“You take care, Miss Howland,” the sheriff said. “If you ever want to talk, you have my number.”
As soon as the sheriff’s cruiser disappeared around the corner, I made a beeline for Nolan’s house. Despite the sheriff’s vague warnings, I had to ask him about the night of the fire. Ten minutes later, I reached his drive and stopped to gape. The previous night, I hadn’t gotten a true sense of the destruction. Every window had been shattered. Without them, Nolan’s house was little more than a shell. Curtains fluttered in the wind while blinds banged against panes lined with jagged glass teeth. The house had seemed safe, but it had been an illusion. All it took was a few rocks to shatter it.
Two trucks were parked side by side in the drive, and a team of construction workers was unloading gear. As I watched from the road, I saw one of the men punch a colleague in the arm and point toward the house next door.
Maisie was standing on her front porch in a silk nightgown and an emerald-green kimono, looking as out of place in Louth as a tropical bird perched atop an iceberg. When she waved me over, I heard whistles of approval from one of the construction workers.
“You’re on camera, assholes,” Maisie shouted at them. “How ’bout I send copies of the security tapes to your wives?”
When I glanced over my shoulder at the men, they’d all turned away to mind their own business.
“Nice work,” I told Maisie once I’d made my way up the steps to her porch.
“Fuck them,” she said. “If you’re looking for Nolan, he hasn’t been back to his house since last night. Come inside and have some coffee. You look like you’re about to freeze to death.”
I gratefully followed her into the house. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but the interior was Instagram-perfect. The walls were painted pale blue and trimmed with dark gray. An antique sofa upholstered in gold velvet sat in front of the living room windows, which framed a view of the icy Hudson. I felt like I’d stepped into a showroom. The furniture looked like it had never been touched.
“Your home is gorgeous,” I said.
“Thanks,” Maisie replied. “I’ll be sure to pass along your praise to our decorator. My mom and I had nothing to do with it. The lady even chose which family pictures to frame.”
She gestured to a photo on the living room wall. It was a typical studio portrait with a mottled gray background. A stunning girl with black braids sat on a fur rug, cradling an infant. The baby stared straight at the camera with such ferocity that I had no trouble identifying her. The mother seemed stunned to find a baby in her arms.
“Wow. Your mom was—” I glanced back at Maisie. The resemblance was remarkable.
“Young?” she offered.
“I was going to say ‘gorgeous,’ ” I told her. “But, yeah. She looks really young, too.”
“She wasn’t even eighteen when that picture was taken. She was two months older than I am when she had me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Were you with Nolan when he passed my mother in town last night?” she asked.
I nodded.
“So you saw her. Or what’s left of her, anyway. They called her a whore when she was our age. Now she’s the town drunk.” Maisie looked back to the portrait and lifted her chin and clenched her jaw as if preparing to take a hit.
“I’m in no position to judge anyone,” I said softly. “I can only imagine how hard it must be for you.”
“Not as hard as it is for her,” Maisie said. She took in a deep breath and forced a smile. “So—want a quick tour?”
I didn’t, but I sensed there was something she wanted to show me. “Sure,” I said.
I followed Maisie upstairs. There were four bedrooms on the second floor. Two looked as though they’d never been entered. I was certain the accent pillows in both were lying right where the decorator had tossed them. A layer of dust made the furnishings appear faintly fuzzy. Spiderwebs clung to the room’s corners, and dead bugs littered the windowsills.
“We can’t get a housekeeper,” Maisie explained when she saw I’d noticed. “No one in Louth wants to work for us. I do all the housework myself, but there’s no way I’m busting my ass in a bunch of rooms we don’t use. Come on,” she said, ushering me down the hall. “I’ll show you where the magic happens.”
Her room faced the river. The view was spectacular, but it was difficult to comment on the décor, since no trace of it could be seen. An enormous closet was literally overflowing. At least six rolling clothes racks crammed with formal wear were positioned around the room. Every piece of furniture had been loaded down with so many dresses, jumpsuits, jeans, and blouses that there was no way to tell what might once have been a desk or a chair. I spotted Chanel, Marni, and Prada labels.
“I don’t know what I’d do without online shopping,” Maisie said, sounding bored.
“Oh my God,” was all I could offer in response.
“I know, right?” Maisie replied. “All dressed up and no place to go.”
I’d visited plenty of rich girls over the years, but I’d never seen a collection of clothing like Maisie’s. Just the items lying on the floor were worth tens of thousands of dollars. Where did she get all the money?
“And over here,” I heard Maisie say, “is a glimpse of my future.” She’d opened the door to the room next door. Her mother lay facedown on a king-sized bed, dressed in the same filthy nightgown she’d been wearing the previous night. “That’s what happens to girls in Louth.”
“Maisie, have you thought about getting your mother some help?” I asked gently.
