casual lean against the pillar, the easy conversation. I get the sense he’s being polite, and my stomach clenches. I keep my eyes trained on the balcony, and as the ravens disperse against the sky, I’m hit with a powerful wave of vertigo. It strikes hard and fast, the balcony tilting toward me, or the driveway rippling to waves beneath my feet.
I pitch forward. I’m falling.
I grasp at the house with my free hand, try to steady myself as Windermere careens around me, falling, everything falling. I shut my eyes and let the wall’s brown shingles take solid shape against my hand until the vertigo passes, and the world rights itself again. I draw a deep breath in.
“You okay?” Caden is squinting at me, concerned.
“Just dizzy for a sec. I think I looked up too fast.” It sounds good, but I’m not sure what that was. I’ve never been great with heights, but staring up from below has never been a problem. Something about that balcony tipped the world off-kilter.
Caden nods, satisfied, then turns abruptly and walks up the stairs to the front door. “You’d better come in, since you’re here,” he says, swinging the door wide. Immediately, I hear barking, and we’re met by a midsize brown and white dog, some kind of spaniel.
I join Caden on the porch and let Jake sniff my hand, which he promptly fills with his warm muzzle. Jake’s coat is shiny and he looks well cared for, but as I crouch down to pet him, I have to hold my breath. He smells. Really smells.
I straighten up and take a step toward the house, and that’s when it hits me that the smell isn’t coming from Jake. It’s coming from inside Windermere.
In the entryway, the mysterious odor is immediately identifiable. The hall is absolutely teeming with birds—and bird droppings. There are cages hanging here and there, others propped on various pieces of once-beautiful furniture, but the doors have been unlatched, and the birds seem to have free rein of the place.
My mouth must be hanging open because Caden says, “You’re here all summer, right? You were going to see it sooner or later.”
I snap my jaw shut and try to breathe through my teeth.
“My mother isn’t well,” he says. “I think I mentioned the other night.” He gestures loosely toward a portrait of a pretty young woman with fair skin and glossy brown hair hanging at the base of a tall, gently curving staircase to my left. The banister, once a grand thing, is dusty and coated with bird shit. “She was in her late twenties or early thirties when that portrait was done. The man in the painting next to her was my father. Died when I was a little kid. I don’t really remember him.”
Both of Caden’s parents appear to be white, and I wonder if he was adopted. It doesn’t seem like the right time to ask.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About your dad.”
Caden shrugs but doesn’t say anything.
“And that your mom is sick,” I add. I feel like an intruder in their home. It was clearly beautiful once; the furnishings in the entry hall look old and sturdy and probably very expensive. A dust-covered tapestry lines one wall, and to my left, beyond the staircase, is what appears to be a formal living room or parlor. The curtains are drawn across floor-to-ceiling windows, and the room is swallowed in musty darkness. Did he invite me inside to gawk? Or is this some sort of test of my character? If it is, I’m not sure I’m passing.
“I brought cookies,” I say again, holding out the little plate. “We baked way too many. I hope you like peanut butter.”
Caden’s thick eyebrows arch suddenly toward the ceiling, and he looks at the plastic-wrapped plate in my hand for the first time. Without warning, he reaches out and takes it from me, a little too sharply.
“What are these?” he asks.
“Um, peanut butter and jelly cookies?” A dark cloud passes over his face, and I feel a lump take shape in my throat. “I thought, um, we used three different kinds of jam,” I start to ramble. “But if you don’t like them, I’m sure we’ll do more baking later.”
“Please take them back.” Caden’s voice is cold. He holds the plate out toward me, his arm stiff and eyes hard. I try to swallow, but my mouth is completely dry.