Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wood anemone: A long-stemmed wildflower in the buttercup family with delicate, star-shaped blooms whose musky fragrance foretells misfortune
The very next morning, I awaken to the powdery, animal scent of the forest’s wood anemones slipping through my open window. I sit up, a shiver of foreboding running down my spine. On my phone, there is a text from Donovan.
Call me.
His words seem to vibrate tensely on my phone screen, and I am filled with a sudden surety that he has found out about the party.
I don’t call him.
When I pull open the door to the home and step into the quiet lobby an hour later, Noreen is at her station, her face unusually pale and pinched with worry. She springs to her feet as though she’s been waiting for me.
“He knows, doesn’t he?” I ask, walking toward her.
She blinks. “Who?”
“Donovan. Did he find out about the party?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She bites her lip.
“Noreen,” I say, staring at her. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“It’s—it’s Cynthia,” she tells me, her voice wobbling.
I feel my entire body go very still. “What happened?”
Noreen speaks haltingly, through small sobs. “Yesterday evening… she must have gone for a walk. No one saw her leave. Eva… Eva found her, later. She was in one of the smaller walled gardens.”
The cottage garden. She’d gone out to smell the honeysuckle. I see it in my mind—Cynthia in flowing, pale clothes, walking alone through the flowers. There is no cane in her hand.
“She wasn’t conscious,” Noreen goes on with some effort. “An… an ambulance came for her.”
“Has there been any news since then?”
Noreen shakes her head.
Gully nudges his head below my hand, steadying me. “Is Jill here?” I ask. If anyone knows how Cynthia is doing, it is Jill.
“I think so.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for telling me.” My mind feels full of cotton. I turn and walk slowly toward the back of the home.
“Let me know if you hear anything,” Noreen calls after me.
When I pass the dining room, I see that it is empty and the curtains are drawn.
A heavy stillness grips the room; it looks suspended in amber.
In the sunroom, when I step toward the doors to the terrace, they don’t automatically open.
I look around, but there is no one in sight to help, no one to unlock the door.
I cup my hands to the glass and peer outside, but no one is on the terrace.
My phone begins to buzz. I know who it is before I even look at the screen.
“Lucy,” Donovan says when I answer. Anger boils in his voice. “I assume you’ve heard what happened last night.”
“Is Cynthia okay?” I hear myself ask.
“I spoke with her niece this morning,” Donovan tells me. “Cynthia passed away last night.”
The floor tilts. I lean against the door, my vision blurring. No, I think. No no no no.
In my silence, Donovan goes on angrily. “I warned you about this. If you had listened to me, Ms. Kaminski might be alive today.”
His words are true, and they are poison in my veins.
“Jill is taking a leave of absence from the Oceanview Home,” Donovan says from far away. “If you need anything while you finish up your work, call me. I trust that you are still on schedule to be done by the end of next week?”
Be careful, my mom warned me. Every action has a consequence.
Jack’s car crushed against that tree. His leg… his family…
Cynthia alone in the garden, searching for hope where there was only danger.
I did this. I knew exactly what could happen because it has happened before, and I did it anyway.
A searing sob is stuck in my throat, stealing my air.
I need to leave.
Now.
I turn off my phone without saying another word to Donovan. I break into a jog, hurrying past the silent dining room and through the dark lobby. As I pull open the front door and Gully and I race out toward my truck, I hear Noreen’s thin voice calling after me.
“Lucy, dear? Where are you going? Wait! Oh, Lucy…”