CHAPTER FIVEMargaret Thackrey
The old man stood on the doorstep, his knobby face splotchy with haste, his gnarled hands twisting his long-billed cap. It was a couple of minutes before he could bring himself to speak.
“Mrs. Bowen...God knows, I hate to tell you...your husband...his car went off that last high curve above Silver Creek and the lake. You’d better come!”
All Margaret’s insides seemed to congeal into a cold lump. “Of course. Come in while I put on some outdoor shoes.”
She moved blindly into the bedroom, caught up in a nightmare that slowed everything like some slow-motion movie. She stared about to find her shoes, her purse, feeling she might never see this familiar room again. Then she turned toward Mr. Keller.
“I’m ready now. Is he...alive?”
Keller looked down at his han
