Down the Darkest Road by Tami Hoag Page A

hair and lines beside her eyes and around her mouth. Her skin was pale and dull. Her hand was trembling as she reached for a coffee cup.
    “Mom, do you want juice?”
    “No,” she said without looking over.
    “Do you want an egg?”
    “No.”
    “Do you w—”
    “I just want coffee,” her mother snapped, then touched a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, staring down at the coffee cup. “I’m just going to have coffee and some toast.”
    Nerves crawled around in Leah’s stomach. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
    “You don’t look fine. You look sick.”
    Her mother pretended not to hear her as she poured a splash of cream into the coffee and added sugar. She closed her eyes again as she used both hands to raise the cup to her lips.
    Leah took her seat at the table and chose an egg from the bowl.
    “You should have an egg or something,” she said, though she didn’t crack her own. She just played with it, turning it this way and that on her plate.
    Her mother set the cup down and put a slice of bread in the toaster.
    “You always used to tell Leslie and me that breakfast was the most important meal—”
    “Leah, please!” her mother snapped. “I don’t want a lecture. I want a piece of toast.”
    “Did you sleep last night?” Leah asked. “You look like you didn’t.”
    “I went back to work for a while.”
    It didn’t seem to occur to her that maybe Leah hadn’t slept either. Sometimes Leah thought it didn’t even register with her mother that she had gone through the same experience her parents had when Leslie was taken.
    They had lost a daughter. Leah had lost her sister. They had at least been able to try to do something about it. Daddy had gone out on every search, but Leah hadn’t been allowed to go out with the search parties. Her mother had thrown herself into the volunteer center, making flyers and posting them all over the place. Leah thought she could have helped put the flyers out, but no one would let her.
    She had been sent to her grandparents’ house to stay out of the way. She had hardly seen her mother or her father for the first month Leslie was gone. It had been as if the only daughter they had was the one that was missing, and they forgot about the one right there, the one that hadn’t broken the rules, the one that hadn’t been grounded and gone out anyway.
    Her mother came to the table with her coffee and a small plate with a piece of dry toast lying on it. She sat down and stared at the toast. She probably wouldn’t eat it. Or she would take two bites and leave it. Leah silently slid the jar of apricot preserves over to her. Her mother didn’t seem to notice.
    “Are you having a lesson today?” her mother asked, but not in a way like she was really interested. It was more like she was just saying something to fill the silence, and maybe she wasn’t even paying attention or listening for an answer.
    It made Leah feel uneasy.
    “Yes,” she said. Of course she was having a lesson. She had a lesson every weekday but Monday, when the barn was closed. Her mother knew that.
    “How’s Bacchus doing?”
    “He’s fine.”
    Bacchus was Leah’s own horse. When Daddy had died, his polo ponies had been sold off to the Gracidas and to Uncle Bump, but Leah had been allowed to keep her horse.
    She had been terrified Bacchus would be sold too. She would have died of a broken heart if she had lost him. After Daddy’s accident, she had felt like Bacchus was the only real friend she had in the whole world. He was certainly the only one who allowed her to feel what she was feeling without judging her or telling her she shouldn’t feel this or she shouldn’t think that. He never judged her when she wanted to blame Leslie for ruining all of their lives. She could always go to Bacchus and bury her face against his big, thick neck and cry, and he would nuzzle her hair and breathe his warm, velvety breath on her neck, and she