The thought has barely formed when I realize I can’t see Ethan.
“Ethan?”
The ball rolled toward the line of pines at the edge of the lawn. The grass thins where the lawn meets the woods. He should be standing at the boundary with the ball in his hand, looking for me to throw it back to.
He isn’t.
Why isn’t he calling back?
“Ethan!”
I cross the yard at a half run, my heart climbing into my throat. The tree line resolves as I get closer. Pines and low brush, a deer trail that runs along the inside of the fence. Then I see him.
He is past the line. Five feet inside the trees, the foam ball forgotten in his hand. He is standing very still, his small head turned to face something deeper in the woods, his shoulders rigid in a posture no four-year-old wears out of curiosity.
He is standing the way a child stands when he has seen something he doesn’t understand.
“Ethan.” My voice comes out lower than I want it to. “Come here. Now.”
The sound of my voice seems to allow him to shake off the tension. He turns and runs to me. The ball drops in the grass behind him.
I catch him under the arms and lift him onto my hip and start back across the lawn in one motion, my eyes on the tree line the whole way. The dusk in the woods has gone darker. Nothing moves at the edge that I can see. Nothing crosses the boundary.
“Buddy. What were you doing in there?”
His arms come tight around my neck.
“There was a man.”
I stop walking, my blood going cold.
“What?”
“In the trees.” His mouth is at my ear, his voice small. “He was looking.”
Without missing a beat, I turn toward the house and shout for Grayson at the top of my lungs. The kitchen door is open before the second syllable has left me. Grayson is across the lawn in seconds. Derek is two steps behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ethan saw a man.” My arm is locked around the boy, and I cannot loosen it. “In the trees. At the line.”
Grayson’s eyes go past me to the woods, and the amber has already burned through to gold.
“Where?”
“Past the deer trail. Five feet in.”
He doesn’t wait. He’s gone, Derek with him, the two of them moving across the lawn faster than two men should be able to. They reach the tree line and don’t slow down. They go straight through into the dusk, and I can’t see them anymore.
I sit down on the back step with Ethan in my lap and hold him so tightly that he squirms.
“Miranda, my arm.”
“Sorry, buddy. Sorry.” I loosen my grip and press my mouth into his hair. “I’m sorry.”
His small hand finds the front of my shirt and twists it.
Two minutes pass. Then a third, slow enough that I count every breath he takes against my chest. The grass at the edge of the lawn rustles, and I’m on my feet. Grayson and Derek emerge from the line side by side. Grayson’s shirt has a long scratch of pine sap down the sleeve. His face is grim.
