a quick huff of air on the back of her neck, making the hair on her arms stand up. Even the idea of the basement—the shifting rooms, the pervasive smell of death, the echo of her own panicked breathing—felt like a distant childhood delusion. The pool, turned glittery red, had been a copper reaction to the chlorine, of course. Everything that had happened had an explanation, firmly planted in reality, offered up by Aunt Fae or Uncle Stuart and happily gobbled down by Hannah.
Until, of course, Julia had left.
Huck sat, attentive, and she realized it might have been the first time she’d talked freely about Julia. Being here, in this place, in the summer, was disorienting. She tried to remember being in this room with her sister. She tried to remember Julia’s laugh and couldn’t grab hold of it.
Huck stood and kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him, for a moment absorbing his calm, his heft. Sometimes she felt like they were diametrically opposed, and she didn’t know if that balanced them or set them off kilter. He, so measured and governed by routine, careful and sure, offset by Hannah, her insides in a perpetual swirl.
Huck left to walk the woods, take Rink outside to run. The dog had been cooped up first in the car, then in the castle because he’d refused to leave Hannah’s side once they’d let him in. Huck had adopted Rink before Hannah, from a friend—one of the financial men from the bar the night they’d met—who’d married a man with an allergy. Rink was an Irish setter but mixed with something—golden, maybe? His snout was shorter, his coat a shimmery gold instead of deep copper, but long. Rink had the energy of a puppy, even now at eight years old.
Hannah watched them walk away, Huck’s long-legged lope across the flat expanse of green, past the pool, still covered in August, the black plastic collecting debris and leaves. Rink broke into a run, and Huck jogged after him; Hannah could hear his laugh echoing back to her, and she felt swollen with something, puffed up and weepy. His goodness permeated everything around her and always left Hannah feeling guilty, bereft, as though she were undeserving.
She straightened up the kitchen and thought about what to do next. She had to wait for Aunt Fae’s body to be released to the funeral home, and then she could schedule services. Autopsy might take a few days, she’d been told. She’d have to call Fae and Stuart’s lawyer, see about getting access to money to pay for everything. Fae and Stuart weren’t religious, so Hannah assumed she’d want to be cremated, but she wanted to be sure. The business of death was consuming, but it kept her from questioning her mourning. She couldn’t focus on her emotions, or lack thereof, because she had so much to do. It was convenient.
The front bell chimed—a deep, tonal echo throughout the house. Hannah stood to answer the door right as Alice appeared in the kitchen doorway, hesitant and on the verge of tears.
“Alice! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing!” She wiped her eyes. “I just . . . it’s so strange now. I miss her. Stuart knows something’s amiss. He’s out of sorts.”
“Why? What is he doing?” Hannah couldn’t imagine what “out of sorts” meant for a semiconscious man.
“He’s moaning. I upped his morphine drip, but I don’t think it’s pain. I . . . I know what pain looks like on him. He’s trying to talk. He’s upset.”
Hannah was at a loss. The door chimed again. She held her finger up to Alice. “Please don’t leave. Let me just see who this is, okay?”
Alice nodded, and Hannah walked quickly across the living room, through the sitting room, down the hall, and into the foyer. The foyer was grand, stretching all the way to the peak of the roof. Sconces dotted the walls, and an imposing crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room was all deep-colored woods, forest greens, and blues, and it looked as regal as anything Hannah had ever seen. She’d forgotten about the foyer; it was so rarely used.
She opened heavy double doors that moaned under their own weight.
She felt, in an instant, light headed and breathless. Standing on the stone steps was a man she hadn’t seen since he was a boy. Since the night, seventeen years ago, that had altered both their lives. She knew her face registered the same shock she saw in his. He wore jeans