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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Once on the porch, they gave each other one last glance before Rickards pulled the wooden screen door open and knocked loudly.

11

11

There was no answer.

After a long silence, he opened the screen and knocked again.

Still nothing.

“Hmm.”  He stepped to the side and peered in through the front window into a darkened living room.

“What do you see?”

“Not much.  Furniture.  Pictures.  An old piano.  And some of the kitchen.”

Angela stepped in next to him and raised both hands to block the reflection.  “Looks clean and neat.”

“And old.”

She nodded.  “Like the furniture my parents would have.  Or my grandparents.”

Rickards straightened and knocked a third time, unsurprised by the silence that followed.  “Okay, time for Plan C.”

Angela glanced up at him.  “I don’t have a Plan C.”

“No C?”

“Nope.”

“How about a D?”

“Is this your idea of humor?”

He turned around, scanning the street and watching as a car drove past.  Then he checked his watch.

“Are you sure we have the right house?”

“Pretty sure,” Angela said, double-checking her phone. At the same time, Joe noticed something. He descended the stairs and strode across the thick grass and back out through the gate, following the short fence to a mailbox at the far end near the driveway where he proceeded to open the front flap and look inside.

He reached in and withdrew three envelopes.

“What are you doing?  Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not unless I open them.”  Rickards rotated one of the envelopes.  “It’s definitely his house.  This is addressed to him and his wife.”

“Maybe they’re just out, then.”

He nodded and returned the letters.  “Probably.”

Scanning the street again, Rickards noticed a neighbor watching them from a few doors down.  He grinned politely and turned back around.  “I don’t suppose you have his phone number.”

“I do.  But I wanted to talk in person, remember?”

“Right.  I guess it’s either later tonight or tomorrow, then.”

“To be honest, I’m getting a little tired, and it’s almost eight o’clock our time.  Why don’t we check into the hotel and try the school again tomorrow?”

After checking in to their hotel, they found the Mexican restaurant recommended by the front desk clerk.  As they sat waiting for their food, they watched the sun slowly descend over the island of Molokai and the small evening waves lapping at the shore nearby.

“This is nice,” said Angela with a sigh before picking up and sipping her wine.

Staring out over the glittering water, Rickards nodded without a sound.

Nice had become a meaningless term—at least for him.  There was so little in the world he was able to enjoy without his wife and daughter.  Instead, each day merely felt like the one before, a long series of unending days and nights.  Some, like this one, were even beautiful enough for him to feel guilty over witnessing it without them.