Evangeline stood buried in the border trees. She’d found the man’s place straightaway, as if she’d been there a thousand times. As if she were coming home.
The night wind sliced into her, and she dug the denim jacket from her pack. As she layered it over her cardigan, the town’s bell tower began to toll. On the ninth and final ring, something soft brushed her lips, tender, hesitant, like the kiss of a shy boy. She swiped a filthy hand across her mouth, the taste of decay seeping onto her tongue. She scanned the lights below. There had to be a home or a shelter less haunted. But where else could she go? Where else did she have the slightest connection? She touched her belly. No. There was nowhere else. There was only here.
She forced herself onward, ignoring blackberry vines that grabbed at her hair. The drive was longer than expected, curving upward in a gentle slant. As she cleared a large cluster of firs, she saw it, a sprawling plain-faced Victorian. The house was dark, no light on in the place, and she found herself wondering if the man were dead in there, if rats were feasting. She thought that because . . . well, that’s how she thought these days.
How stupid she’d been, thinking she could imagine the boys alive and just out of sight. The moment she stepped onto the property, she’d understood that everything there, the grasses and trees, the house and patio, all the rooms inside—each thing knew exactly where the boys were and how they’d last been found.
An ancient tree with twisting limbs stood guard near a large stone patio, and she settled beneath it. She had made a decision: She wouldn’t sneak in. She wouldn’t even knock. No matter how cold or wet or inhospitable the night became, she would huddle alone outside. She would wait as long it took to be found. To be invited in. Her arrival had to appear unplanned. This was crucial. People were suspicious of unwashed girls with plans.
When her eyes adjusted, she saw that the lawn at the far side glowed brighter, as if a room in back were lit. She noticed other things too, like a wraparound porch and a large barbecue on the patio, and her imagination bounded from rotting corpses to lazy afternoon teas and soft breezes, summer evenings filled with the heady scent of burgers on the grill.
She didn’t much like Victorians. Port Furlong was full of them, mostly the tall, narrow type that leered over sidewalks. They made her think of bitter spinsters wearing too-frilly dresses. But this one was okay. Wider and looser, without all the fussy curlicues. It was comfortable-looking despite its grand size.
After studying it awhile, she felt someone watching her. A presence peering from one of the windows on the ground floor. The gaze came from just above the sill, like maybe a little kid was looking out. But the papers said Daniel didn’t have any siblings, and even if he did, no one could possibly see her out there. They certainly couldn’t be staring right into her eyes, which was how it felt. She blinked and the presence was gone, just another window on a huge old house.
She wondered if she should worry about Daniel’s vengeful ghost. Wouldn’t he consider her at least partially to blame? But she dismissed the thought. Daniel knew what he’d done. He wouldn’t want to face her again. Besides, while the living had caused her endless grief, she’d never had the slightest trouble with the dead.
A light came on in the kitchen, and Daniel’s father shuffled in. She knew him right away from his picture in the paper. His gray head thrust forward with effort, as if it were dragging the rest of him, as if he had bowling balls chained to those storklike legs. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic container—probably a casserole some friend had dropped by. People around here did that sort of thing. He fished a spoon out of the sink and began eating the stuff cold and congealed, a duty to be done.
A blustery wind whistled through the trees, sent broken leaves showering over Evangeline. She unrolled a small blanket she’d tied to her pack and wrapped it around herself. She wondered how much cold a body could survive, but she already knew that someone had seen her and wanted her there.
She sat back against the gnarled tree, watching the old man eat at the kitchen sink. And she felt it again, someone in the room next to the kitchen, looking out at her. Looking right into her eyes.