Evidence of Life. Barbara Sissel Taylor

      On the last ordinary day of her life, Abby Bennett feels like the luckiest woman alive. But everyone knows that luck doesn’t last forever…

      As her husband, Nick, and daughter, Lindsey, embark on a weekend camping trip to the Texas Hill Country, Abby looks forward to having some quiet time to herself. She braids Lindsey’s hair, reminds Nick to drive safely and kisses them both goodbye. For a brief moment, Abby thinks she has it all—a perfect marriage, a perfect life—until a devastating storm rips through the region, and her family vanishes without a trace.

      When Nick and Lindsey are presumed dead, lost in the raging waters, Abby refuses to give up hope. Consumed by grief and clinging to her belief that her family is still alive, she sets out to find them. But as disturbing clues begin to surface, Abby realizes that the truth may be far more sinister than she imagined. Soon she finds herself caught in a current of lies that threaten to unhinge her and challenge everything she once believed about her marriage and family.

      With a voice that resonates with stunning clarity, Barbara Taylor Sissel delivers a taut and chilling mystery about a mother’s love, a wife’s obsession and the invisible fractures that can shatter a family.

      Evidence of Life

      Barbara Taylor Sissel

      

www.mirabooks.co.uk

      For Michael and David, who remember the way we were.

      Contents

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Acknowledgments

       Questions for Discussion

       A Conversation With the Author

      Chapter 1

      On the last ordinary day of her life before her family went off for the weekend, Abby made a real breakfast—French toast with maple syrup and bacon. It was penance, the least she could do, given how utterly delighted she was at the prospect of being left on her own for two whole days to do as she pleased. It would sicken her later, in the aftermath of what happened, that she could so covet the prospect of solitude, but in that last handful of ordinary hours, she was full of herself, her silly plans. She set a small mixing bowl on the counter, found the wire whisk, and when Nick came in the backdoor, she brandished it, smiling at him.

      He frowned. “What are you doing?”

      “Cooking breakfast, French toast.”

      “We don’t have time. We’re going to hit rush-hour traffic as it is.”

      “It’ll be fine,” Abby soothed.

      He came to the sink still wearing the wisp of bloodstained tissue he’d stuck below his ear where he’d cut himself shaving and the rumpled cargo shorts he’d pulled out of the hamper as if he didn’t have a drawer full of clean ones. As if the unwashed pair were the only ones that suited him.

      Abby got out a frying pan, aware of his mood, regretful of it. She wished he hadn’t bothered with shaving. She wished she’d done the laundry yesterday. Leaving the breakfast makings, she went to him, circled his waist from behind, laid her cheek against his back. “I’m sorry about your shorts.” The words were right there, but they caught in her throat when she felt him go still.

      “Don’t,” he said, and she backed away. She returned to the stove, absorbing herself in the task of separating the strips of bacon and arranging them with care in the bottom of the pan. As if her care made a difference, as if it could keep her family safe when it couldn’t. She ought to have known that much at least. She went to the refrigerator and took out the carton of eggs.

      Nick washed his hands.

      “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” she said when he shut off the water.

      “Why do you always think something’s wrong, Abby?”

      “I don’t.”

      “You do.”

      “Fine,” she said. She would not stand here squabbling as if they were their children.

      He hung the kitchen towel over the oven door handle, gave her one of those side-of-the-mouth kisses. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to get on the road.”

      Abby’s jaw tightened. She knew better.

      “Wouldn’t cereal be easier?” he asked.

      She broke the eggs into the bowl. “I’d like us to sit down to breakfast together for once.”

      “What about the mess? You do realize we can’t stay to help you clean up.”

      “I don’t mind.”

      He went to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Lindsey? What’s taking you so long? I could use some help loading the camping gear.”

      “Down in a minute, Dad,” she shouted back. “I had to get ready in Jake’s bathroom because the shower in mine is