Chapter Forty-One
There’s a window seat in Hayley’s room, with a thick, comfy cushion and throw pillows. It would be the perfect place to curl up and read if she had a book with her and felt like reading.
She does not, but that’s okay.
She likes looking out the window at beautiful gardens flitting with butterflies, the deer that are grazing on the lawn, and the spot in the woods where she saw someone lurking in the dark last night.
She’s concluded that it was probably a ghost or her grandfather, and not a celebrity from a neighboring estate.
Celebrities are super busy at night, going to galas and red-carpet events and posting photos on Instagram.
She looks at the large framed photograph hanging above the dressing table across the room.
It shows a pair of sisters with long ringlets, posed in front of the exact same dressing table, except the one in the picture has a bench in front of it.
Both little girls are wearing high button shoes and frilly dresses with wide ribbon sashes, and the smaller of the two clutches a doll with a painted face.
Hayley asked Kelly about them. She said they lived here back in the eighteen hundreds, part of the Winterfield family, whose portraits are displayed in frames all over the mansion. Maybe they’re the ones who are haunting the woods now.
Or it could be their great-great-great-great—however many greats it is, and whatever relationship she is to them—Caroline.
Glancing out the window again, Hayley sees movement.
Someone is there! Is it—
Oh. It’s only Dad, walking toward the house, back from his run. He’s checking his stats on his watch, and he looks hot and sweaty.
She ducks back from the window, hurries to her bed, and gets under the covers. It’s an impulse. It’s just easier to avoid interacting with her parents today.
Every day, really. But right now, going on a family outing to the beach is the last thing she feels like doing, even if Kelly is there.
She hears her dad coming upstairs, footsteps in the hall. He knocks on her door. “Hayley? Are you up?”
“What?” She makes her voice groggy.
The door opens. “You’re still sleeping?”
“I’m tired.” She rolls over to look at him. He’s in the doorway, holding his phone and a bottle of water.
“Come on. It’s time for the beach. I’m just going to throw on my swimsuit. Mom’s waiting for us.” He wipes his sweaty forehead and gulps some water.
“Just go without me.”
“I can’t leave you here by yourself.”
“You just did,” she points out.
“That’s different. I wasn’t gone long.”
“Dad, this is crazy. I don’t need a babysitter. I am a babysitter, remember? I worked for the Piazzas all summer. They trusted me to take care of their kids! And you and Mom have left me home with Caleb while you run errands.”
“True, but . . .”
Seeing him look at his phone as if he’s thinking of checking with Mom to see if that’s okay with her, she adds, “I just want to relax. I’ll be fine.
It’s not like I’m going to throw a party or sneak out and go anywhere, since I don’t know anyone around here and it’s a million miles from civilization. ”
He smiles at that.
“Come on, Dad. If you make me go, you know I’m just going to be miserable and complain-y.”
And that means you and Mom will be miserable too, she wants to add, but she doesn’t have to. She can tell by the look on his face that he’s imagining it.
“Okay,” he says. “It’s fine. You can stay here by yourself.”