“Sure. As a matter of fact, I’m working on the root of her problem right now.” Her lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. “But before I get started for the day, I need some coffee. Let’s go back downstairs and have a cup.”
I hadn’t heard a question, so I didn’t bother to answer. I just followed the girl in the emerald-green robe.
“It really is a lovely house,” I said awkwardly as we headed to the kitchen.
“Meh,” Maisie said. “I chose it for the location. Isn’t that what they say? Location is everything?”
“You chose it?” I asked.
“Yep,” Maisie said. “I did everything but sign the papers.” Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “Actually, I did that, too.”
The kitchen appeared to be where the two of them lived. A mound of dirty dishes rose from the sink, and we passed a trash can devoted entirely to bottles. Maisie grabbed a teacup off the kitchen counter, then guided me to a breakfast nook where a pot of coffee was already waiting. The nook’s window looked out at Nolan’s house next door. An army of workers was climbing its walls. It was amazing to think that such an enormous crew had been assembled in only a matter of hours.
“Why were you over there last night?” Maisie asked as she poured coffee into my cup.
“My uncle was out of town and the housekeeper was off. I was hungry and Nolan offered to feed me.”
“Nolan works fast,” Maisie droned.
“I’m not interested in Nolan,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “It wasn’t a date.”
Maisie wasn’t convinced. “You must like him,” she pressed. “You walked all the way here to check up on him.”
“Actually, I came to ask him about something the sheriff mentioned. Did you know Lark was at his house the night of the fire?”
A sly smirk spread across Maisie’s face. “Of course. Who do you think told the sheriff?” she asked. “I saw Lark go in, and I saw her leave in a rush a little while later.”
“Why was she there, do you think?”
“That’s a very good question, isn’t it? If Nolan ever comes back to Louth, you should ask him.”
“You think last night could have scared him away for good?” I asked.
“I was hoping i
t might,” Maisie said. “But it doesn’t seem to have rattled you.”
“I’m different,” I told her. “I have nowhere else to go.” I didn’t want Maisie’s pity—and I couldn’t imagine she wanted mine. After what I’d seen, I knew Maisie wouldn’t judge me. She’d understand. That’s why I told her.
“Doesn’t your mother live in Manhattan?” Maisie asked.
“She won’t let me come back.” I’d never said it out loud, and I was surprised how brutal it sounded.
“And you don’t have a dad?”
“I did,” I said. “But he’s dead. The official story is that he was fucking my aunt and they both died of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Jesus.” Maisie’s tough-girl façade slipped for an instant. I quickly moved on to another subject before I lost my composure.
“Yeah, so after I got kicked out of Manhattan, this was the only place I could go.”
“Why’d you get kicked out of Manhattan?” she asked. “Was it because you were addicted to drugs?”
It felt like a punch in the gut. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
“Your uncle told anyone who would listen about his good deed—inviting you to the inn to help you recover,” Maisie replied.
I found myself at a loss for words. I wasn’t shocked. I was disgusted. What kind of asshole humiliates his own niece to make himself look like a hero? Maisie waited patiently until I was able to respond.
“I’ve been clean for over a year. I got kicked out of town because I hit someone.” It felt good to offer a simple, honest answer to a simple, honest question.
“That’s it?” She didn’t seem to think the punishment fit the crime.
“I punched him several times in the face,” I added. “And when he fell down, I kicked him in the stomach. Too many times to count.”
Maisie and I stared at each other across the table. We both knew that what came next would make all the difference.
“Did he deserve it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her. “He did.”
She didn’t ask what he’d done, and I didn’t need to say it out loud. I knew she believed me. Unlike the mother I’d known my whole life, this girl I’d just met had looked me in the eyes and known I was telling the truth.
“And you’re the one who got sent away. Figures.”
“He’s very rich,” I said. “And I’m what they call ‘troubled.’ ”
“Me too,” she replied.
“I know,” I told her. “That’s why I like you.”
Of all the things I’d said, that was the one that rendered Maisie temporarily speechless. When she looked down at her cup, I think she was trying to keep it together.
“Then listen to me, Bram, and believe me this time when I tell you that Louth is a bad place.”
“I believed you the first time,” I told her. “And the second. I’m still staying. I need to find out what happened to Lark.”
“You might be risking your life,” she said. “Why is it so important to you to find out what happened to a girl you don’t even know?”
I could have sidestepped the question. Instead I answered it. I suddenly wanted her to know everything. “Because Lark and I have a lot in common.”
“Like what?” Maisie asked.
“We’ve both been called crazy,” I told her. “And blamed for things we didn’t do. Neither of our stories is as simple as it’s been made out to be.”
“So, what’s your real story?” Maisie asked.
She was waiting for my answer when loud pounding on the front door made both of us jump. We sat in silence, our eyes focused on the same spot, hoping whoever it was would go away. The pounding began again, only this time louder.
