I’m in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker like it might explain why nothing in this house works the way it’s supposed to, when I hear it.Three sharp raps.Purposeful.The kind that saysI’ve been watching and I know you’re home.
I consider pretending I’m not.But my car’s in the driveway, the lights are on, and I’ve already learned that in a place like this, silence is just another form of confirmation.
I open the door.
Mrs.Mather stands there with a Tupperware container and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Good morning, dear,” she says, like we’ve been friends for years instead of neighbors for days.“I brought you some banana bread.Thought you could use something homemade.”
Translation:I’ve decided you’re interesting enough to interrogate.
“That’s so kind,” I say, taking the container before she can invite herself in.“Thank you.”
She doesn’t move.Of course she doesn’t.
“Settling in all right?”she asks, peering past me like she’s cataloging what’s changed since the last owner.“I thought I heard some noise last night.Moaning.Maybe screaming?Sounded like there was a struggle.”
My grip tightens on the doorframe.“Just unpacking,” I say.“Everything echoes in an empty house.”
She nods slowly, like she’s filing that away.“I suppose it does.”
“But, yeah, getting there,” I say.“It’s a lot of house.”
“Mm.”She nods like I’ve confirmed something.“It is.Always has been.The Carsons loved it, though.Had it in the family for years before they gave it to Emily.”
“Emily?”My stomach does something unpleasant.The realtor mentioned a tragedy.An accident.Vague enough that I didn’t ask for details because I was already signing papers and didn’t want another reason to back out.
“Emily Carson,” Mrs.Mather says, like I should already know.“Well, Emily Harper, after she married.She and her husband lived here.Sweet couple.Had a little boy.Terrible thing.Just terrible.Car accident.Emily and the little boy—Evan, I think his name was—they were killed.Head-on collision.”
“God,” I say quietly.“That’s awful.”
“It was,” she agrees, nodding.“The whole town felt it.She was local, you know.Grew up here.Everyone knew her.So I was glad to see Luke here…I mean, after everything.”
The name lands like a stone in water.
I stare at her.“Luke?”
“Luke Harper,” she says, watching me now, enjoying this.“Your handyman.”
My brain stutters.Tries to recalibrate.
Luke?
“He lived here?”I manage.
“Luke was Emily’s husband,” Mrs.Mather says.“Emily’s parents gave them the house as a wedding gift.They were going to raise their family here.”She pauses, lets that settle.“But then, well.You know.”
I don’t know.I don’t know anything.
Mrs.Mather sighs, a long, theatrical exhale.“Tragedy.Just—tragedy.You know Dr.Matthews?The ER doctor?Well-respected, been here for years.He’d just finished a twenty-four-hour shift.Can you imagine?Twenty-four hours straight, dealing with God knows what.He was driving home and he—” She makes a vague gesture, like she’s swatting at a fly.“Fell asleep at the wheel.Crossed the center line.”
I don’t want to hear the rest.But she’s already telling it.
“Emily and the boy—Evan—they were driving Luke’s phone up to the hospital.He’d forgotten it that morning.Just a quick errand.And Dr.Matthews—” Another sigh.“He hit them head-on.Killed them both instantly.”
The Tupperware feels heavy in my hands.Too heavy.
“That’s awful,” I manage.
