“Arlo, you can call me Arlo.”
“I like the name Arlo,” the little traitor I spurned from my loins chirps.
“Yeah? Me too.” Again, he ruffles her hair, and again, Lark doesn’t swat his hand away.
“Mom’s name is Wren.”
No amount of evil eye will work on this one. “I was saving the surprise,” I hiss at her.
“Birdie.” Arlo nods to himself with a smile. “Because you chirp and chirp and chirp.”
I want to be mad, but a little part of me finds it endearing. Of all the years I’ve lived with the name Wren, not one person gave me a nickname. Not even Eric. So I bite my lip to keep from smiling at him.
“Welcome to Silent Springs, Lark and Birdie,” Arlo announces right before the tire pops.
CHAPTER 3
“I swearyou must be bad luck,” Arlo grumbles, his hands straining on the wheel as he expertly navigates the truck to the side of the road. That’s significant muscle control. Color me impressed.
“No way, I’m Irish,” I mutter absentmindedly as I lean forward, peering out over the dashboard. “Is that…?”
“A cemetery?” Arlo opens the door, leaving the truck running. “Yeah.”
Oh, it isn’t just a cemetery. It’s actually beautiful in a historic, witch trial kind of scenario. Ahead, a magnificent, traditional Victorian home rises between the trees, complete with a wraparound porch and white trim. A plume of smoke curls into the air as big, fat snowflakes flutter from the twilight sky.
Behind the house is a woman, maybe in her fifties, who walks with something in her hand, while a trail of others follow behind her. As a group, they march into a cemetery that looks to be hundreds of years old.
It’s both disturbing and intriguing all at once, and I instantly want to be a part of it.
“Stay here,” Arlo grumbles, slamming the door shut in our faces.
“We won’t stay here, will we?” Lark pulls a thick wool beanie over her red curls.
“And miss the séance? Of course not!” I press the door open and tumble to the ground, holding my arms out for Cooper, who snuggles against my chest. Who needs a heavy winter coat when I’ve got a skunk to keep me warm?
More agile than me, Lark hops out behind me, her boots sinking down into the soft snow.
“I told you two to stay in the truck!” Arlo throws a jack and a spare tire in the snow, making it puff up in a cloud.
“Yes, but that would mean we would miss out on whatever that is.” I point over to the cemetery, feeling far too giddy and excited about the strange woman wearing what I can now see is a black veil over her face and… I gasp. “Is she wearing an all black lace on an eighteen hundreds gown?”
Maybe this pit stop to Silent Springs won’t be so bad.
Arlo’s eyes widen, and his hands, which were on his hips, drop to his sides as he looks over at the cemetery. Throwing his hands up into the air, he dips his head back with a silent plea for patience on his lips.
Lark and I share a quick look before a smile stretches across her angelic face—an expression I’m sure my face mimics. As one, we take off around Arlo and dart through the snow to the wrought iron cemetery gates.
The best thing about having a baby at such a young age is growing up with her. Sure, we had our difficulties, and yeah, we struggled more than the other moms we came across, but it also meant I always had a movie night buddy for my love of all things creepy. As I grew, so did she, and though our evening meals weren’t always gourmet, it meant that I spent my time with her.
As her laughter rings through the cold fall air, reminding me of a fairy or a Norse queen with her red hair flying behind her,my heart fills. It might just be the two of us once more, and though my heart aches at losing Eric, I know we will be okay.
At that moment, I feel all right, but tomorrow could change how I feel.
I didn’t expect this side trip, but I’m excited about it.
The woman in black lace looks up, and I can just barely make out the blue of her eyes through the lace. Behind me, I hear Arlo heaving as he catches up to us.
I’m just about to open my mouth and ask if we can join when Arlo steps up behind me and wraps his hand around my mouth.
