Free Not Guilty by Patricia MacDonald

jump, and Dylan saw the look of panic in her eyes that belied her confident words.
    “You think that’s him, coming back.”
    “I don’t know who it is. I was just startled,” she said sharply.
    “You think something bad’s gonna happen, don’t you?” he demanded.
    “No. I said no.” Partly to escape the accusing look in her son’s eyes, Keely strode to the door and opened it.
    Jake Ambler stood on the doorstep. “Can Dylan go skating?” he asked.
    She was so relieved to see Jake there, and not the detective, that she forgot her rule about homework first. “Sure,” she said. “Dylan, it’s Jake.”
    When he did not reply, she turned around and looked at him. He was staring at her balefully, as if she had betrayed him. “Just a minute, Jake,” she said. She walked back to her son and put a hand on his arm.
    “Dylan, whatever it is, I’m sure that once we answer their questions, they won’t bother us anymore.”
    “Us,” he said with a snort. “That’s a laugh. They won’t blame you,” he said.
    “They won’t blame you, either,” she insisted, but he would not meet her gaze.
    “Why not?” he asked. “You do.”
    “Dylan!”
    He brushed past her without apologizing, then grunted at Jake to follow him.
    “That’s not true!” she cried. “Dylan!” But he did not look back.

6

    A t six o’clock, Susan Ambler called and asked if Dylan could stay for dinner. Keely felt her heart sink at the request and realized how much she dreaded being alone in the house as the evening began to close in. “He has homework to do,” she told Susan, but Susan assured her that the boys were working on it out of Jake’s textbooks, and Keely could see no other reason to insist that he return.
    “Send him home by eight,” Keely said. “Before it gets dark.”
    She hung up the phone and went into the living room, where Abby was working her way around the room, clinging to ottomans and the coffee table as she lurched along. Keely went over and tried to scoop her up in her arms, needing to feel her warmth, but Abby was intent on her enterprise and began to fuss and push Keely away when she felt her feet leave the ground. Reluctantly, Keely put her back down, and Abby resumed her circumnavigation of the room, oblivious to her mother’s concerns. She concentrated on her task. Keely almost envied her. Abby would not remember her father or have any image of him other than some photos and a couple of videos they had made. The more she grew up, the more she would feel it, of course, the lack of a father. But right now, Abby suffered no grief. Sometimes, she would look around, as if she was seeking that other presence that she was used to, but then she would be distracted by a rustling leaf or a bird swooping by or just the sound of the television.
    For a moment, looking at her daughter’s progress, Keely felt tears coming to her eyes, and realized she had to do something to get her mind off her sorrow. There was dinner to fix, and then a pile of bills awaited her on Mark’s desk. Get busy, she thought. Keep moving.
    By the time Keely had cleaned up supper, bathed Abby, and put her to bed, it was deep twilight. She glanced out the front window to see if Dylan might be rolling up the driveway on his bike, but there was no sign of him yet. She went down the hall to the den that Mark had used as his home office and, taking a deep breath, sat down in his leather desk chair. This was where he’d done work he’d brought home and taken care of household accounts.
    Keely found the checkbook in the first drawer and began to write out checks, her anxieties increasing as the balance in the checking account diminished. They had spent so much money on renovating the house. It hadn’t seemed like too much at the time, because of Mark’s income. They had thought they had years to pay off these bills. Of course they had good credit, and Mark had a sizable retirement account. She and the children would be all right, she