wonder if there used to be an intercom, if the speaker is broken. If pressing the bell did anything at all. I slip my foot out of my sandal and run my big toe up and down against the back of my calf, scratching at one of several mosquito bites that have swelled into itchy red welts, despite my best efforts with bug spray.
Kaylee would laugh if she saw me now. Every summer, no matter what I do, mosquitos flock to me and leave her completely unscathed. I picture her at the beach with Ian, the guy she’s been low-key on-again, off-again with all senior year, packing up their stuff as the sun begins its slow dip toward the ocean. With a swell of guilt, I realize I still haven’t called her. I resolve to pick up the phone soon, no matter what.
Just as I’m debating pressing the bell again or giving up and heading back, the front door swings open, and Caden steps onto the porch. As he walks toward me, I’m surprised to see he’s dressed up. Gone are the jeans and plaid shirt, replaced with pressed khaki slacks, an olive button-down tucked in at the waist, and brown dress shoes. I guess they dress for dinner at Windermere too. As he approaches the gate, I can see him squinting at me through the rails and scrolls. There’s a falter in his step; he must not recognize me from the other night.
“It’s Anna,” I call out. “Paisley’s nanny.”
He keeps walking, then pauses on the other side of the gate, not saying anything in return. His face finally comes into focus, and something unlatches inside my chest. Caden, in daylight. His features are delicate but not sharp. Gentle. Except for his eyebrows, which form two bold brush strokes across his forehead. Beneath them, his eyes are surprisingly hard. They narrow, taking me in, and whatever had come loose inside me before tightens again. Anna in daylight is clearly not what he’d hoped for.
I can feel my cheeks burn red, and realizing he still hasn’t said a word, I hold up the plate of cookies, wondering if I can slide them through the gate and run. “Paisley and I baked,” I offer, cursing the tremble in my voice.
Caden presses something on the other side of the pillar, and the gate creaks and slides on its track, disappearing into a slot in the stone. He motions toward the house with his chin. “Come on.”
As we walk up the drive toward Windermere, cookies still clutched in my hands, I can feel Caden’s eyes trained on my face. I make myself look anywhere but at him. To our left is the pond he mentioned restoring; the lawn around it has been freshly mowed, and there’s a large pile of weeds and debris on the bank closest to the gate. My eyes skate across the lawn up to the house itself, which is still majestic in stature and has not been long enough neglected to have fallen into serious disrepair. If they would bring someone in to hack down the vines and clean up the landscaping, that would be 90 percent of the job, but I keep my lips pressed tightly together. Not my business.
“You look different without your hoodie,” Caden says finally as we near the porch. He pauses, so I pause too, and I make myself turn to face him. We’re both standing on the first step, suspended between the drive and the porch. Our bodies are suddenly close together. I’m in his space, but I didn’t mean to be. I want to take a step back, but can’t decide if that would be even more awkward. Before I can make up my mind, he reaches one hand slowly toward me and gently lifts a dark lock of hair between his fingers. “Raven,” he says.
Above us, I hear a flutter and series of cries, and then I do take a step back, off the stairs, feet returning to the drive. Caden drops his hand and shoves it in his pocket. I look up in time to see a cloud of black feathers lift off from the third-floor balcony, twenty birds or more taking to the sky.
“Ravens,” Caden says again, and I wonder if I misunderstood him the first time. “My mother keeps birds. Parakeets mostly, sometimes canaries. The wild birds can smell the feed; they’re always around.”
There’s something stiff about his voice, his posture. Not at all like the other night, his