Until She Comes Home by Lori Roy Read Free Book Online Page A

uniform. He removes his hat, squints into the overhead light. “Ma’am.”
    “I have children in here,” Julia says, meaning she doesn’t want the girls to hear what this man might say.
    The officer backs away, a signal for Julia to join him. Once they have moved off the porch, the officer’s eyes drop to Julia’s chest and loiter. She pulls closed the lightweight cardigan she slipped on at sunset, crosses her arms, and scratches at a small grease stain on her sleeve.
    Outside the house, the shadows that had floated past the living-room windows have transformed into real people stooping to search under parked cars, wading through bushes that grow between houses, crawling under porches. A few flashlights settle on Julia before sweeping on past. The shouts have started up again and the air no longer smells of sweet sulfur. Everyone has put away the fireworks for the night.
    “There’s news?” Julia asks, wrapping her arms more tightly around her waist.
    The officer introduces himself. Officer Thompson. Julia wants to run a finger up his back like she does to the girls when they forget their manners and slouch. The officer has been at the Symanski house. He asks if Julia knows the Symanski girl and she says of course. They are waiting, she and the twins, for news Elizabeth is safe. The girls are too young to be out and are afraid to be left alone, so they are waiting at home, together.
    “And you saw her today?” Officer Thompson asks. His light brown hair is matted to his forehead where his hat rested. “You saw . . .” He flips through a small pad of paper. “Elizabeth Symanski?”
    “Earlier in the day,” Julia says. “Around lunchtime. Much before any of this.”
    “And what can you tell me of that meeting?”
    The officer stares down at his pad and only looks up when Julia is too long in answering. “You recall having seen her?”
    “You make it sound so formal. I walked her home, is all. It was one thirty or so. Lunchtime at Grace Richardson’s house. Much before any of this.”
    “You saw her to her door?”
    Julia squints into a set of headlights rolling past. “I suppose I should say I watched her walk home.”
    “You watched?” the officer asks. “And what is it you saw?”
    “From the sidewalk, I watched her. She reached her gate, the iron gate outside her house. And then her door. I saw her make her way inside.”
    The officer motions for Julia to follow him. She glances back at her house before joining the officer at the end of the driveway. Once there, he places both hands on Julia’s shoulders and turns her to face the west end of the street. Then he moves behind her, leans forward until his chest bumps against the back of her head, stretches out his right arm and points down Alder Avenue.
    “Like this?” he asks. “From the end of a drive like this you watched Elizabeth make her way home?”
    “Yes,” she says, inching away from the officer. “But I stood on Grace’s driveway. Much closer to the Symanskis’.”
    “Eight houses,” Officer Thompson says. When Julia tries to twist away, he grips her by both shoulders again and forces her to continue to look toward the Symanskis’ house. “I counted eight houses between the Richardsons’ and the Symanskis’.”
    With one extended finger, the officer counts out eight houses. His arm brushes against the side of Julia’s head. She takes one step away, but the officer draws her back with a hand to her shoulder. Again, he points.
    “I wonder,” he says, “are you quite certain you saw her enter the house? From a distance such as this, even in good light? Is that possible, do you think?”
    “The iron gate,” Julia says. “She ran her fingers along the iron gate. I saw that. She reached her gate.”
    And now Julia knows. She was the last to see Elizabeth Symanski.
    “Elizabeth’s been gone all day?” Julia says. “All this time? Has no one else seen her?”
    “You’re quite sure she opened the gate?” the officer