He smiled ruefully, not moving. All he did was study her face for longer than was comfortable. Finally, he gave his usual clipped nod and walked down her concrete walkway toward his car. A lump in her throat, Helen watched him go, thinking that even when he appeared relaxed, he wasn’t; his head kept turning so he could take in his surroundings, and she suspected he could hit a dead run in about one stride.
And if all went well, she’d never see him again.
When she put Jacob down for his nap, he conked out instantly. Helen hoped all the excitement today had worn him out enough so he’d sleep longer than usual. In case he didn’t, she had to hustle.
She’d wait until dark before she went out to the garage to get the two bags she always kept packed. For now, she’d have to revert to her previous identity and pray it wouldn’t occur to Richard that she might do that.
Selecting carefully what they could take, she packed everything in a couple of black plastic garbage bags. She openly carried those out to the car under the theory that anyone watching would think she planned to drop them off at the thrift store or maybe the waste disposal site. Nonperishable food went into a cardboard box and grocery bags that she wouldn’t take out until after dark.
Midafternoon, Jacob still not having stirred, she called the hospital, where she was told Mrs. Wilbanks would be spending the night but was responsive and talking. The receptionist put the call through to Iris’s room, but nobody answered.
When she tried again after dinner, she was able to talk to Iris, whose first words were “Oh, my dear! Jacob must have been so scared. I didn’t do a very good job taking care of him, did I?”
“You did a fabulous job,” Helen said firmly. “We saved him because you slowed that awful man down and called 9-1-1 immediately. I got home in the nick of time, but what made him take off was the approaching sirens. I am...so grateful to you, Iris. Losing Jacob—” For a moment she couldn’t speak, but knew she didn’t have to tell Iris, of all people, what she felt.
The older woman had two adult children, both male, one living in Boston, the other in a Portland suburb, but she’d once confided that her daughter had died from childhood leukemia when she was ten. She and Helen had sat side by side holding hands for several minutes.
Iris was the closest thing Jacob had ever had to a grandmother.
After calming her now, Helen asked how she was feeling, and was unsurprised to hear about a headache. “A concussion, the doctor said,” Iris concluded. “I’ll look ghastly for a while, too. My left eye is almost entirely swollen shut, and I’m going to have a whopper of a black eye. My jaw hurts, too. I might have lost some teeth, so it’s lucky I don’t have any.” She sounded almost cheerful. “My dentures are intact, thank goodness.”
“You’re a brave woman, and I’m luckier than I deserve to have you for a neighbor.”
Usually Iris would have demurred, but this time she said with satisfaction, “I’ll have to call both boys tonight and tell them all about it.”
Helen said tentatively, “Did you get a good look at your attacker?”
“I’m afraid not. The detective came to see me earlier, you know. He was so nice. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I heard footsteps—he came in the back door, you see—but I had only started to turn when something slammed into my head. It might have just been his arm, or fist.”
“Just?”
Iris chuckled, then moaned. “Oh, I shouldn’t do that!”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be silly. Jacob ran, you know. I crawled for the phone, and had already dialed 9-1-1 before he got his hands on Jacob and tore out.”
Helen hated the image of Jacob trying to run away.
She thanked Iris several more times.
After setting down the phone, Helen stayed where she was at the kitchen table, wrestling again with her conscience. But in the end, what choice did she really have?
None. If she told Seth everything, she risked going to prison and leaving Jacob to Richard’s mercy. No. She had to do this.
With a sigh, she took out her checkbook to verify that she’d paid all of her bills, and tucked the latest bank statement into her purse. She’d stop at an ATM wherever she found herself after midnight and take out more money. From that point on, she wouldn’t dare use her debit card again. She’d be leaving close to five hundred dollars in the account, but that couldn’t be helped. Worse come to worst, she could call her mother and beg for a loan—although she hated doing that.