Reckless: Shades of a Vampire(30)

“A small Ford Ranger. Gray. About 10 years old.”

“Why?”

“Just wondering. The sheriff said they hadn’t found his truck. So we could be on the lookout.”

“The sheriff? You talked to the sheriff?” Judith says, before wailing like somebody had just come up from behind and scared her.

“He came by the house with his deputy, Judith,” Emma’s father says. “He just wanted to tell me so we could comfort you in this time of need. That’s all.”

“We brought you a pie, Judith,” Emma’s mother says. “Emma made it. It’s pumpkin. Fresh out of the oven.”

“Thank you,” Judith says, gathering herself. “You are so kind. Thank you.”

“We’ll get on out of your way,” Emma’s father says. “But let me lead a prayer before we go. Let’s bow our heads.

“Our heavenly father, all knowing, all powerful. The fate of this man is in your hands. The fate is this family is in your hands. The fate of our each and every step is in your hands. We submit to you for answers. Amen.”

“Amen,” say the others, save for Emma, who is looking at a family picture on the end table of Judith, Josh and their baby. She thinks of Michael, wondering what their family picture might look like if they married and had a baby.

Judith stands, and thanks for Mays for coming. She walks them to the door.

“Let us know if anything changes,” Emma’s father says.



Emma has trouble falling asleep later that night. She can’t stop thinking about Josh’s truck. The moon is mostly full, under a clear sky. She blinks off and on, but is mostly awake, counting away the passing hours in her mind until her eyes spread wide open at about 1 a.m.

She’s full of energy, like she’s had a full night’s sleep, and she parts her curtains to soak in the illuminated darkness. Emma puts on her black dress, the one she had hung back up that afternoon at her mother’s admonishment, slips on some shoes, and tiptoes up the hallway by her parents’ room. She stops to listen, and hears both of them snoring, her mother lightly and her father heavily, as if he’s gasping for breath in a room with no oxygen.

Emma keeps moving down the hallway with the softest of footsteps that are more like a soft glide. She slides through the parlor and out the front door, which she opens and closes so quietly she doesn’t make a single creak. In the night air, she feels free and breathes the air in deeply. Emma floats her arms out like they are wings, and bounds across the highway to the Denton farm with a quiet dash.

She stops in front of the barn, and thinks of Michael. She closes her eyes, and smells the pollinated air with deep inhalation in hopes that she gleans his lingering scent.

“Ahhhhh,” she murmurs. “Michael.”

Emma looks left, right and straight ahead, trying to determine where Josh might have parked his truck on Sunday night when he came to meet her. She remembers seeing Michael drive the tractor down a small, double trail-like dirt road to the right that runs from the highway. She walks swiftly to the road, about 300 yards away, and darts like a black bat down it once she’s there.

In a few minutes Emma sees the moonlight glance off a shiny image ahead. Sure enough, it’s Josh’s truck, pulled headfirst into a ticket for good hiding except for the back third, which sticks out into the road. It can’t be seen from the highway, and nobody uses the Denton farm since Michael left, so she wonders if it will be any problem left there at all. She doesn’t know where to move it, anyway. Even if she did, she’s never driven a car before, much less a truck.

Emma pushes through the brush to reach the driver’s side door. She peers into the window, but it’s dark inside, shrouded by the brush. She pulls on the handle, and the door opens, though the brush restricts it. She pulls harder, and again, managing to pry it enough so that she can slip inside.

Emma looks at the ignition, but the keys are not there. She inhales, and smells Josh. She quickly exhales. She wants to forget Josh. Emma feels around the seat, in the crevice between the fold.

No keys.

She feels along the floorboard, beneath the steering wheel.

Bingo!

She finds a key ring, with keys. Emma feels for what might be the right one, settling on one bound in hard plastic around the base. She pushes it in the ignition, but doesn’t try it. She gets out of the car, shoving the door into the brush and crawling out in the slim crack. She shuts the door softly until it latches. She slips back up the dirt road, over the paved road, through the parsonage pasture, quietly back into the front door, down the hallway, and gets into her bed still wearing the black dress.