Once again she saw in her mind the faces of the Linton girls and then the face of their father. She saw him flinching reflexively when his plane flew into a cloud of geese. And, finally, she thought of the geese themselves, rising up from a marsh or inlet or patch of swampy soil and flying thousands of feet into the air only to collide with a jet plane. One of the other women in a group she had joined before retreating to New Hampshire had had an eagle for a power animal. But no one, as far as Reseda knew, had ever had a goose. She wondered if those geese had been part of a plan. Had they been sent? Had there been a reason for the sacrifice of the thirty-nine passengers aboard the aircraft?
She resolved she would watch the twins more attentively and she would wait. Unlike the family of the correctional superintendent, she doubted the Lintons were going anywhere soon.
O ccasionally, you recall the unsolicited comments that passengers would offer as they boarded the plane and you were in the midst of your preflight checklist. There was that exchange with a Southern belle as you prepared to lift off from Charlotte. She was a blond debutante, attractive and slim at middle age, and she stood beside the flight attendant, her elegant Burberry carry-on bouncing against her tanned knee and the edge of the galley.
“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” she asked, peering into the flight deck, her Southern accent emphasizing each and every d .
“I do,” you said.
“I hope so. I have four children at home,” she told you, and you were struck by the way she had managed to lose all that weight four times. “And I want to make sure we get there safely. So you all be sure and tell me if you need any help, okay?”
You had to ask: “Are you a pilot?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head and smiling. “But I am a very fast learner.”
When you arrived in Philadelphia, she again peered into the flight deck as she was exiting the aircraft. “Thank you,” she said, “well done.” Then she gave you a thumbs-up.
E mily was leaning aimlessly against the counter at the diner on the main street in Littleton. It was lunchtime, and she had ordered a grilled cheese and tomato soup-comfort food in her opinion, even when one was nearing forty-that she was planning to bring back to her office. She would eat at her desk and work.
“Are you Emily Linton?”
She turned and saw before her an attractive woman somewhere around fifty. The stranger had ash blond hair that was cut short and a lovely, aquiline nose. She was wearing a down overcoat that fell to mid-shin and leather boots stained white from salt on the sidewalk.
“I am,” she said.
“I’m Becky Davis,” the woman said, pulling off a leather glove and extending her hand to Emily. She smiled, but Emily could sense that she was a little wary. “Do you have a second?”
Emily glanced at the rectangular cutout in the wall behind the counter and peered into the chaos in the kitchen and the plates lined up on the brushed metal sill. It didn’t look like her grilled cheese was up. “Sure,” she said.
Becky studied the patrons in the diner-mostly senior citizens and mostly men in green John Deere ball caps-and seemed to be considering where they should talk. Then she spied an empty booth not far from where they were standing and motioned toward it.
“I really can’t stay,” Emily said. “I was planning to bring my sandwich back to my office and work through lunch.”
“Oh, I have work to do, too,” Becky told her, and she slid onto the red leather cushion. Reluctantly Emily sat across from her. She couldn’t decide whether she was about to get an earful now about her husband the pilot or whether this woman was about to try to invite her to visit a church or join a women’s group of some sort. Becky seemed normal enough, but the way her eyes had darted around before deciding they should sit suggested that looks in this case might be deceiving; perhaps she was one of the town crazies. She seemed a little flushed-the cold, perhaps-but she was fidgeting nervously with the zipper on her coat and her unease was palpable.
“You’re Hallie and Garnet’s mother, right?” Becky asked. “You just moved here from Pennsylvania.”
“That’s right,” Emily admitted, understanding this would not be about Flight 1611. It was, she decided, instead going to be about joining the elementary school’s parent-teacher organization. Maybe they needed her to bake cupcakes for something. In West Chester, it seemed she was always baking cupcakes for something. Still, she smiled and raised her eyebrows. “You’ll have to tell me why you’ve done so much homework.”
“Oh, everyone knows. Bethel is a small town. I live in the brick house with the white shutters about two miles from you. I imagine you pass it every day on the way in to Littleton. Still, our paths weren’t going to cross unless I introduced myself to you, because my boys are well beyond the elementary school. One is in high school and one is in college.”
“Where do you work?” Emily asked.
“I work at Lyndon State. It’s a long commute, I know.”
“Not by Philly standards.”
“I guess. And obviously I’m not there today. My parents are coming north from Asheville for the week and I took the day off to get the house ready. That’s my work this afternoon.” Now the woman was glancing behind her and peering out the large glass windows of the diner.
“You expect to see them on the sidewalk?” Emily asked. She couldn’t resist.
“What?”
“Your parents. You were looking around just now like you expected to see them wandering up Main Street.”
“No. Look, I’m taking a chance talking to you. Reseda Hill sold you your house and you work in John Hardin’s law firm. So, obviously, it’s crossed my mind that you might be…” She paused, the half sentence lingering awkwardly amidst the clattering dishes and burble of conversation in the diner.
“I might be what?”
“There’s no graceful way to say it: You might be one of them.”
“One of them? One of who?”
“But there’s obviously a lot about you on the Web-because of your husband,” she went on, ignoring Emily’s question. “I’ve read a lot. And I know the principal at the elementary school, of course. Doris LeBaron. She’s been the principal since before my older boy started there. And she’s told me a little about you, too.”
“Why was Doris talking to you about me? I mean, I hate to sound paranoid, but… why?”
“I could lie and say it’s just because of who your husband is. I’m sure you know, people talk about that. It’s human nature. But that wouldn’t be the truth-at least not the whole truth. Doris and I are friends. We walk together in the summer. We’re in the same spin class in the winter. And she’s seen you with your girls. And we both have the sense that you’re not one of them. Now, if I’m wrong, well then I guess I have just seriously-”
“One of who?” Emily asked again. “You didn’t say.”
“The herbalists,” she said, leaning in as she spoke and then pulling away. It was as if herbalists was a dirty word.
“Oh, I get it,” Emily said, and she had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “Those women who have the greenhouses. I mean, I’ve heard something. And Anise and Reseda are indeed trying to look out for us. They’ve both been very helpful.”
“Anise, too,” Becky murmured thoughtfully, as if this were additional bad news.
“She seems eccentric-but nice. Really.”
Becky craned her neck to glance over Emily’s shoulder and abruptly stood up. “God, I’ve completely lost track of time. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”
“You didn’t order anything. Aren’t you eating?” Emily asked.
The woman shook her head. “If you ever want to talk, call me,” she said. “My number is in the book.” She pulled on her gloves and strode purposefully down the diner corridor between the booths and the row of swivel seats at the counter, and then out the door. On her way out, she almost bowled over a regal looking fellow with massive shoulders and a bald head the shape of an egg as the two of them nearly collided at the front door. Emily saw the waitress was beckoning her from the register and holding up a white paper bag with her lunch. She rose. She couldn’t imagine how a woman like Becky Davis could seem so normal on the surface and so clearly unstable underneath. She didn’t expect she would ever have a reason to phone her.
