The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) by Loreth Anne White
Authors: Loreth Anne White
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back then.”
Quinn stares at me in silence, and I can feel the whisperings of a bond. Spider thread and gossamer thin. But it’s there. I want to ask again what Missy said to her, but I’m nervous about breaking this new connection. I want to build on it a bit first.
I crank up the heat and turn north on the highway. Quinn settles back into her seat, a strange and uneasy truce between us now. It’s been a rough day. I shoot another glance into the rearview mirror, but see nothing strange. I allow myself to breathe.
Jeb watched Rachel go. Adam LeFleur was also watching her from his office window. And Jeb had seen Trey Somerland approach her truck.
He swore softly to himself. He wanted to know what she’d told the cops. He needed to ensure that she kept the secret of Quinn’s paternity until he was cleared. He was worried it might already be out of the bag now.
Engine a low growl, he pulled slowly back into the street. But he didn’t follow Rachel. He knew where she lived, thanks to Quinn. He’d go round later, when all was quiet and Quinn was asleep.
He’d forced his own damn hand by going to that school today. How Rachel was now going to react at the sight of him on her doorstep was anyone’s guess.
Nerves, anticipation, remorse, things he couldn’t define skittered through him.
CHAPTER 7
As we enter the more isolated northern reaches of Snowy Creek where there are no streetlights, the forest pushes in thick and dark on all sides. Aurora borealis undulates over the sky, giving the glaciers a ghostly glow. I steal yet another glance up into my rearview mirror, making sure the road is clear.
No one in sight.
I turn off the highway onto the densely treed peninsula that juts out into the lake where we live. There are only three properties on this peninsula. Mine and the houses of two absentee neighbors who are here only during the winter months. A familiar depression sinks over me as I take my old truck down my rutted driveway. Twigs scrape against the doors, reminding me of the pruning I haven’t done, of all the other things I still need to fix. Jobs that Trey and I had planned to tackle as a team. Rebuild. Landscape. Renovate the boathouse on the water so we could rent it out for extra income. As we approach the house, I notice the bulb in the porch light has blown. The place is in blackness.
I curse softly as my headlights illuminate the wooden gate to the small courtyard off my kitchen where I store recycling. The gate hangs on its hinges, banging in the wind. A mess of scattered tins roll on the concrete in front of the kitchen door.
I’d thoroughly washed those tins before putting them into my recycling container outside. But the bears are growing desperate as they scavenge for anything they can to help them reach hibernation weight. I need to clear this mess up. My first priority, however, is getting some warm food into Quinn before running her a bath. Keeping her routine as best as I can. Finding a way to talk further about what happened today.
I reach into my glove compartment for my headlamp.
“Wait here a second while I check that the bear’s gone,” I say as I get out of the vehicle. But Quinn doesn’t listen. She clambers out of the truck, slams the door, and stomps over to the front entrance, clutching both my jacket and her backpack. I take hope from the fact she’s still holding on to something of mine. She punches in the key code and lets herself in, banging the door closed behind her.
I stand in the dark, alone. Inhaling deeply, I scan the yard with my flashlight. At the same time I kick cans and make as much noise as I can to ensure the bear stays away. When I’m certain it’s gone, I gather up the tins and bag them. But hair prickles softly up the back of my neck as I detect a sound under the rush of wind. I freeze. Listening intently. But I don’t hear it again. Yet, once again, I sense something watching me from the darkness. Fear, visceral, curls into me.
Quickly, I
Quinn stares at me in silence, and I can feel the whisperings of a bond. Spider thread and gossamer thin. But it’s there. I want to ask again what Missy said to her, but I’m nervous about breaking this new connection. I want to build on it a bit first.
I crank up the heat and turn north on the highway. Quinn settles back into her seat, a strange and uneasy truce between us now. It’s been a rough day. I shoot another glance into the rearview mirror, but see nothing strange. I allow myself to breathe.
Jeb watched Rachel go. Adam LeFleur was also watching her from his office window. And Jeb had seen Trey Somerland approach her truck.
He swore softly to himself. He wanted to know what she’d told the cops. He needed to ensure that she kept the secret of Quinn’s paternity until he was cleared. He was worried it might already be out of the bag now.
Engine a low growl, he pulled slowly back into the street. But he didn’t follow Rachel. He knew where she lived, thanks to Quinn. He’d go round later, when all was quiet and Quinn was asleep.
He’d forced his own damn hand by going to that school today. How Rachel was now going to react at the sight of him on her doorstep was anyone’s guess.
Nerves, anticipation, remorse, things he couldn’t define skittered through him.
CHAPTER 7
As we enter the more isolated northern reaches of Snowy Creek where there are no streetlights, the forest pushes in thick and dark on all sides. Aurora borealis undulates over the sky, giving the glaciers a ghostly glow. I steal yet another glance up into my rearview mirror, making sure the road is clear.
No one in sight.
I turn off the highway onto the densely treed peninsula that juts out into the lake where we live. There are only three properties on this peninsula. Mine and the houses of two absentee neighbors who are here only during the winter months. A familiar depression sinks over me as I take my old truck down my rutted driveway. Twigs scrape against the doors, reminding me of the pruning I haven’t done, of all the other things I still need to fix. Jobs that Trey and I had planned to tackle as a team. Rebuild. Landscape. Renovate the boathouse on the water so we could rent it out for extra income. As we approach the house, I notice the bulb in the porch light has blown. The place is in blackness.
I curse softly as my headlights illuminate the wooden gate to the small courtyard off my kitchen where I store recycling. The gate hangs on its hinges, banging in the wind. A mess of scattered tins roll on the concrete in front of the kitchen door.
I’d thoroughly washed those tins before putting them into my recycling container outside. But the bears are growing desperate as they scavenge for anything they can to help them reach hibernation weight. I need to clear this mess up. My first priority, however, is getting some warm food into Quinn before running her a bath. Keeping her routine as best as I can. Finding a way to talk further about what happened today.
I reach into my glove compartment for my headlamp.
“Wait here a second while I check that the bear’s gone,” I say as I get out of the vehicle. But Quinn doesn’t listen. She clambers out of the truck, slams the door, and stomps over to the front entrance, clutching both my jacket and her backpack. I take hope from the fact she’s still holding on to something of mine. She punches in the key code and lets herself in, banging the door closed behind her.
I stand in the dark, alone. Inhaling deeply, I scan the yard with my flashlight. At the same time I kick cans and make as much noise as I can to ensure the bear stays away. When I’m certain it’s gone, I gather up the tins and bag them. But hair prickles softly up the back of my neck as I detect a sound under the rush of wind. I freeze. Listening intently. But I don’t hear it again. Yet, once again, I sense something watching me from the darkness. Fear, visceral, curls into me.
Quickly, I
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