The Sound of Glass Read Free

the fields, the river, and the marsh for survivors. A solid beam for any sign of life, and a flashing light to indicate a . . .” Her voice caught. Betsy Williams was Edith’s bridge partner, and they were neighbors. And Sidney Williams was their family lawyer. That was where their common interests ended. Betsy was content to live on the surface of life, to avoid any sharp edges that might force her to open her eyes a little wider. Betsy would tell people that she and Edith were best friends, but she couldn’t tell them anything about her except for Edith’s favorite flower and that she disliked chocolate.
    “A body,” Betsy continued. “That was a while ago. Sidney sent me home, but I’m too restless to do anything. I thought maybe you could use some company.”
    “No,” Edith said, a little too quickly, thinking of the suitcase in her kitchen. “I’m exhausted from taking care of C.J., and I think I’m just going to go to bed. I’m sure Calhoun is out there searching, too, and can fill me in on the details when he returns.”
    There was a brief pause, and Edith pictured Betsy’s small mouth tightening with disappointment. “All right. But call me if you get nervous and need me to come around.”
    Edith said good-bye and carefully replaced the phone back in the cradle, suddenly aware of the sound of voices from her front lawn.She’d already started back toward the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She stopped, unsure what to do. It wasn’t Calhoun. He would have banged on the door when he’d discovered it locked. With an eye toward the closed kitchen door, Edith smoothed down her skirt and carefully tucked her hair behind her ears before opening the door.
    Two police officers stood on her front porch, their hats in their hands. She wondered if she would be sick all over their polished black shoes that reflected her porch lights or if she could make it to the side railing. How had they known about the suitcase?
    “Mrs. Heyward?” The young officer on the left spoke first. She thought she recognized him, but she was having a problem focusing.
    She smiled, forcing the bile back down her throat. “Yes?” She struggled to suck a breath into her lungs, the air now thick with the scent of rain. While she’d been in the kitchen, the moon and stars had disappeared as if ashamed to illuminate the scene beneath them. The splat of raindrops hitting her front walk and the leaves of the oak tree that shaded most of the front yard almost obliterated the sound of her heart thrumming in her ears. “Can I help you?” She knew she should invite them inside, just as she knew she could not.
    A figure moved from the shadows of the porch, and she recognized the police chaplain as he stepped inside the arc of light. She blinked in surprise, wondering why he was there with the officers.
    A flash of lightning lifted her gaze from the three men to the scene across the river, and she found herself holding her breath. Dozens of blinking flashlights came from the shore and from boats on the water like hovering fireflies, spots of light marking the souls of the departed.
    “Edith?” The chaplain stepped closer, so she could now see his kind eyes and the deep creases around his mouth placed there like scars during the war. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”
    “Mama?” C.J. called from the kitchen.
    Edith turned to the chaplain in a panic. “I’m sorry; I have to see to my son. . . .”
    He reached out to take her hands, his fingers as icy as hers. “There’s been an accident. Calhoun’s car was found off of Ribaut Road up against a tree. An eyewitness said it looked like he was distracted by the explosion.” He paused. “He . . . he didn’t survive.”
    She felt as if she were free-falling from the sky, the lack of oxygen making her light-headed and strangely calm. She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Was he alone?”
    The men shuffled their feet in embarrassment, but it was the second officer who finally