“I’m really sorry. I have to get that.” Maisie groaned as if she were faced with a terrible chore. “He’ll wake my mom if I don’t. Go out the back door. You shouldn’t be here for this. I’ll come find you later.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“The neighbor,” she said. “I’ve been expecting him to turn up all morning.”
“Nolan?” I asked.
“No, his father.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured me. “Trust me—you don’t want Gavin Turner to know that we’re friends. It could make life difficult for you.”
As she headed for the front door, I made a move for the rear exit. But I didn’t leave. I wasn’t going to abandon her to face a grown man on her own.
“Hello, Mr. Turner,” I heard her say in a voice that was dripping with sarcasm.
“May I speak to your mother?” Gavin replied coldly. He obviously didn’t have any desire to talk to Maisie.
“She’s asleep,” Maisie announced. “How may I help you?”
“I came to ask if either of you know anything about the incident last night.”
“I know it woke me up,” Maisie said. “Sounded like quite a party.”
“Do you have any idea who might have been responsible?” Gavin asked.
“Goodness.” I imagined Maisie batting her eyelashes theatrically as she said it. “It could have been half the people in town. I’m not sure if you know this, but your son doesn’t have many friends.”
An awkward pause followed. I would have given anything to see Gavin Turner’s face at that moment. “The security footage showed three young men. If I had to guess, I’d say they were your age.”
“And you’re implying what? That I used my womanly wiles to have them trash your house?” Maisie sneered.
“I’m not implying anything of the sort,” he spat. “I’m trying to protect my son. There was a young woman there last night as well. She could have been injured.”
“Yes, but fortunately someone threw rocks at your house before anything happened.”
“Miss Wilson, I’m not sure what you have against my son, but—”
Maisie cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Stop right there. You’ve got to be out of your mind. You do realize who you’re talking to, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Gavin said. “Do you realize who I am?”
“If you think I’m scared of your money like everyone else in this town, you’ve got another thing coming. You don’t belong here. It’s time for you and your family to pack your bags. In the meantime, get the fuck off my porch,” Maisie said. “Before I have my ‘boyfriends’ come back and drag you off.”
As soon as I heard the front door slam, I slipped out the back.
I slunk away from the house, careful not to be seen. I was disappointed in Maisie and ashamed of myself. I’d assumed she was like me—an ordinary person trapped in a terrible tale. But after eavesdropping on her conversation, I was no longer sure who she was. She obviously knew more about the incident at Nolan’s than she’d let on. I’d been willing to tell her what had happened to me in New York, but she’d kept her own cards close to her chest. I ran back through everything I’d said, wondering just how much I’d revealed.
Even if most of my secrets were safe, it scared me how eager I’d been to share them with a stranger. I don’t think it had ever occurred to me just how lonely I was—how desperately I’d longed for someone who would listen. I should have known better than anyone else that who you tell is just as important as what you tell them. There was only one person I could trust with my story. That’s how I ended up in the cemetery, on a bench by Grace Louth’s empty grave.
I’d read in Grace’s obituary that her parents had built her a marble mausoleum in the style of a Roman temple. There was only one like it in Louth’s graveyard. Peering between the columns, I could see the statue of a girl inside. She was kneeling at the far end of the tomb, her head bowed in sorrow or shame and her face hidden in her hands. The statue was meant to be Grace—but
a much younger version. Grace had been eighteen years old when she’d died, but the statue was of a little girl.
I was struck by her outfit—a pinafore dress. It reminded me of the school uniform I’d worn when I was younger—the same uniform I’d been wearing when I’d discovered my father’s dead body. The uniform I had on when I walked past the scene of his death twice a day, five days a week, for four whole years.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the little girl that I’d been. No one had seen that I was trapped in the worst day of my life. I lived it over and over and over again. If I’d been an adult, I could have escaped from the city and left it all behind. But I was twelve years old. I had nowhere to go. My father had left my mother a fortune to add to the one she already possessed. She had all the money in the world, but she refused to move. A therapist once suggested that it might be better for me if we bought a house on a different street. My mother kept the house and bought a new therapist instead.
Back then, I had the same dream every night. I dreamed about the building where my father had died. As I walked past on my way to school, it would start sinking. Within seconds, the hole would swallow everything around, and I would be standing on the edge of an abyss. I’d look for the bottom, only to realize there wasn’t one. Anything that fell into the hole would keep falling. Then the hole would swallow me, too.
During the day, I was tortured by images I couldn’t bear to describe. They came without warning, and I was powerless to stop them. Then, when I was fifteen, a friend showed up at school with a bottle of pain pills that she’d stolen from her grandmother. A bunch of us swallowed them and went to the park. I didn’t even notice a huge difference at first. The other girls seemed high. I just felt free. That evening, I walked right past the house where my father had died. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until I was at my front door. I’d spent an entire afternoon in the present. Death hadn’t followed me around that day.
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