Chris’s hands were heavy on Augusta’s shoulders, and everything was dark. “Where are we going?” she asked him for the hundredth time.
Behind her, Chris guided her down the apartment building steps and outside. When she’d come home that evening, he’d instructed her to put on a blindfold and prepare to be surprised. It was so out of character for him that she had been immediately suspicious. Was he playing some sort of joke on her? Or had Doug gone on one of his redecorating rampages and Chris was afraid to let her see? But now, as he helped her navigate the stairs, she could practically feel him vibrating with excitement.
“You’ll see,” he said. A few more steps in the darkness and they came to a stop. “Okay...open them!”
Augusta fumbled to remove the blindfold, and then blinked against the late evening light. They were standing in front of the apartment, facing the street. All that she saw were the usual things: parked cars, kids kicking a soccer ball in the park across the street, tomorrow’s trash sitting in garbage bags on the curb. “What exactly am I looking at?”
Grinning, Chris pointed. “Right there.”
She followed his finger. Parked right in front of her was a forest green station wagon. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a car. For you.”
“You...you got me a car?” Chris didn’t get her things. Or rather, he didn’t make grand gestures. Early on in their relationship he’d gotten her flowers a couple of times, and occasionally they exchanged presents for the holidays, though never anything too pricey. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. He’d gotten her a car. Granted, it was a little dinged up and looked to be at least ten years old, but it was a car. No more early morning bus trips to work, no more being dependent on other people to get around. Tears stung her eyes.
“Do you like it?” Chris asked, apprehension in his voice. “I know it’s not brand-new or anything fancy, but now you won’t have to take the bus to work anymore. It’s all paid off, you just have to get insurance and keep the tank full.”
She nodded, unable to speak. All those times she’d questioned if she and Chris were meant to be together faded away. He wasn’t good at telling her how he felt, but he was showing her now, and that was all that mattered.
The next day, Augusta woke up feeling light, optimistic. Abundant sunshine poured through the windows, and a crisp blue sky promised a picture-perfect autumn day.
“We should go somewhere today—I want to try out my new car,” she told Chris over breakfast. “I was thinking we could go apple picking or visit that new pumpkin patch in Danvers. There’s that little breakfast place right down the street.”
Chris barely glanced up from his phone. “I think Doug and Gemma were planning on going for a hike. There’s a cool abandoned settlement right outside of Tynemouth with tons of trails. Might be fun? Besides,” he said, finally looking up and patting his nonexistent belly, “we could use the exercise.”
Augusta deflated. She didn’t have the greatest relationship with Gemma, and her relationship with hiking and the great outdoors even less so. Gemma had gone to school with Doug and worked with Chris, so every time they all got together, she, Chris and Doug all talked about stuff that Augusta had no knowledge of, or interest in. But if she didn’t go it would mean Chris would just go without her, and she would be the odd one out later when they all came back.
So that’s how she found herself behind the wheel of her new car, headed to Tynemouth on a Saturday, Chris in the passenger seat, and Gemma and Doug in the back.
They pulled into a gravel parking lot and parked among a handful of other cars. Dog walkers congregated and chatted at the trailhead, and a couple carried a kayak under their arms as they walked toward a sign for a portage. Stepping out of the car, Gemma stretched, her crop top riding up and showing off a generous breadth of creamy skin. Tall, dark-haired, with the statuesque body of a model, she was Augusta’s polar opposite. Jealousy wasn’t an attractive quality, Chris had told her on more than one occasion, but it was hard not to be jealous, especially when Gemma and Chris spent so much time together at work.
Doug was tucking his pant legs into his socks, even though Chris had assured him it was too late in the year for ticks. Augusta surveyed the area. The landscape looked mercifully flat, just the usual rocky New England terrain. Chris, sensing Augusta’s relief, patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a really easy hike—you shouldn’t have any problems.”
Biting back a scowl, she retied her tennis shoes and adjusted her thin socks. The group set out, Doug and Gemma laughing and chatting as they led the way, and Chris hanging back with Augusta.
