• • •

When was the last time John and Carrie had spent a Saturday afternoon just talking? She couldn’t remember. Her mother had called from Nordstrom, wondering if Carrie preferred short sleeves or long, and John had told Danielle to take her time, not to hurry back, that he was there, and Carrie was fine. Better than fine.

Carrie probably hadn’t spoken this many words since the last double session with Dr. Kenney, months before. Why, she hadn’t spoken this much or listened so hard since those days with Ethan, she thought with a smile, as they ate leftover fajitas for lunch and opened a bottle of Pinot Noir.

She told John what it was like when her father left them and how she had to go straight from school to the restaurant, work until eleven, ride the bus home, and stay up doing her homework until two or three a.m. How she had to set her alarm for five thirty because her mother had already left for the office and the house had to be vacuumed every morning before she left for school, in case someone wanted to come by and look at it. She told John how she was so tired she cheated nearly every day, vacuuming the first floor only, since no one ever did anything messy upstairs, unless you counted an occasional thread dropping from an errant hem. How she had to quit the cheerleading squad because she was so exhausted after studying all night that she fell asleep during practice, head nodding while stretching in a split, waiting for the music to queue up.

She told him about Ethan and how they studied together and ate meals together, even breakfast some days, because she never had any spare time to actually go out on dates. How one night before a big geometry test, she secretly set an alarm before they had sex, allotting him only ten minutes for the task. “But he only needed three minutes!” She laughed, and John laughed too. It felt so good to laugh, Carrie almost forgot to feel guilty.

Her mother came home from the mall and was surprised to find her daughter half drunk and laughing. Danielle put the packages on the counter and kissed Carrie on the cheek.

“I got you a beautiful dress,” she said.

“Oh, good. Thanks, Mom.”

“And some blue napkins and paper plates.”

“Perfect,” Carrie said. “We’re doing everything at the funeral in blue,” she said to John.

He nodded without understanding precisely why. Blue for a boy? Like a baby shower?

“So, Mom, the creepiest thing happened today after you left.”

“Oh no,” Danielle said with dread. She locked eyes with John briefly, but he didn’t look angry. He looked almost as drunk as Carrie did. His hair, a little long in the back and sides, tickling his ears, made him look younger, like when Carrie had first brought him home.

“Remember Mr. Shepherd from our old neighborhood?”

“Of course.”

“He came here today.”

Danielle blinked at her daughter. “Oh no, that couldn’t be. Ralph Shepherd died five years ago, maybe six.”

John’s eyes widened a little, like a door swinging open on a breeze, but not Carrie’s. No, Carrie was learning what she could and couldn’t say, even with her eyes.

Without missing a beat, she said, “Well, it sure looked like him. Maybe he had a brother?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, whoever he was, he attacked Carrie,” John said. “I tackled him, but he ran away before I got a good look at him.”

“Good God, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Carrie said. “Just a little shaken up.”

Danielle looked at both of them, blinking, suddenly seized with comprehension. The things John worried about were the wrong things—Carrie’s mental state, her seeing things. The things she had worried about were wrong too—the dress, the arrangements, the food. She felt both a deep sense of shame and an utter call to arms. She could fix this!

“Where’s your phone book, Carrie?”

An electric current ran up Carrie’s spine, remembering the book’s call to her, its warning. Its curse, really.

“It’s…out in the recycling bin. Why, Mom?”

“Because I’m going to call an alarm company.” She sighed. “We’re going to make this place secure and safe for you, Carrie. For you both. Once and for all.”

John blinked back at her. He had enlisted Libby and the neighbors and his mother-in-law to help—he should have known that a woman couldn’t protect another woman from a man.

“I can’t remember the name of the one I used to recommend all the time,” she continued. “But if I see their ad in the Yellow Pages with that old photo of a man in armor, I’ll recognize it straight off. They’ll remember me and come out right away.” Danielle walked toward the door, shaking her head. “This was always such a safe, welcoming hometown,” she exclaimed.

Carrie frowned. Had it been? Safe, maybe, but welcoming? She didn’t remember her mother having friends on their block, getting together for a drink or a coffee klatch.

Danielle went outside and came back brandishing the book in the air like it was the Bible. She sat down at the kitchen table and started thumbing through it. “And I thought Florida was full of crazies.” She sighed.

“I tried to convince her,” John said softly. “I got estimates and everything afterward.”

But they’d fought over it, Carrie refusing, screaming, anguished. She’d believed the lack of impediment—no alarm, no gate—had facilitated Ben’s return. And she’d failed to understand that John had only been trying, once they had Ben back, to keep him there. To lock him in for good. And when he’d said to her, gently he’d thought, “Carrie, you can’t rely on faith to keep you safe,” how she’d turned away from him, as if he’d impugned her character and not just her habit of prayer. But she couldn’t argue anymore. This latest episode was proof that she was unsafe and unlucky.

Carrie started to clear their plates. As she passed her husband, she reached up and tucked a shaggy lock of hair behind one of John’s ears. He needed a haircut before the funeral, and she was sure if she said something, her mother would find someone who could do that too.