Meredith had said she was bringing the children to a cabin near Lake Erie during her custody week. She had mentioned that cell reception would be unreliable, and since their arrangement had remained fairly peaceful for several months, Caleb had trusted her.
Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled up outside her rented bungalow in a peaceful neighborhood east of downtown.
The curtains were drawn, the porch light remained on, and no bicycles were visible in the yard.
He hammered on the front door.
“Noah! It’s Dad! Open the door!”
Nobody answered. But when he tested the handle, unexpectedly, the door opened.
The house smelled musty and seemed disturbingly quiet. Caleb discovered Noah sitting on the living-room floor, clutching a pillow tightly against his chest.
The fair-haired child’s face looked pale, his pajamas were rumpled, and one of his shoelaces was gone.
He slowly looked up.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
Caleb sank to his knees and pulled him tightly into his arms.
“I’m here now. Where’s Clara?”
Noah gestured toward the couch.
Six-year-old Clara rested beneath a thin blanket, her cheeks reddened and her breathing shallow.
When Caleb pressed her forehead, the intense warmth alarmed him.
He lifted her gently, carefully supporting her head against his shoulder.
“Put on your shoes, buddy. We’re going to the hospital.”
Noah followed him toward the kitchen, where Caleb noticed an empty cereal box, several unwashed bowls, and a refrigerator holding little besides mustard and one bottle of water.
Inside the car, Noah leaned toward his sister and whispered, “I tried giving her crackers, but she couldn’t eat them.”
Caleb kept one hand gripping the steering wheel and extended the other toward the back seat.
“You looked after her. You called me, and that made all the difference.”
Following a long silence, Noah finally asked the question Caleb had been fearing.