The brilliant autumn forest welcomed them with gently swaying branches and an abundance of chatty birds and quarrelsome squirrels. Aside from the occasional stone foundation, overgrown and decaying back into the earth, no one would have ever known that it must have once been a bustling little settlement. Faded wooden plaques marked the trail loop’s miles and provided some sporadic information about the ruins. Despite the lack of hills and the cool, pleasant weather, about half an hour in, sweat started to slick her back, her leg muscles burning. Why exactly did people think hiking was anything other than an exercise in self-inflicted torture? Nature was meant to be enjoyed from a picnic blanket or well-lit patio with lots of cold drinks and easy access to indoor plumbing.
Chris had gradually caught up with Doug and, ahead of her, the sound of the group’s movement and laughter carried through branches. Bringing up the rear at least meant that she could ignore how small she felt when everyone else talked about video games or computer stuff she didn’t fully understand.
She’d just lost sight of Gemma’s bright pink leggings when the coffee she’d had on the drive hit her. God, if there was one thing worse than walking in nature, it was having to pee in nature. There had been a highly suspect port-a-potty back in the parking lot, but she wasn’t that desperate. Better to risk a few moments of exposure than whatever lurked in an unmaintained port-a-potty. She called for the group to wait up, but the wind carried her words away, and she didn’t feel like running over the uneven trail just to catch up and announce that she had to pee. With one more glance at where she’d last seen the group, she plunged off the trail in search of a private spot. With any luck, she’d be able to catch up to everyone else afterward.
Bladder finally, blessedly empty, Augusta took stock of the thick woods where she found herself. Above her, the orange canopy danced and flickered in a sudden rush of wind. Lifting her ponytail, Augusta let the cool air skim across her neck, grateful for the few moments of rest from the hike. It was only when she was ready to get going again that she realized she had no idea which direction she was supposed to be facing. Her sense of modesty had led her so deep into the underbrush that she had completely lost her bearings. By now she’d been separated from the group for at least five minutes. Had Chris even realized that she wasn’t with them anymore? She checked her phone, but she had no messages, and no reception.
Despite the abundant daylight and the sound of a dog barking not too far away, her body tightened with panic. What if she’d somehow stepped onto the wrong trail and couldn’t find her way back? What if she was still lost by nightfall? What if she wandered onto someone’s private property and was shot for trespassing? This was why sane people didn’t go into the woods for fun. She and Chris should have been at the apple orchard, enjoying a cup of fresh cider and taking photos of the scenery from the comfort of a picnic bench.
The sun slid behind a clutch of clouds and a chill raced across her skin. If not for the distant hum of traffic, she might have been the only person in the world. Except that she had a very real sense that she was not alone in this dense pocket of woods. Her neck prickled. It wasn’t that she felt like she was being watched, it was as if she were the one intruding. A thousand spirits seemed to crowd the air, pressing around her, making it known that she was on hallowed ground. What was it about this place, about Tynemouth in general, that seemed to speak to her?
One more gust of wind was all it took to send her blindly scrambling, hoping that she ended up on the right path. Every sinister tree and jutting rock looked the same, and her head spun as she tried to regain her bearings. Eventually the trees thinned, and sunlight began to peek through the clouds. A jumbled pile of rocks told her that she was at least back near the ruins, and, not wanting to risk getting turned around any further, plopped herself down to wait, her heart still beating fast. Chris and the others would realize soon that she wasn’t lagging behind—if they hadn’t already—and come looking for her. In the meantime, at least she could rest, give her pulse a chance to slow. Closing her eyes, she let the sounds and sensations of the natural world weave and swirl around her. The foreboding atmosphere had faded, a sense of serenity washing over her. Birdsong crisscrossed above her like far-flung telephone wires. Layers of scent—earthy dead leaves and sun-warmed stones—rose like baking bread.
The sound of approaching footsteps and voices pulled her from her reverie, and a shadow passed over her closed eyes. When she opened them, she found Chris, Gemma and Doug standing over her, all wearing equal expressions of concern. How long had she been sleeping? What had come over her that suddenly the woods felt so unthreatening that she could actually fall asleep?
“Look at Mother Nature over here,” Chris said, helping her to her feet. “We were wondering where you were.”
