Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
Taylor is in the shower later, and I’m working on unpacking some of the boxes in the living room when my phone rings.
I set down the photo album I’m holding and hurry across the room, expecting Aunt Lydia to be calling me back.
Instead, it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hello, may I speak to Corinne Wilde, please?”
“Speaking.” What is it about that introduction that always makes my shoulders tense?
“Ma’am, this is Alison with Franklin Connections on a recorded line. I’m calling because we received your request to move your installation up?”
“Oh.” Relief bubbles in my stomach. “Yes. Right.”
“We’re not able to get you in today, but it does look like we might have time to have one of our technicians out there tomorrow.
The only problem is that they’d be squeezing you in if one of their appointments finishes up early, so we wouldn’t be able to give you an arrival window.
We’d need someone over the age of eighteen to be available all day.
Is that something you’re interested in?”
“Um, yes. That would be okay. That’s amazing, actually. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We do charge an eighty-dollar service fee for priority service, on top of the ninety-nine-dollar fee for your installation. We require you to pay the priority fee up front. Will you authorize me to charge the card on file with us?”
I swallow. I don’t have eighty extra dollars, not really. My accounts are basically drained after the divorce. What’s in there has to last us until I turn in my next manuscript to my editor.
I glance toward the bathroom as I hear the shower shut off and think of Taylor. She doesn’t even have a working computer right now, but she still needs Wi-Fi for her phone.
It’s the only chance I have of making her happy here. Of convincing her to stay.
I’ll have to make it work.
“Yes, of course. That’s fine.”
“Excellent. You’ll receive an email confirmation of your payment and instructions for your installation appointment tomorrow.
As a reminder, your technician can arrive any time between eight and five, and your appointment is scheduled to take up to an hour.
You’ll get a text when your tech is on the way.
Do you have any other questions for me at this time? ”
“Nope, that was it. Thank you.”
I end the call just as Taylor steps out into the hallway. She looks over at me. “Were you talking to me?”
“No.” I lock my phone. “That was the internet company. They’ll be out here tomorrow to get us up and running.”
Her eyes light up, and that’s all it takes for me to know it’s all worth it. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s about time.” She turns away from me, disappearing into her bedroom.
I sigh. I know I should say something about her attitude, but there’s a sense of helplessness that set in the moment I signed the divorce papers.
A realization that she could leave me, if she wanted to.
That she’s only a few months away from leaving me anyway.
I just want her to feel at home here, whatever it takes.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down.
“Aunt Lydia.”
Her voice is soft in my ear. “Hey, honey. Sorry, I had to run to town, but I just had a chance to look at your picture.”
“And? Do you recognize the little girl?”
She sighs. “I do. I recognize both of ’em, but, honey, it’s not you in that photo. It’s your mom.”
“What?” We look just alike, if so. “Are you sure?”
“Couldn’t be more positive. And that little girl…” She pauses. “It’s your aunt Violet.”
Impossible.
“What?”
“Your mom’s sister.”
“My mom doesn’t have a sister.”
“Vi was just a baby when she disappeared. Your grandma didn’t talk about her much after…
It was too hard. Especially with your grandpa having passed just a few weeks earlier.
It was a lot for Hazel’s heart to carry all at once.
But Violet existed. I should say I’m surprised your mom didn’t tell you about her, but I guess I’m not. They were so young.”
I pause, processing. “You’re telling me I have an aunt who…disappeared? Died? What?”
“Well, far as I know, we never got answers. She was only one, I think—maybe two—when she disappeared. So right around when that picture was taken. The police came in and did a whole investigation. I was stationed in Arizona then, but I took leave and came home a few months after it happened. Your great-aunt Marie came into town, too. Your grandmother was a mess, as you can imagine. It shook the whole family, you know? And, well, they questioned a bunch of the people in town and all your family’s acquaintances, but nothing ever came of it. ”
“And they just, what, gave up on her?” Something cold slithers through my stomach.
“Well, not so much gave up on her as lost hope. It was too hard on your grandma to talk about. Too hard on all of us. Doesn’t mean we didn’t miss her, or think about her, but…
she was gone. Wasn’t anything any of us could do about it once the police gave up.
Case turned cold, or whatever they call it.
