Chapter Eighteen Raine
Chapter Eighteen
Raine
Ever since I was a child, I’d sensed that the dead lingered at Hale House. Generations of loss had scarred the house—and the blood-soaked land beneath it. No renovation would ever change that.
After the orange-red sun had dipped behind the mountains, the sky darkened to ink and the moon struggled against the black. The air shifted, charged. Mom called this the time for fairies and demons.
My headlights carved a single path down the long driveway toward Hale House. Gravel cracked under my tires.
I cut the engine in front of Hale House. Night surged in. Groceries in one hand, phone flashlight in the other, I stepped into the cold air, breathing in the sharp, green scent of boxwoods lining the front.
My collar up, I walked around the side of the house. Moonlight trailed freshly cut grass tunneling a path through tall weeds toward the family cemetery.
Each step forward felt like a funeral march.
My grandfather’s stone marker was the largest in the graveyard.
He’d lived eighty years, and his roots had burrowed deep in the community.
My father’s stone was almost as big, and so was his funeral.
Dad’s legacy had been cut short by a sudden death that had rattled peers only just beginning to reckon with mortality.
My mother’s service had been small. A dozen old friends from before she’d become ill. Most hadn’t seen her in years and were lured here by loyalty.
I gripped the cemetery’s cold wrought iron. Old hinges resisted. After a harder shove, they groaned open. I stepped inside.
That day, Maria, Gabe, Amy, Judson, and Ken had huddled around me as I stood at Mom’s fresh grave. The minister spoke a few words. I didn’t. The service was over almost before it had begun.
Amy hugged me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I patted her on the back. Felt nothing. No grief, sadness, or loss. If anything, just relief. I’d imagined this moment for years. I thought Mom would never pass. And just like that she was gone.
“Thank you,” I said. I turned to the minister and offered more thanks.
“Of course. I admired your parents.” He was in his mid-sixties. Thick white hair. Deep lines around his eyes.
A squeeze of my hand and he walked away.
Amy approached. “Do you want me to stay?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I’d never lived in Hale House alone.
“I don’t mind hanging out for a few more days.” Amy’s hair was a softer blond now, and bangs skimmed her forehead like mine.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” As far as I was concerned, her job here was finished.
Amy looked disappointed but didn’t argue. She had packed up her belongings in an old suitcase I’d given her. She was catching a ride back to town with Gabe. “Okay.”
“Thank you for all your help.”
“Of course. I loved this house. Your mom.”
Maybe true about the house. But Mom had been too difficult for anyone to love this last year.
As Amy walked away, Maria came up to me and handed me a beer. “She looks so much like you. It’s weird.”
I’d noticed the resemblance. But I needed help, and if mimicking me kept Amy on the job, okay.
“From a distance, I can’t tell you two apart,” Maria said.
I took a long swig. “Really?”
Judson, Gabe, and Ken were clustered under an oak tree. They appeared deep in conversation. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Maria had been fixated on Amy since the beginning. “It’s weird.”
“Why do you care?” I asked.
“I worry about you.”
“I’m fine.”
She picked at the label on her beer bottle. “She was into Judson and Gabe.”
“I never saw it.”
“I think Amy and Judson slept together,” Maria said.
My grip tightened around the beer bottle’s neck. Judson and I hadn’t slept together for a month. I missed him. But his focus was zeroed in on the future. My demands for time had only pushed him away.
I glanced at him. As if sensing me, he looked back. Shadows deepened the lines around his eyes. Regret? Sadness? I couldn’t read his expression.
“Who’s saying this?” I asked.
“Everyone.”
Annoyance snapped. “Since when do you care about everyone?”
A shrug. “Hard to ignore.”
“I don’t believe it.” But the picture was painted now. Even if I erased it, the faint outline would always remain.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Maria said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But I hate the whispers. Family has each other’s back.”
“Right.”
“You believe me, don’t you?”
“I need to talk to Judson.”
But I never got the chance. Ken asked Judson for a ride into town. Judson agreed. Amy went with them. No kiss. No touch. Just a glance, and they were gone before I could think what to say.
After Maria and Gabe left, I opened another fresh beer and wandered toward the cemetery. The mound of dirt was still fresh. The large marker already had Mom’s name on it—just needed her date of death.
One day, I’d be here, too.
An owl hooted, shaking me from my memories. I knelt on the grass by my parents’ graves. “Here we are again. Our dysfunctional family back together.”
Now that I was almost thirty-five, the Hale legacy weighed heavier than ever.
“I think about you both. Not every day, but sometimes.” A wind rustled through the trees. “Ever wonder how we’d be now? Maybe a few beers, and we’d be laughing.”
Maybe not.
Fingers traced the cold, smooth headstone. I rose and brushed grass from my jeans.
My gaze followed the cut path back to the house.
The first floor was dark. Upstairs, that random light blinked on again. I waited for it to go out.
It didn’t.
I walked to the back door, paused, and listened for any sound inside. The silence deepened. I opened the door.
The upstairs light trickled down the back staircase. I flipped on the kitchen switch. Nothing. I moved it up and down several times before bulbs flicked on.
I stood at the base of the back staircase. “Hello?”
The light upstairs went out.
Darkness swallowed the silence.