He’s slim and not too tall, maybe five feet ten. His hands are shoved in jeans pockets, and a silver watchband glints on one wrist.
“Are you lost?” he asks. I squint into the glow of the porch light, trying to get a good look at his face, but I can see only that his skin is a soft shade of brown, and he’s my age, maybe a bit older. My heartbeat slows to a slightly elevated thud. This must be Caden Talbot, the Yalie.
“I’m Anna,” I say. “The nanny at Clovelly Cottage?”
“Oh right.” He leans leisurely against the pillar, his body pressed against the stone in a mirror image of my stance a moment ago. “Emilia mentioned she’d hired someone new.”
“I’m sorry I was staring.” My words slip out on a hot rush of breath. “I’m not a creeper. Well, not usually.”
As my eyes strain to compose something photo-realistic from his backlit silhouette, an itchy sensation crawls down my spine. This boy is a stranger, but for a slippery moment I can see our lives intertwining, our darkest secrets and deepest fears laid bare in the still night air.
He grins, and just as suddenly, the itchy feeling is gone, and along with it my pseudo-psychic inklings. I’m clearly lonely, and maybe a little bored.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Windermere is something to behold. I’m Caden, by the way.” He sticks his hand through a scroll in the gate, and I take it in mine, forcing myself to behave like the friendly stranger I am. It’s warm and smooth, and he smells just slightly of sage and vanilla. Everything about him seems well cared for, in sharp contrast to the house in the background.
“I just got in on Monday,” I tell him. “I’m still getting to know the area.”
“After dark?”
I shrug. I can feel the darkness wrapped around my skin like a cloak. “There’s not a lot to do at night. I was restless.”
“Yeah, me too.” He gestures toward the lawn to my left, beyond my line of sight. “We used to have a koi pond. Now it’s mostly frogs and weeds. I was thinking about how I might clean it up.”
“After dark?” I throw the question back at him.
He laughs, a warm, easy sound that makes my skin flush beneath my hoodie. “I do my best thinking at night. Besides, I’m stuck here right now.”
“At home?”
“Yeah. My mom gets kind of freaked out when I leave Windermere at night.”
I can feel my eyebrows arch up my forehead, but Caden must not be able to see the face I’m making in the dark. A college boy with a curfew? I’ve been basically leashless in the city for as long as I can remember. I can’t fathom staying home at night to please my mother, even if home was on multiple acres.
“How old are you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can bite them back.
He laughs again, but it’s cooler this time. “Nineteen. My mom hasn’t been doing great. That’s why I’m home this summer.”
“Oh, sorry.” Now I feel like a jerk. “You’re at Yale?”
“Just finished my second year. Emilia tell you about me?”
“Tom gave me the Linden Lane tour when we were driving in.”
He grunts softly, and I strain to get a better look at his face, but he’s still backlit in the porch light. “You in school?” he asks.
“Just graduated. I start at SUNY New Paltz in the fall.”
He says something about liking the New Paltz area, how he has a friend studying theater there. He recommends a place to go hiking, and I make a mental note for September. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to open the gate, invite me inside. Maybe this is the start of something, or the sequel to a memory idling deep beneath the surface. But then a light blinks on on the third floor of the house, and a filmy shadow darkens the window. Caden turns to follow my gaze up, toward Windermere.
“I should go in,” he says, voice suddenly brisk.
I don’t want this conversation to be over. I haven’t gotten a chance to ask about his mom, what’s wrong with her, why he can’t leave. But I can see his body closing up, shoulders hunching inward, and I know it’s not the right time.
“It was nice meeting you?”
He’s already backing away from the gate. He gives me a small wave before he turns.
“See you around, Anna.”
* * *
Back in the guest cottage, I dig out my watercolor pencils