Far away.
As if his work was done.
“He’s leaving!” I shouted.
At that moment the first patrols arrived, followed by the firefighters. Everything became sirens, orders and hoses deployed at full speed. I went out with Lily in my arms, pointing the truck to the agents. One of them radioed the description; another took us to a safe distance.
I made my statement shaking so much that I could barely recognize my own voice. I told them about the call Lily heard, the wire in the door, the smell of gas, the man watching. I repeated Derek’s name over and over again until it sounded alien.
My husband.
My husband.
My husband.
The words melted in his mouth.
A detective in a dark suit asked me for my phone. I showed him Derek’s messages from the morning: “I’ve already boarded,” “I love you,” “Rest.” Everything so normal that it made me nauseous. Then more police arrived and asked me questions that didn’t end: life insurance, recent arguments, debts, trips, access to the house, security cameras.
Life insurance.
I felt another turn.
Three months earlier, Derek insisted on increasing the policy “for any emergency.” He was annoyed when I wanted to read the fine print. He said that he always complicated everything. In the end I signed.
I signed.
I covered my mouth with my hand and began to cry without a sound.
Two hours later, as Lily slept wrapped in a blanket inside the ambulance, an officer approached with an expression that confirmed to me that this was no longer a shapeless nightmare. It already had structure. It already had a name.
The truck had been stopped fifteen miles away.
The driver was carrying a disposable phone.
And on the phone were recent messages from Derek.
I wasn’t on a plane.
He was not on any business trip.
They found him in a roadside motel, waiting for news.
When they told me, I felt something worse than fear.
Somewhat cold.
