Excerpt from The Things That Keep Us Here by Carla Buckley, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She poured coffee into a second mug and pushed the pot back onto the burner. “Nothing in Egypt, though. Did Shazia reach her parents?”

“Not that I know of.” He drank some coffee. No cream, of course, but he could make do with some milk.

“They must be so worried. Well, maybe they’ll talk today.” She sipped her coffee. “Hamburgers sound okay for dinner?”

“Sure.” He’d forgotten this, the way- too- early decision- making about what to have for dinner. He didn’t care what they ate. He never had, but Ann had always needed to regiment her day into segments. Errand time, laundry time, mealtime. It was how she’d coped as a stay- at- home mother. He wondered if things were different now that she’d gone back to work.

He reached into the refrigerator for the milk. “How are you for cash?”

“The ATMs were cleaned out by the time we got to the bank.”

“They should be up and running now. I’ll get water, too.”

“It was horrible last night.”

“Sounds like it.” At least she’d come away with only a bruised shin. It could have been worse.

“That shooting at Kroger?” She shook her head. “They said on the news that it was over a parking space.”

He couldn’t believe it, either. “Well, things should have calmed down.” He was here now. If anyone would be going to the store, it would be him. “Ann?”

She looked over.

“You know we can’t let the girls play with their friends.”

“For the whole three months, do you think?”

“We’ll have to take it a day at a time.”

“It’s going to be so hard on them. Especially Kate.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

She looked at him over the rim of her cup and nodded. traffic was fairly light until he neared the airport.

Then the highway jittered with cars, brake lights flashing irritably, no doubt filled with students trying desperately to get home. An airplane thundered across the sky, its lights twinkling red and white in the darkness. Peter broke free of the backup and headed for the side streets. Here, the neighborhoods were still half- asleep, just a few cars working their way down the road. People yawned at bus stops and slumped against walls, waiting for rides.

Up ahead, Tower West rose against the lavender sky, dark except for the bright band of light that glowed through the glass of the first- floor lobby windows. Cars packed the lot and overflowed onto the grassy spaces between the buildings. A uniformed man was just coming out of the building. The guard from last night. Peter recognized the weary set of his shoulders. He slowed and rolled down his window.

“We’re full up,” the man said in response to Peter’s question.

“We had to turn away a lot of kids. They just kept coming.” He shook his head, his gaze distant. “You plan for the worst. And then when the worst happens, you find out just how useless your planning was.”

Ten blocks away, a brick apartment building held down the corner, squat and square. The lobby doors stood open. The building manager was a stickler for keeping them locked. Peter stepped inside and listened. A television muttered in the apartment to his left.

Bikes leaned against the wall. Normal. He shrugged and closed the door behind him. Taking the stairs to the second floor, he unlocked the far door on the right. Here, too, everything appeared the same. The narrow bed in the corner, its covers pulled taut. The battered table that served as both nightstand and kitchen table, holding a gooseneck lamp, coffeepot, and alarm clock. The folding chair in the opposite corner beside the small bookcase. The framed photographs of the girls, Maddie’s duck painting taped to the wall. He’d left the drapes half- open. Pale sun streamed across the worn carpet. He filled his suitcase and slung some things into a duffel bag. He unplugged the television and DVD player, and drew the curtains shut. He stood and stared around at the small space, his home for more than a year.

Excerpted from The Things That Keep Us Here by Carla Buckley Copyright © 2010 by Carla Buckley. Excerpted by permission of Delacorte Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.