Clearly, they hadn’t wondered enough to actually come looking for her. “I had to go to the bathroom and I got turned around,” she told him as she brushed dead leaves and dirt off her pants. “Didn’t you notice I wasn’t with you guys anymore?”
Gemma flicked her long ponytail back, surveying her with detached scorn. “You’re like, two minutes away from the parking lot,” she said, pointing to where Augusta could just make out the tops of a couple of cars.
Gemma’s attitude would have usually left Augusta mumbling with burning cheeks, but after the surreal experience of getting lost, panicking and then slipping into a meditative state, wasting her energy on Gemma felt like less of a priority. She’d started the day ambivalent about having to spend time in nature, but as she slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, she was inexplicably sorry for having to leave behind the woods, and the secretive wind that blew through it.
Do not think that because I have no corporeal form that I am completely divorced from the goings-on of the present day. If you have ever hastened home ahead of an approaching storm, then you know that the energy hanging in the air is as real as the lightning that follows.
Tethered to my home as I am, I can only see that which transpires inside the house. Yet all the same I know that she has been to the woods, trod over the rocky ground where once my secret cabin stood. Do not ask me how I know; it is the same way that birds know to fly south, the same way that a fox can pick up a scent on the wind. How I envy her freedom to come and go, to sit among the craggy rocks and lichen-painted trees. All the same, I am glad she feels called, because I have more to show her. So much more.
The next week Augusta disarmed the alarm system and let herself into the back door of Harlowe House. After nearly a month, she was feeling more at home at her new job, and even though she didn’t need to get up at the crack of dawn anymore to take the bus, she still came in early. She liked the mornings when she had the house to herself before the rest of the staff arrived. It was quiet, and she was able to listen to her music while she worked.
After dropping her stuff in the kitchen, she sat down at her desk and got out the binder of the Harlowes’ collection. The community outreach guy from the Boston office was coming by later that day, and Jill said that he’d be looking for some objects to showcase in their summer exhibit.
Augusta flipped through the collection catalog and sipped her tea, the sounds of the old house filling the silence around her.
But there was one sound that was out of place. She lifted her head, trying to isolate it. Over the hum of the air purifier and the muffled car traffic outside, she could hear someone walking downstairs. It couldn’t be Jill or Reggie because the door sensor hadn’t gone off, and it definitely wasn’t the guy from Boston because Jill had said he didn’t have the code and would need to be let in. The tour guides didn’t have codes either, and anyway, the house was closed to tours today. If someone had broken in the alarm should have gone off, shouldn’t it? She reached for her phone, the hairs on her neck standing up.
Her instinct was to sit as still as possible and not make a sound, but she was responsible for this house now. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do if she came face-to-face with an ax murderer, but she had to do something. As quietly as she could—which wasn’t easy given the old, creaky floorboards—she stood up and made her way to the office door. Pausing, she listened again for the footsteps.
Nothing.
If there was someone else in the house, perhaps they’d heard her and stopped moving. Reggie’s words about the creaks and sounds an old house made came to mind, but this didn’t sound like the natural settling of an old structure. This was the sound of very deliberate movement.
She was just about to call Jill when the door sensor went off and she heard Jill herself come in, talking on her phone and dropping her bag in the kitchen. Letting out a giant sigh of relief, Augusta grabbed her mug and went down to meet her.
When Jill saw her, she waved and motioned to indicate that she would be off the phone in a minute. After she’d hung up, she gave Augusta an apologetic smile. “Hey, sorry about that. Our water boiler broke last night and I’m trying to get a repair guy scheduled.” She paused, studying Augusta’s face. “Are you okay? You look a little green.”
“Oh, yeah.” Augusta was about to tell her about the footsteps, but something stopped her. Had she really heard anything? Jill had said they had a resident ghost, but Augusta didn’t really believe that was anything more than a cute way of explaining the phenomena common in old houses. More likely it just had been the house settling, or even another episode like her first day when she’d had that hallucination. “Just had a late night,” she said, with a forced shrug.
Jill didn’t look convinced, but before she could say anything, Reggie popped his head in. “Doughnuts?” He flipped open a box, revealing a tempting array of doughnuts, crullers and sticky buns.
