InSight

turned to Pete, who asked for him.
    “Where is he, Mrs. Gallant?”
    Luke saw Lucy’s hesitation.
    “Last I heard he was in a psychiatric hospital in Charleston , but I haven’t kept up. I never wanted to hear his name again, let alone know where he was.” Lucy’s distraught gaze focused on Luke. “He was never supposed to get out. Never.”
    Luke got up and paced the floor, running his hand through his hair, his stomach housing a three-alarm blaze. He excused himself and headed to a door on the left side of the hall, adorned with a framed print of a claw-foot bathtub. His rubbery arms barely supported him while he hung over the sink, fighting off the urge to empty his stomach. When he straightened, a pale image in the mirror stared back. Fear had never been a part of his makeup. Yes, he was afraid when he knew he’d never hear again, but that concerned only him, a matter within his control. This was different.
    Abby was out there all alone, blind, probably at the mercy of the man who had taken her sight. A man who tried to kill her. How did I let this happen on my watch? Luke splashed water on his face and around the back of his neck to get the blood flowing. Silence overwhelmed him. His head felt like imploding from the vacuum inside. He took a couple of deep breaths and opened the door. He walked to Pete, who had already dialed the station, and watched his moving lips, concentrating like never before.
    “Run the name Stewart Gentry, Frank. That’s right, Gentry. I want to know where he is at this very minute, and I want to know now. Call me back.”
    “Why did you lie to her, Lucy?” Luke asked.
    Clutching both hands between her breasts, Lucy said, “Abigael had been through a delicate operation to remove that bastard’s bullet. I was on pins and needles, not knowing whether she’d live or die. I prayed to God that night. I promised Him that if He let Abigael live, I’d make up for all the years I let her down, and that I’d never take another drink. I begged Him to grant me that one wish.”
    Lucy rubbed her hand back and forth across her forehead. “We all breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke her first words, and I knew God had answered my prayers. I haven’t touched a drop since.”
    While deciphering Lucy’s words, Luke strained to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to tell Lucy this wasn’t about her. Who gave a shit about her prayers? They came years too late to be the mother her daughter deserved.
    “You have no idea what Abby was like when she woke up,” Lucy continued. “Her grief was so intense, we couldn’t leave her alone for a minute for fear she’d take her own life. Macy was dead, the most precious little girl God ever created.” Lucy grabbed onto Meyer’s hand and held on tight. She glanced at him, seeking his support. “In addition to the pain of losing her only child, her whole world went dark. Every time she got out of bed, she bumped into something. I silently begged that she’d let out the sorrow, confide her feelings to me, something, but she wouldn’t. She sat there, staring at nothing. It broke my heart, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help.” She leaned back into the deep cushions. Meyer slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
    “Everyone involved decided it’d be best to wait before telling her about Stewart. News about him disappeared from the papers as if he really had died. Everyone thought so, and if by some slim chance an article about her mentioned him, well, she couldn’t see it anyway. The more time passed, the harder it became to tell her. What good would it have done? She’d never have a moment’s peace.” Lucy choked back the emotion to speak. “I worried she’d ask about him, about the things they shared. She would have been the sole beneficiary of all his paintings and their joint accounts, but she never did. I think she subconsciously erased him from her mind in order to survive. If she’d asked, I would have told her.” Her gaze swept the room, settling on Luke. “I would have, but she didn’t.”
    Pete pulled out his phone, listened, and hung up.
    “He didn’t, did he?” Lucy said. “Tell me he didn’t get out.”
    “Stewart Gentry walked out of the hospital eight weeks ago wearing a doctor’s uniform and with enough medication for a couple of months. No one’s been able to find him.”
    Luke saw Lucy clasp her hand over her mouth.
    “A couple of months? I saw that right, didn’t I, Pete?”