Page 68 of Good and Gone

For a moment, he simply glares at me with a blank expression on his face. Then he breaks out into a sinister smile that sends shivers down my spine. “Are you feeling okay, Hailey?”

“Great. Why?”

“Where's Tyler this afternoon? Is there someone I can call for you?”

Trembling with rage and fear, I glare back at him defiantly. "I'm not crazy," I spit through gritted teeth, struggling to hold back tears of desperation and anger. "I want answers. What do you know, Kenneth? I know it's not nothing."

He stares at me for a long moment without saying anything. Finally, he sighs heavily and lets out a deep breath before turning away from me without a word. The next thing I know, he has crossed over to his desk chair in the corner of his office. He sits down heavily, looking suddenly exhausted. I watch nervously as he runs his hands through his hair before resting them on the arms of the chair. He leans forward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

I motion toward the photo on his wall. There are several pictures, some of Reese, two of fishing expeditions, one from a race. But the one that interests me is from an award banquet. In the photo are Kenneth and another man, their arms slung casually over one another's shoulders, smug grins on their faces.

"I remember that man," I say to Kenny. "He was in that room with me."

"I heard about the miscarriage," Kenneth says. "I'm sorry."

“How’d you hear?”

"I saw your mother yesterday. She told me."

“You're avoiding my question.”

I hear the front door open and then close. Tyler calls out, "Hello?"

"In the office," Kenneth shouts, before turning to me. "It's not your fault, the miscarriage. I'm sure you're feeling somewhat guilty, considering the circumstances. Probably a mixture of guilt and relief, if I had to guess.”

"You don't know what I'm feeling."

"About fifteen to twenty percent of clinically recognized pregnancies abort spontaneously. I can assure you, your feelings are nothing I haven't seen before."

“Well, I’m not here to talk about my feelings.”

"What you're experiencing is common, Hailey. A substantial portion of women experience psychiatric episodes within the first month after a fetal death."

“I'm not crazy, Kenneth. I recognize that man. I think you know something.”

“I think you’re mistaken.”

“You owe me answers.”

“I'm not saying you're crazy,” he says, leaning back in his chair. His voice is level, pragmatic. “I believe you’re in shock, and I think you need to take some time and let things settle.”

"Just tell me the truth, please. What do you know?"

"Even if I had answers, you wouldn't believe me."

“Try me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he tells me in a distant voice. He hesitates before speaking again. “Because it's dangerous. And I don't want to see anything happen to you.”

I get the sense he’s lying, but I’m not sure about what. I get the sense that he does think I’m crazy. And now that Tyler’s here, he has every right. My husband did just shoot a man. “I’m not leaving here until you tell me.”

"Hailey," Tyler warns. "I think we should go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

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