What are we getting into?
She spent the rest of the flight staring out the oval window, her hands clutching the cold metal ends of her armrests.
Pittsburgh at 6:56 a.m. was cool. Breezy. The sky a blue that early morning skies in southern California seldom aspired to. In Vista Grande, where Jenny lived, May skies were usually the color of wet concrete until it got hot enough to break the clouds up.
They had to take a taxi from the airport because Hertz wouldn't rent a car to anyone under twenty-five. Dee thought this was outrageous and wanted to argue, but Jenny dragged her away.
"We're trying to be inconspicuous," she said.
On the way to Monessen they saw a river with large, flat, ugly ships on it. "The Monongahela and coal barges," Jenny said, remembering. They saw delicate trees with slender trunks and airy little pink buds. "Redbud trees," Jenny said. "And those over there with the white flowers are dogwoods." They saw one steel mill with white smoke turning to gray as it rose. "There used to be blast furnaces all over here," Jenny said. "When they were going, it looked like hell. Really. All these chimneys with fire and black smoke coming out of them. When I was a kid, I thought that was what hell must look like."
By the time they got to the little town of Monessen, Michael was eyeing the taxi meter with deep concern. Everyone else, though, was staring out the windows.
"Cobblestone streets," Dee said. "D'you believe that?"
"C'est drdle ca," Audrey said. "How quaint."
"They're not all cobblestone," Jenny said.
"They're all steep," Dee said.
Because the town was built on hills-seven hills,
Jenny remembered. When she and Zach had been kids here, that had seemed a magical fact, like a seventh son of a seventh son being psychic.
Don't think about Zach now. And especially don't think about Tom. But, as always, Tom's name alone started an aching in her chest. Like a bruise just slightly to the left of her breastbone.
"We're here," she said aloud, forcibly distracting herself.
"Three Center Drive," the taxi driver said and got out to unload their duffel bags from the trunk.
Audrey, whose father was with the diplomatic corps and who had grown up all over the world, paid the man. She knew how to do things like that, and carried it off with cosmopolitan flair, adding an extravagant tip.
"Money-" Michael began in an anguished whisper. Audrey ignored him. The taxi drove off.
Jenny held her breath as she looked around. All the way from Pittsburgh she'd had flashes of familiarity. But here, in front of her grandfather's house, the familiarity came in a great, sweeping rush, engulfing her.
I know this! I know this place! I remember!
Of course she remembered. She'd grown up here. The broad green lawn that grew all the way to the street with no sidewalk in between-she and Zach had played there. This low brick house with the little white porch-she couldn't tell how many times she'd gone running up to it.
It was a strange sort of remembering, though. The house seemed smaller, and not exactly the way she'd pictured it. Old and new at the same time.
Maybe because it's been empty for ten years, Jenny thought. Or maybe it's changed -
No. It hadn't changed-she had. The last time she'd stood here she'd been five years old.
And the memory of that was like a light splash of icy water. It reminded her of what she'd come here to do.
Am I brave enough? Am I really brave enough to go back down to that room and face everything that happened there?
A slender arm, hard as a boy's, went around her shoulders. Jenny blinked back wetness and saw that everyone was looking at her. Audrey was standing silently, her glossy auburn hair shining like copper in the early morning light. Her chestnut eyes were quietly sympathetic. Michael's round face was solemn.
Dee, with her arm still around Jenny, gave a barbaric grin.
"Come on, Tiger. Let's do it," she said.
Jenny let out her breath and tried to grin the same way herself. "Around back. There should be, um, stone steps down to the basement and a back door. If memory serves."