muck, cool and slimy between her toes, yanked the sandal from her foot as she took a step toward higher ground.

By the time she got the rear door open, her shirt clung heavily to her swollen belly, and her hair was plastered to her face. She hauled the groceries out of the backseat- standing cockeyed with one sandal on and one bare foot- and glanced toward the deck, where the French doors stood open. There was still no sign of Stuart. Strange. Ever since he’d seen that blue plus sign four months ago, Evie hadn’t so much as opened a pickle jar or carried a load of laundry- at least, when Stu was home to stop her. To be honest, his constant hovering drove her nuts, even though she knew that it was well intentioned. She was surprised he hadn’t rushed out to lend a hand the second she’d pulled in. She thought the sight of her carrying two overflowing bags of groceries would be enough to bring him running, hollering at her to put them down.

Figures, she thought. The one time I actually need some help.

“Honey?” she shouted toward the open doors, the light on within.

Stuart didn’t answer.

“Hon?” she called again, hobbling up the stairs to the deck-the bags sodden in her arms, her gait loping and awkward now that her left leg was down a couple inches from her right. She reached the open doors and peered inside through the screen. The house was ablaze with light- just like Stuart, she thought; you’d swear he thinks those switches only work in one direction-but Stuart was nowhere to be seen.

Evie eyed the screen-door latch and heaved a sigh of consternation. Then she contorted herself into an awkward crouch-turn-an upside-down comma-so that if she squeezed the bag with her forearm and twisted her wrist just so, she could maybe kinda sorta get a grip on it and… crap. The bag in her left hand tore, spilling groceries everywhere. A tomato rolled across the deck. Egg white oozed from the upturned egg carton.

Where the hell was Stuart, anyway?

Evie stuffed the groceries back into the torn bag and yanked open the screen door. She put the bags down atop the kitchen island and turned to close the door behind her-trailing muddy footprints across the tiles-only then realizing she could have simply set the bags down on the patio table and then opened the door with ease.

Damn pregnancy brain.

A click of nails on hardwood, and Abigail trotted into the kitchen with as much brio as a six-year-old bulldog can muster.

“Abby, where’s Stu?” Evie asked. Abigail glanced back the way she came for just a moment before stretching upward into Evie’s head-scratch, her stubby tail wagging with glee. Then she shuffled off toward her empty food bowl, giving Evie sad eyes the whole way.

“Why didn’t Daddy feed you?” Evie asked, her delicate features set in a frown. But if Abby knew, she wasn’t spilling. Evie fetched Abby’s kibble from under the sink and shook some into the bowl. Abby crunched away with abandon.

“Stu?” Evie called. A clap of thunder shook the house, and the lights flickered all around her. She headed for the living room-the room from which Abigail had emerged.

As she neared the doorway, she spotted something that set her mind reeling.

Stuart’s feet, unmoving-clad in plain white gym socks, the red stripe at the toe of each pointed ceilingward.

Evie’s mouth went dry, and her heart leapt.

“Stuart?” she shrieked, her shrill tone piercing the silence of the farmhouse and echoing back at her like a mockingbird’s reply. She hit the doorway at a sprint, and then stopped short.

Stuart was lying on his back amid a sea of dowel rods and hardware beneath a half-assembled crib. When he heard her call, he jerked upright into a seated position-his forehead smacking against the wooden frame and causing the rickety structure to collapse atop him.

“Son of a-” he cried, and then caught himself. He’d been doing that a lot lately-as if the overgrown bean sprout in Evie’s uterus were absorbing every swear word within earshot, and would emerge five months from now cursing a blue streak.

“You asshole,” she said, ignoring his reproachful look. “You scared the shit out of me! Not answering when I called, leaving Abby unfed, and then…”

Stuart yanked the iPod earbuds from his ears and climbed stiffly to his feet. “Evie, I’m sorry-I didn’t hear you come in! I was trying to surprise you by getting the crib together before-” and here he noticed the rain through the French doors. He knitted his brow. “Before you got home. But these directions are ridiculous, and I guess I just lost track of time. I swear, I didn’t mean to scare you-do you forgive me?”

“Of course,” Evie replied. She was now crying and found it hard to catch her breath. She had no idea why.

“Hey,” Stu said, taking her in his arms. He knew her well enough to know she’d blame this on her mood swings. And he knew her well enough to know that wasn’t true. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Stuart held her close and waited for her panic to abate. Then he kissed away her tears and led her to the bedroom- both of them trying hard not to think about the fiancé she’d lost years back to a roadside bomb somewhere north of Kandahar.

The farmhouse burned bright against the dimming sky as day evened into night. Eventually, Stu and Evie came back downstairs and cooked dinner-both tired, both happy, both content. They sat awhile and watched TV with Abigail at their feet until their eyelids grew heavy. Then Evie shuffled off to bed. Stuart and Abigail followed shortly after, only delaying long enough to wander the house’s perimeter-Stuart shutting windows and checking locks.

And from the darkness of the forest, Hendricks watched unnoticed-as he’d been doing for hours, and as he’d done so many nights before. He watched until the only light that showed in any of the windows was the flicker of the TV in the master suite. He watched until even that went dark. He watched until the sky began to lighten to the east. Then he hiked back to his rental car and headed north, toward home.