Cry for the Strangers by John Saul

he’s coming back, Missy,” Rebecca said. “Why wouldn’t he?”
    “I don’t know,” Missy said, her eyes brimming with tears. “But he’s not coming back, and I miss him.” The tears overflowed and she fled to the bedroom, where she flung herself on her bunk. Rebecca looked helplessly at Glen, then went after her daughter. Robby stared at his father.
    “He is coming back, isn’t he?” he asked plaintively.
    “Of course he is, son; of course he is,” Glen said, But he suddenly had the sinking feeling that the dog was not going to return.
    After dinner they put the children to bed, then Glen threw another log on the fire. Rebecca watched him but didn’t speak until he had finished poking at the blaze and sat down again.
    “Glen, what’s wrong?”
    “I don’t know. Little things, I guess. The car and the gallery and now Snooker. I think Missy’s right I don’t think he’s coming back.”
    “Don’t be silly. What could have happened to him? Of course he’ll be back.”
    “There’s something else too.”
    Rebecca suddenly stiffened. Whatever he was about to say, it was going to be important She could tell by the look in his eyes.
    “I saw Miriam Shelling tonight.”
    Rebecca relaxed. “Did she come back to the gallery?”
    “She was on the beach when I came home. Sitting on a piece of driftwood, staring out at the sea.”
    “Lots of people do that,” Rebecca said. She rummaged through her sewing box, searching for a button. “I do that myself and so do you. It’s one of the joys of living out here.”
    “She said she was waiting for something. It was weird.”
    “Waiting for what?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not sure she knew herself. But she said a big storm was coming and told me to be careful.”
    “That makes sense,” Rebecca said. “Did she say anything else?”
    “No.” There was a long pause, then: “Maybe we ought to give it up.”
    Rebecca put down her sewing and stared at Glen. “Now you are sounding like I did yesterday. But you’ll get over it, just like I did.” Then she chuckled softly. “You know what? While you were busily getting yourself into a funk today, I was getting out of mine. I decided I really love this place. I love living near the water and the forest, I love the peace and quiet, and I love what’s happening to my children, especially Robby. So you might as well get yourself into a better frame of mind, my love, because I’ve decided that nomatter what happens, I’m going to see things through right here. And so are you.”
    Glen Palmer looked at his wife with loving eyes and thanked God for her strength. As long as I have her, he thought, I’ll be fine. As long as I have her.
    And then a premonition struck him, and he knew that he wouldn’t always have Rebecca, wouldn’t have her nearly long enough. He rose from his chair, crossed the small room, and knelt by his wife. He put his arms around her and held her tightly and tried to keep from crying. Rebecca, unaware of the emotions that were surging through her husband, continued sewing.
    Harney Whalen stretched, snapped the television set on, then wandered over to the window before he sat down to watch the nine o’clock movie. His house, the house he had been born in and had grown up in and would undoubtedly die in, sat on a knoll that commanded a beautiful view of Clark’s Harbor and the ocean beyond. He watched the lights of the town as they twinkled on around the bay, then looked up at the starless night sky. A layer of clouds had closed in and the feel of the air told him that another storm was brewing. Harney hated the storms and sometimes wondered why he stayed on the peninsula. But it was home, and even though he’d never appreciated the weather, he’d learned to live with it Still, he began his usual round of the house, checking that all the windows were tightly closed against whatever might be coming in from the sea.
    His grandfather had built the house, and he’d built it well. It had