I’ve been promising myself. By the end of my second week here, I’ll have something new to wear to dinner—and several new sun hats to supplement my wardrobe.
On Tuesday, I pick up Raychel from the Paulson-Gosses and take the girls for a day at the beach. I can feel my life in Herron Mills slipping into a regular, if still unsettling, routine. I do some after-dinner sketches at the pool—Max, Paisley with the penguins, then Caden again, his face coming to life on the page, even though I tell myself I’d rather forget it. By the time the sun has sunk low behind the tree line and the lights on the pool deck have sprung into action, he’s all I can think about.
He made it very clear he didn’t like me showing up at Windermere last Friday. And Mrs. Talbot flat-out told me not to come back. But I can’t shake the connection I felt the first night we met. Before he got a good look at my face.
The need to explain myself swells in my chest. If I could just make Caden understand how much I didn’t know, how I wasn’t trying to be insensitive. I need one more chance.
Armed with the knowledge that I might only make matters worse, I slip on sneakers and the same hoodie I was wearing the first time I walked over to Windermere and grab the flashlight from the kitchen counter. I think about following Mrs. Talbot’s lead and walking straight through the trees onto the Windermere grounds, but I can’t imagine that would help my case. Instead, I walk around to the front of Clovelly Cottage, noting the light glowing in the family room. Emilia and Paisley are blacked out in silhouette on the couch, the TV flickering in front of them.
I’m close to the end of the driveway when I notice someone standing at the entry gate. I raise the flashlight, and a slim figure holds up his arm in front of his eyes, shielding them from the light. He looks like he was about to ring the buzzer.
“Caden?” I ask.
“Anna? Sorry to just show up, I didn’t have your number.”
I lower the flashlight beam to the ground. “It’s … not a problem.”
At the gate, I key in the combination and stand back while the doors do their thing. Soon, Caden and I are standing face to face, shrouded in darkness once again.
“Still restless?” he asks. I can feel him studying my face in the dark.
“I was going to take a walk,” I hedge, not ready to admit my intended destination. It doesn’t seem possible that I read things wrong at Windermere, but … I decide to just let this play out.
“I feel bad about the way things went down on Friday. I was in a weird space.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“Do-over?” he asks, and I nod, probably too eagerly.
“I can’t go far. But if you’ll have me for company, we could hang out in the stable?” He steps through the open gates, onto the drive.
“Stable?” By now, I’m certain I’ve explored every inch of the Clovelly Cottage grounds, and there are definitely no horses.
“At Windermere. But it’s faster if we cut through the trees, and less chance my mother will see us.”
I let Caden lead the way back up the drive and across the grass. Inside the Bellamys’ house, the lights in the family room have gone dark. We cut through the thick copse of trees where I watched Mrs. Talbot disappear on Sunday, flashlight beam bouncing across the ground in front of our feet. It may be pitch dark, but it’s only nine o’clock, and again I’m reminded of Caden’s curfew. Which maybe makes a bit more sense now that I know about Zoe. If your son’s girlfriend vanished without a trace, you’d do everything you could to keep him close. Even if it was mostly for yourself. As twigs and pine needles snap and crack beneath our feet, it strikes me with a shiver that whatever or whoever came for Zoe last New Year’s Eve probably has no respect for curfews or parental best intentions.
My mind flashes suddenly to an image of a girl who looks a lot like me, but out of focus, falling, body twisting in a long white party dress with a pale yellow sash. She’s young, and a diminutive version of my features—or Zoe’s—are frozen in terror on her face. I drop the flashlight to the ground, and the beam flickers out.