They seemed to think she’d fallen into the creek, and if that was the case, there was no telling where she ended up. ”
I shiver as if I’m the one in the icy cold water. I’m not sure what to make of this story. It feels impossible that this entire person was once part of our family, and I’ve never even heard her name.
“I, um…” I clear my throat. “What do you think happened to her?”
She’s quiet for a while. Almost too long.
But eventually, her answer comes. “If I had to say, I guess I agree with the police. Those woods are perfect for exploring, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.
It would be easy for a child to get lost, to slip and fall into the water or into a small ravine.
I think she and your mother were out there playing and she fell. ”
“Do you think Mom remembers it?”
She sniffles. “Now? No. But then…it’s possible she knew what happened without realizing what it meant.
She was just a baby, too. So young. Your grandparents were always comfortable with the woods—they let those girls play outside all day, every day—but that doesn’t mean they were safe.
Your grandma told me the police asked your mom about it, of course.
Like your grandmother did, but she claimed not to know.
If she was around when she fell or slipped, or whatever it was, I’m sure she was terrified she’d be in trouble. ”
I press my lips together. The fact that such an unspeakable horror is just a casual part of our family’s history makes me feel ill.
“Is that all you needed, honey? The weather’s about to come on, and I want to see how it’s looking for tomorrow.”
“Oh. Um, yeah. That was it,” I tell her. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, talk to you later, okay?”
“Anytime you want,” she promises, then ends the call.
I drop my phone on the couch, staring blankly in horror at all that I just learned.
It feels impossible. This place seems colder now.
Those woods—the woods where they let me play as a child without a word of warning or, seemingly, a care about what might’ve happened to me—no longer feel like a place of solace.
The trees here witnessed what happened. The dirt, the water. They know.
The earth here knows the truth, but we never will.
I want to call Mom, to ask her about it and why she never bothered to tell me, but what would I even say?
I know you aren’t talking to me because I skipped your wedding and got divorced instead, but what about your dead sister? Why didn’t you think I should know about her?
Doesn’t she ever wonder about her? Does she miss her on her birthday? Does the day she went missing haunt her each year? And, if any of that is true, how did she manage to hide it from me so completely? Why would she?
Anger and sadness wash over me like waves, competing with the settled, older, and wiser devastation and fury that have been there for months already. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore—what happened here, what Mom is hiding from me.
Eventually, she’ll come around. For now, I have to protect my daughter. Taylor deserves all of me. She deserves for me to make Foxglove the magical refuge I know it can be.
I have to forget about what happened here and focus on the future.
When I open my eyes, the house is dark. It takes a few seconds for me to orient myself and remember where I am and why. Foxglove has a distinct scent—damp, floral, and earthy—that brings me back to reality before anything else.
I sit up on the couch, my shoulders and neck stiff. I can’t get my bedroom set up quickly enough. I didn’t think it was worth it to bring my mattress back into the living room again for just myself, but another night on the couch might just be the death of me.
I rub my eyes, checking the time. It’s nearly two in the morning.
I roll the predicament around in my mind.
Should I try to go back to sleep or make my way into the bedroom and move my things around to make space for the mattress on the floor?
I definitely don’t have time to put my bed frame together, which is what I should’ve done in the first place, but it’s currently buried behind boxes.
With a stretch, I stand.
Then…freeze.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I turn my head toward the sound I just heard.
It’s the sound of the doorknob. Across the living room, someone is turning the knob at the front door, rattling the metal handle. Is that what woke me up in the first place?
With the lock freshly changed, there’s no chance anyone has the key.
Unless I didn’t lock it after dinner.
My throat constricts as I recall the evening, trying to decide my best course of action.
Phone in hand, I take a cautious step toward the door.
I could call 911 right now, but it would be half an hour before they’d get to me.
I grab an iron fire poker from the stand next to the stone fireplace.
It’s old, but heavy. Its handle is ornate, with loops and swirls that settle into my palm easily, giving me a good grip.
I lift it as I move closer to the door, then, all at once, I flip on the porch light.
My breathing catches as I wait to see what they’ll do. They know they’re caught. That this home isn’t empty anymore.
Seconds later, the doorknob rattles again. Whoever it is, they aren’t leaving.