What’s the difference, I wondered,between a ghost and a memory?
I reached for the banister, made my way carefully down the curvedwooden steps. At the bottom of the stairs, my feet got wet. The puddles I’d noticed when we first entered the slate-floored hall hours ago. But… was there more water here now?
A smell, a terrible, damp, rotting smell filled the hall.
I fought the urge to run back up the stairs, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head just as I’d done as a child.
Don’t you hear that? That squish, squish, squish of footsteps? She’s coming for you. Coming for us both.
But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I was a grown woman. A social worker, for Christ’s sake. I took in a breath, steadied myself.
My eyes adjusted enough to see the cat standing in the hall, back arched and fur raised.
“Hey, Pig,” I said, the sound of my own voice calming me.
The cat looked past me, golden eyes focused on the front door. He let out a hiss.
I kicked at the papers, clothes, the overturned table. Tried the front hall lights, but they were out, too. “Shit.” I stumbled in the dark.
I made my way to the front door, shuffling through the debris to keep from tripping, and looked out the tiny square window: the driveway was empty except for Lexie’s yellow Mustang, which seemed to glow, casting its own pool of light. The yard around it was dark. The only movement was off to the right. The door in the white wooden fence that surrounded the pool was open, swinging in the breeze, the hinge squeaking as it banged against the fence. I let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It was only the gate.
“Nothing out there,” I said to the cat in my most comforting voice. “It’s just the gate.”
He hissed once more, then turned and ran, unconvinced.
“Wuss,” I called after him.
I let myself out the front door, walked the paved steps to the gateand closed it, sliding the metal latch into the place, keeping my eyes averted from the pool. I was not ready to acknowledge the pool. But I felt it there, waiting for me, taunting me in the dark.
“Not tonight,” I said, and went back in the house, closed and locked the heavy front door, and clicked the dead bolt into place.
chaptersix
June 15, 1929
Brandenburg, Vermont
Last night, after unpacking and settling in, we dined on brook trout and baby potatoes in an ornate dining room with cream-colored walls and lush velvet curtains. A man played low, moody music on the piano. Will produced a small flask of apple brandy from back home and tipped a little into my glass. I wore a new silver satin dress, and under the lights of crystal chandeliers it sparkled like fish scales.
Mr. Benson Harding, the owner of the hotel, visited each table with his wife, greeting his guests personally. He was a tall man with dark hair, a carefully trimmed mustache, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to be watching everything in the room at once. He shook Will’s hand and introduced us to his wife, Eliza, a stunning woman with bobbed black hair and eyes just as dark. She had a small raised scar under her left eye, which somehow made her face more beautiful. Her lips were painted red, her eyelashes heavy with mascara. Her dress was black but covered in sequins that shimmered under the lights. They looked so perfect and happy together, arm in arm in their fine clothes. “And are you enjoying your stay so far, Mrs. Monroe?”
“It’s delightful,” I assured her. “Like something from a dream!”
She smiled, leaned in so that her lips were just inches from my ear, her breath warm on my neck, and said in a low voice meant only for me, “Isn’t it just?”
As the evening wore on, the music turned lively and the piano player was joined by a drummer, bass player, and a man with a horn. He sang “Everybody Loves My Baby,” and some couples got up to dance. Will took my hand and led me to the small dance floor, and we spun until I was sure I would fall. The room was buzzing with music and people talking and laughing. Will whispered something in my ear, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “I’m afraid I’ve had too much brandy,” I admitted.
“No such thing,” he said, and suggested we get some air. His eyes looked impossibly green. I leaned against him, said, “Aren’t we just the luckiest people on earth? To have found each other?” He smiled and kissed me.
We took an evening stroll around the grounds, our arms linked. Crickets and katydids sang from the grass. The peacocks were tucked away somewhere for the night. We headed toward the springs, taking a stone-lined path, but they were roped off withDANGERandCLOSEDsigns. I could hear running water. There was a sharp, mineral tang in the air. Someone had clearly already disobeyed the signs, because I heard a splash and a giggle. I couldn’t see anything but the dark shadows of the trees that lined the pool area. “Maybe they’re skinny-dipping?” I said. I suggested that we sneak in, too.
“Scandalous, Mrs. Monroe,” he said, and raised his eyebrows, blushing slightly. “If there is a couple in there already, I’m sure they’d like their privacy.”
That night, I had the strangest dream. The sparrow’s egg was resting against my chest again. I picked it up and it cracked open, and water began to flow out of it. The water took shape, and a small child, about five or six years old, stepped out from beneath the stream of water. Itwas a little girl with dark hair and eyes, a narrow face, elvish features. She looked at me and smiled, and my heart banged hard in my chest as I smiled back. I recognized her dark, almond-shaped eyes as my own. She was me and yet not me. I knew at once that this was my child. My daughter.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the child said.
I took her in my arms and wept, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like wind and summer rain, the forgotten afternoons of childhood. As I breathed her in, my chest ached with longing. I woke up crying, my arms empty. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, giving the room a pale blue glow, as if we were underwater. Will was asleep on his back beside me, his face slack and peaceful. I padded into the bathroom, latching the door. I opened my case, took out a pin, sat on the toilet, and scratched three short lines just above my right ankle, concentrating on the pain until the aching feeling in my chest began to fade.