Jill took a chocolate one. “Oh, God, why do you do this to me, Reg?”
He grinned, then offered the box to Augusta. She forced herself to shake her head, even though they looked mouthwatering. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“More for me,” he said with a wink, grabbing two. “If you ladies need anything, I’ll be out back.”
Augusta returned to her desk, forcing herself to ignore the rumble of her stomach. Jill was across the hall, the reassuring sound of her classical music floating from her half-closed door. A text from Chris lit up Augusta’s phone, asking what she wanted for dinner that night. Things had been good between her and Chris the last couple of weeks since the car, yet she still felt restless, anxious. It was probably just from the new job, getting used to her new schedule. At least, that’s what she told herself. She was afraid that if she examined her feelings too deeply, she might find that there was truly something wrong in her relationship, and if that was the case, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
Flipping open the collection catalog of jewelry, Augusta quickly lost herself in the glossy pictures of precious stones, gold stickpins and all sorts of treasures. Jill had told her that the theme for the upcoming exhibit was “personal adornment by the sea,” and Augusta had already identified five objects from the collection that would perfectly complement the pieces that local artists would be displaying.
She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear Jill’s music stop or the light knock until Jill was in the doorway.
“Hey, Augusta,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt. Is this a good time?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Shoving a bookmark in the catalog, Augusta looked up and realized there was someone with Jill.
“This is Leo,” Jill said, gesturing to the fair-skinned thirtysomething guy next to her. “He does all our community outreach and public programming.”
Augusta had never really understood the meaning behind the phrase “boy next door” before, but seeing the young, clean-cut man with the chestnut hair and easy smile, suddenly she got it. If this guy had lived next door to her growing up, Augusta would have never moved out of her parents’ place.
Augusta smiled and stood to shake his hand, trying not to focus on how absurdly cute he was. “Hey, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he said, his handshake firm, his smile warm and genuine. “I know Jill is excited to have you here.”
Augusta was about to respond when Jill’s phone rang. “It’s the repair guy calling back,” Jill said, glancing at the screen. “I have to take this, but you guys can get started without me. Hello?”
She left the two of them, and suddenly Augusta felt awkward in the small office alone with a stranger. But Leo didn’t seem to notice. “Should we go down to the ballroom where we can spread out?”
“Let me just grab my notebook,” she said, grateful for the chance to compose herself. As she followed Leo, she instantly felt like a creep for noticing the way the rolled sleeves of his black button-down showed off lean, muscular arms. She also couldn’t help but feel preemptively guilty about being alone with a good-looking guy, like somehow Chris would find out and grill her on every aspect of their interaction. That was silly, though, she reminded herself. She was an adult and she was doing her job. That was all. She had seen attractive people before; this wasn’t some new phenomenon. Professional, Augusta. You’re a professional. And you’re not single.
The ballroom was in between exhibits at the moment, and Jill and Sharon had been busy pinning up photos, trying out paint swatches and all the other things that went into the planning of an exhibit. It looked like Leo had been helping before he’d come up to meet Augusta, and his laptop was open on the floor, books and binders piled up next to it.
“Hold on,” he said, jumping up and pulling out a folding chair from the corner.
“Thanks.” Augusta perched on the chair while Leo grabbed a stool and pulled it up close enough that she could smell the clean scent of his bodywash.
He looked at her with that disarmingly genuine smile again. “So, how are you liking it at Harlowe so far?”
“I love it,” she said, shifting slightly in her seat, aware of how close they were even in the large room. “Everyone has been so welcoming, and the house is amazing.”
“Isn’t it? The Boston office is nice, but I love the days when I get to come to Harlowe. It’s like stepping back in time.”
Leo was one of those charismatic people who probably made every woman in the world feel like she was the only woman in the world when she spoke. His frank gaze never left her face, his head tilted in consideration. Why was Augusta so tongue-tied? She was an adult, a professional adult, but she suddenly felt as if she were an awkward teen again, blushing from the attention of one of the popular guys. “I’m glad to be here,” she said weakly.
“So, what do you have for me?”
