Chapter 13: The Bend

Giles drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding my phone to my ear.

"Where would she go?" Stewart asked. He was shouting over an engine. "I've called her friends. I've called the church."

I looked at the river through the passenger window.

"Mom told me Beth drives her to the river road every January," I said. "To the pull-off above the bend. They throw lilies off the guardrail."

"That's three miles out of town."

"Then go. Take Dad."

"He's already in the truck," Stewart said. "He didn't wait for me to ask."

Giles didn't ask me anything either.

He took the next left and put his foot down.

Neither of us spoke for ten minutes.

I held the door handle and watched the guardrail come up on the right, the new section, the one that was shinier than the old.

Beth's car sat in the gravel pull-off with the engine running and the back door open.

My father's truck had stopped behind it at an angle.

Stewart was out and walking, slowly, with both hands where she could see them.

Beth sat on the concrete footing beside the rail with Junie on her lap.

The child wore her purple coat and one mitten.

She was facing the river, and Beth had both arms around her middle.

Below them the water ran brown and fast, thirty feet down.

"Stop there," Beth said.

Stewart stopped.

"I'm not doing anything," she said. "Nobody run at me. I just want everybody where I can see them."

My father stood at the tailgate of his truck with his fists shut.

I got out of Giles's car and walked up beside Stewart.