Page 44 of From the Darkness

“You talk to him at night—in bed?”

“Yes. When it’s dark.”

Bree dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“I couldn’t tell anyone else.”

“Did your daddy say why he’s . . . hiding?”

“No.” Dinah’s voice quavered.

Bree pushed back her chair, came around the table and knelt beside the girl’s seat. She’d been shocked by Mrs. Martindale’s revelation. She was still hoping it wasn’t true. Well, the part about the nervous breakdown. Maybe Troy had good—sane—reasons for hiding out. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

But she was pretty sure what it must be like for Dinah to catch snatches of the adults’ conversation and worry and wonder.

Reaching out, she gathered her close. Dinah held herself stiffly, and Bree fought a wave of disappointment. Then the small body unbent, and the child relaxed against her. Bree shifted her hold, picked Dinah up, and moved to one of the wicker chairs. Sitting down, she cradled the girl on her lap as her narrow shoulders begin to shake.

Feeling as if a barrier had fallen, Bree held her, rocked her, stroked her, while she cried softly the way she hadn’t been able to do out in the garden a few days ago. Finally, the tears stopped, and Bree found a tissue in her pants pocket.

Dinah blew her nose. Still with her head tipped downward, she whispered, “At night, I’m scared, and I pretend that Daddy’s with me.”

“I understand.”

“And sometimes during the day, too,” she admitted. “Nobody here is nice—except Mrs. Martindale, and sometimes she’s in a bad mood, too.”

“Well, I hope I’m nice.”

“You are! I didn’t mean you.”

Bree hesitated for a moment, then said, “We shouldn’t tell anyone we talked about your Aunt Helen or your daddy. If he’s hiding out, then we should keep it a secret.”

“I tried to tell Mrs. Martindale once, but it made her be in a bad mood.”

“All the more reason not to tell anyone—even her. Okay?”

The girl nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

Bree softened her voice. “Were you pretending that first time you saw me in the front hall? When you told Mrs. Sterling that your daddy had said I was coming.”

Dinah looked down. “Yes,” she whispered. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not. I understand. So, let’s eat some more of our dinner—and our chocolate cake. Then I can read you a story, if you’d like.”

Again, the girl nodded. But as she ate her cake, Bree sensed that she was restless.

“Did you want to ask me a question?” she asked.

Dinah pressed her lips together, then blurted, “Do you think my daddy loves me?”

“Of course he does!”

“Then why won’t he let me see him?”

Bree considered several possible answers. None of them seemed quite right, so she finally said, “I guess he has his reasons. I guess we’ll find out when he’s ready to tell us.”

That seemed to satisfy Dinah, who took another bite of cake.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Bree asked when they were almost finished with dessert.

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