“Right,” she said, snapping out of it. “Jill told me that they’re exploring ‘personal adornment.’ I wanted to get a good cross section of what people at Harlowe House would have worn, but also other people in the town who weren’t upper class.” She opened her folder and pulled out the catalog listings for the objects she’d chosen and handed them to Leo.
He leafed through them, nodding occasionally. Then he looked up and flashed her a brilliant, lopsided smile. “These are great, really great. I like that you’ve gone outside of just the obvious stuff like jewelry and accessories.”
She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled. She knew that they wouldn’t necessarily incorporate all her choices, but she was proud of the work and thought she had put into it.
The more her excitement about the exhibit grew, the more relaxed she became. “Jill has mentioned that an Irish maid worked here in the 1870s or 1880s—do you think we could find something of hers? It would be cool if we could have some immigrants represented, too.”
Leo nodded, typing something into his laptop without looking up. “Yeah, definitely. I’m not sure if they have anything that belonged to her—that’s more Jill or Sharon’s wheelhouse, but I like the immigration angle. Definitely worth asking about.”
Augusta scribbled some notes down herself, her mind whirring with ideas. Leo was likewise absorbed in typing, so she took advantage of the moment and let herself finally really study him. His face might have been all softly squared angles and gentle demeanor, but there was a hardness, a guardedness that manifested at the corners of his gray eyes. Was there more to the boy next door than just his good looks and easy manner? Well, even if there was, it certainly wasn’t Augusta’s place to investigate it further.
After a few moments of quietly working, Leo suddenly sat back and raked his hands through his hair. “No, no, no,” he muttered, frantically hammering the keys on his laptop. “Oh, fuck me,” he cursed under his breath.
Augusta swallowed. “Sorry?”
“Shit, sorry,” he said, briefly glancing at her before mashing the keys again. “This computer is the bane of my existence. It just crashed on me and I think I lost all my notes.”
“Can I see it?” Augusta asked before she could stop herself.
He looked dubious, but he stood up and handed her the laptop. “Be my guest.”
Augusta forced it to reboot and got it to start up in safe mode. “Can you type in your password?”
He leaned over her shoulder, so close that his sleeve brushed her arm, sending heat racing through her. She looked away while he typed.
When he was done, she quickly scanned his recent documents. “Your files aren’t lost,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief as if they had been hers. “You just have to go into recovery and save them as new files.”
He was looking at her as if she was Prometheus bringing fire to humanity. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”
It was a simple fix and she was surprised he didn’t know how to do it, but was pleased with herself all the same. If nothing else, living with Chris and his brother had taught her more than she ever needed to know about computers.
“It’s really nothing, I can show you what to do if it happens again.” In an effort to stop the blush she could feel blooming on her cheeks, she changed the subject. “So how long have you been working at Harlowe?”
“Let’s see, about four years now. I started in education, but then they merged that with public outreach so I’ve been in this role for the last two years. What about you? Where are you coming from?”
She told him about her last job, and how draining it was to give the same tour day after day. He nodded encouragingly when she told him about her goal of someday becoming head curator of a historic house museum. Leo was easy to talk to, and before she knew it, the light was fading outside the windows.
They started packing up. She saw a text from Jill, explaining that she wouldn’t be back in for the rest of the day and could Augusta forward her the notes Leo and Augusta had taken.
“So, hey,” Leo said, sliding his laptop into his shoulder bag, “I don’t know what your lunch hours look like, but what would you think about going out to grab a coffee sometime later in the week? We could chat more about your exhibit and I can give you all the dirt on Harlowe that Jill and Sharon won’t tell you.”
Augusta froze. Was he asking her out? Should she tell him that she had a boyfriend? No, of course he wasn’t asking her out. He wanted to get some coffee with her during work hours and talk about work stuff. But then, what would she tell Chris? She hated lying to him by omission, but she also knew that he wouldn’t like her going out with a guy, even if it was just for work.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said quickly, at her hesitation.
“No, no,” she hurried to reassure him. “Coffee sounds good.”
“Great,” he said, smiling and holding her gaze. “Looking forward to it.”
After she’d helped him pack up and locked the door behind him, she couldn’t help but feel she should have mentioned Chris. If it was no big deal, then why did she feel like she was hiding something?