Page 1 of Our Darkest Summer

Prologue

July 7, 2009

Coldwater, Maine

A ten-year-old boystood in the middle of a large wood paneled room, his gaze flicking from face to face, cataloging the chaos around him. From the policemen, moving through the house with careful, calculated steps. To his father, standing stiffly, speaking in low, clipped tones to an older detective. And his little brother, clinging to their father’s leg like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

Then, his stare snapped upward, drawn to the fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, right behind his brother’s back. The deep purple petals looked so out of place now. Too vibrant and too alive.

A warm summer breeze drifted through the open window, ruffling his dark hair, carrying in the crisp scent of pine and lake water. Normally, that smell calmed him. Normally, this house was safe. But there was nothing normal about that morning.

From time to time, a policeman or some other stranger would approach him and ask if he was all right. And each time, he nodded.

Nodded. Nodded. Nodded.

And buried the need to cry so deep within himself it could never resurface. But of course he wasn’t all right. He was sure he would never be again. But he was strong. So he pressed his lips into a thin, unyielding line and nodded, because that was what strong people did. Because there was no way in hell he was going to cry.

Not today. Not ever.

His dark eyes snapped toward the stairs that led down from the second floor. He could almost see himself there, coming down those steps just a few hours ago. He envied that past self of him. The unknowing one, unaware of what the near future held. His small hands clenched into a tight fist.

He wanted answers, facts…those were the things he appreciated in life. The things that made sense. But of course, nobody said anything to a child. Not even when the questions were about his own mother.

His missing mother.

His gaze cut back to his father, standing frozen in the living room, his little brother still clinging to him. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to him yet, but he listened. He watched.When was the last time you saw her?Did she act differently?Was she upset? Was she strange in any way?

And of course, there were the questions the police asked directly from him:

Would you like to show me your room? Would you like to draw a picture of your last memory of her? That might help.

That might help?

He ignored most of these, and kept staring ahead. They wanted him to believe that she had run away. They wanted him to think that she left them behind.

But he knew better.

His mother loved him. She loved his brother. She even loved his father, for some odd reason he couldn’t comprehend. And she wouldn’t have left them. She wouldn’t have disappeared into the night. Never without a word, a goodbye.

So instead of playing into their stupid games, he made a pact with himself. One day, when he was no longer a child, when they had no choice but to give him real answers, he would come back to this town, to this house. And he would unfold the past himself.

A heavy sigh pushed past his lips as his eyes dragged across the room, over the chaos of policemen.

“Are you all right, Thomas?”

The voice belonged to Officer Isaac Miller. He was one of the few familiar faces here. His friend’s father. Thomas’ eyes cut to his little brother again, still gripping their father’s trousers, still looking scared and confused.

Thomas’ chest tightened. His throat ached, but he nodded. From now on, he always had to be all right. His stare drifted back to the flowers, and something sharp and heavy lodged in his chest.

Buying them, and placing them into that old white vase, could have been one of the last things his mother did, before she vanished. Before the world turned silent. A simple, almost meaningless task, before everything changed.

And Thomas couldn’t help but wonder, why would you buy fresh flowers if you will just leave them behind?

Chapter One

Kinsley

June 28, 2021