“He’s gone back to the cottage, but I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks... I should get back upstairs.”
We say good night, and as I turn to leave, my eye catches on the shirt. And the fluttering thought I couldn’t quite snag at the dinner is finally in my grasp. The shirt Marcus was wearing tonight is white, not blue. It wasNickwho was wearing a pale blue shirt. And that means it was Nick whom Keira was confronting in the side yard before we all sat down for dinner.
What would they have had to discuss in such a heated way? Was she sharing her suspicions about Marcus and Hannah? I’m losing the ability to make sense of things.
Outside, the beautiful day has turned into an overcast evening, and despite the walkway lights on, the area along the path is mostly shrouded in darkness.
I’m halfway to the cottage when I see it—a large form, low to the ground and darting behind a shrub on the side ofthe path where the main lawn is. My heart jumps. Is it one of the dogs?
“Ginger,” I call out weakly, and then stronger a second time. How did she get out of the house?
But it can’t be her. I heard Gabe urging the dogs up to Ash’s room fifteen minutes ago.
And then it’s there again, shooting out from behind the shrub and across the lawn. It’s almost as big as Ginger but more lithe, with an extra-long snout. In a flash it disappears into the darkness.
It must be the coyote. I gulp for air and tear up the rest of the path. By the time I reach the cottage, my lungs are on fire. Before grasping the doorknob, I spin around and stare into the night, checking all around me. There’s no sign of any animal now, and all I can hear are the usual insect sounds from the treetops:katydid; she didn’t; she did; she didn’t.
Maybe it wasn’t a coywolf. Maybe only a possum or raccoon. Or it was nothing at all, simply all my fears metamorphosing into a darting shadow. But I can’t shake it from my mind—the fast dash across the grass, the ominous shape of the snout.
It feels like an omen. Telling me that in this serene, lovely place, a place I’ve always loved, more terrible things are in store for us.
20
Once I thrust open the door to the cottage, I find Gabe sitting in the middle of the couch, lost in his thoughts.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, reading the distress on my face.
“I think I saw the coyote near one of the shrubs. Or the coywolf—or whatever it’s called.”
“You’re kidding.” He makes a move for the door.
“Please, Gabe, don’t go out there. And besides, it’s gone now. It ran across the lawn toward the woods after it spotted me.”
“Damn, that must be what Marcus has been hearing. I’ll let my father know first thing in the morning.”
“Henry’s in bed, I take it?”
“Yeah, he barely stirred when I laid him down.”
“The movie seemed to cheer him up a little.”
“For now. Amanda called me this afternoon and said he’s been sounding morose when they talk, and she’s lobbying to drive out and pick him up before the week is out.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m partly tempted to say yes and that we’ll make up the vacation time with him later in the summer. It might actually be a good idea for him to skip the burial.”
“I think you’re right. He asked me earlier if Gee would be scared in the woods, so it’s clearly causing a lot of anxiety.”
“I’ll call her in the morning, then, and suggest she pick him up early Thursday.”
We’re communicating at least. Navigating regular parenting stuff. But there’s still a wall between us that’s hard to ignore.
“You going up now?” I ask.
“I might sit here for a minute, try to decompress from the day.”
