Wendy picked up the key and turned it over in her hand. Maybe this was it?

“What are you doing in here?”

Wendy jumped and looked up to see her father standing in the doorway.

“Dad, hi!” She tucked the key into her pocket and snatched the beer bottle off the desk. Wendy turned to face him. “Nothing, Mom just asked me to take out your trash,” she told him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Mr. Darling squinted at her for a moment. He looked tired. His eyes were bloodshot and his bushy hair was matted down on one side. A tall, army green thermos was in his hand. Wendy thought he was going to say something more, but all he did was grunt, cross to the armchair, and pick up the jacket draped over the back.

“Where are you going?” Wendy asked, following him back into the living room, garbage bag in tow.

“I’m heading back out with the search party,” Mr. Darling told her gruffly.

“Oh, okay,” she said. If that meant he would be out all night again, it would be easier for her and Peter to sneak around. “I saw the hunting shack on the news,” Wendy said, testing the murky waters of her father’s mood. “Did they find anything?”

Mr. Darling made another grunting noise. “Just some clothes and food. Looked like someone had been hiding out. There was still wood burning in the stove,” he told her, not making eye contact as he spoke. “Doubt those sorry excuses for detectives will find anything useful,” he growled. “It’ll be up to us to bring them back home.”

Wendy knew her father disliked the police even more than she did. They were supposed to find his missing boys, and they had let him down. No wonder he didn’t trust them to be any use now.

“I’ll be back late again,” Mr. Darling continued. “Lock up tonight.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He stared at her for a moment. It felt like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. Wendy was trying to guess what when he reached out and gave her a side hug, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder with his big hand. The weight of it felt foreign. Before Wendy could register what was happening, he turned and left through the front door.

Wendy stood there, frozen in place. He hadn’t tried to hug her in … she didn’t even know how long. The missing kids, being thrown into the same situation Wendy had lived through five years ago, had clearly gotten to him.

She shook the strange feeling from her shoulders.