The Girl Who Chased the Moon

was a part of her now finding an odd comfort in her mother’s fallibility. Dulcie had set an impossible standard in Boston, and Emily thought she could never do enough, care enough, work hard enough. And sometimes she’d resented it, which made her feel even worse. But it turns out even Dulcie herself couldn’t live up to that standard. At least not here.

Emily sat in the car until it became too hot, then she got out. She couldn’t go next door to visit, because Julia had left earlier. And she didn’t want to go back inside her own house, because Grandpa Vance was taking a nap, and the new butterfly wallpaper in her room made her nervous. She would swear it moved sometimes, and she couldn’t figure out how. She walked aimlessly to the back of the house. The yard was so overgrown that, at eye level, it was hard to even see the gazebo at the back of the property. Looking around, she was amazed that she’d come away with only a cut on her heel that night she’d chased the Mullaby lights.

She hadn’t seen the light in the woods since she’d come back from the lake, and she was a little disappointed. Making sense of at least one thing here would be nice.

With nothing better to do, she began to pick up twigs and fallen limbs from the yard. She checked the garage for a lawn mower, but didn’t find one. She did find some shears, though, and went to the gazebo and began to trim back the wild boxwood bushes, flustering a large frog who was hiding in the shade there.

As she slowly worked her way around the gazebo, shortening the bushes so the posts and latticework could be seen, the fat frog followed her.

At one point, she lobbed off a bit of boxwood and a twig fell onto the frog. She laughed and bent to lift it off of him, and that’s when she saw it.

A large heart with the initials D.S. + L.C. carved inside.

It was carved onto a back post of the gazebo, near the bottom, just like on the tree at the lake.

Her fingers reached out to trace the lines of the heart. Logan Coffey had been in this backyard. She didn’t know why her eyes went to the woods, just a hunch, but there, on one of the trees that formed the border into the woods, was another carving.

D.S. + L.C.

She set the shears down on the steps of the gazebo and went to it. The frog followed her for a few steps, then stopped. She saw another heart farther in the woods. Then another. They formed a trail, too irresistible not to follow. Every three or four trees, there was a heart with the initials inside. Some of them were harder to find than others, and she spent at least fifteen minutes slowly making her way through the woods, until she finally broke into a clearing.

This was exactly the same place the light had led her the night she’d chased it.

The park on Main Street.

She looked over to the bandstand, and there, carved into the base of the structure, next to the side steps, was the heart with the initials.

She walked to the bandstand and knelt, touching the carving.

Why did they lead here? Did they have something to do with her mother leading Logan Coffey onto the bandstand stage that night?

She stood again and looked around the park. It was full of people that day. Some were having lunch, some were sunbathing. A couple of people were playing Frisbee with their dogs.

And then there was Win Coffey.

He was standing with a few adults in the middle of the park. One of the men was the big man from the party at the lake. She didn’t realize it before, but he was clearly related to Win-if the dark hair, the summer linen suit, and the bow tie were any indication. The adults were gesturing toward the street, to the large festival banner being erected, but Win’s head was turned the other way, looking at her.

Without thinking, she ducked behind the bandstand. Then she immediately regretted it. What was the matter with her? In a small town, it was inevitable that they would run into each other. But she didn’t want him to think she was following him. Not that hiding as soon as she saw him helped that impression.

She waited a few minutes before she straightened her shoulders and walked back around the bandstand. It was a public park. She had as much of a right to be here as he did.

As soon as she came around from the back, she gave an exclamation of surprise.

There he was, facing her. He was leaning one shoulder against the side of the bandstand, his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t even know I’d be here. I was just following a trail of these from the back of my grandfather’s house.” She pointed to the carving.

Without moving, he lowered his eyes to the heart. “They’re all over town. After my uncle died, my grandfather tried to scratch over all of them, until he realized there were too many around, more than he’d probably ever find.”

“Dulcie Shelby and Logan Coffey. That’s what they mean?”

He nodded.

“Despite what everyone thinks of her, she wasn’t this person,” she found herself saying as she indicated the carving again. “Not when she left.”

“I know,” he said. When she raised her brows, he shrugged. “I Googled her name the day after we met. I found out a lot about her. I read about the school she helped found in Boston. And I saw your photo on the school’s website.”

That made her cheeks feel like she’d bitten into a green apple. She hoped it wasn’t the photo of her at the Christmas food drive. She looked constipated in that photo, yet it was always the one they used in the school literature. When Emily had protested, her mother had said, Don’t be vain. What you look like doesn’t matter. It’s the deed that matters. Emily used to think her mother had no idea what it was like to be a teenager. “You know a lot more about me than I know about you,” Emily finally said. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

Win leaned in toward her, making her heart do a strange kick. His eyes went to her lips, and she suddenly wondered if he was going to kiss her. The crazy thing was, despite every-thing, there was a tiny part of her that wanted him to. “Does this mean you’re curious?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said honestly, swallowing. “Especially about why coming out at night caused your uncle to commit suicide. My mother might not have been a very nice person here, but what kind of secret is that to kill yourself over?”

She didn’t realize what she’d said until he suddenly pulled back and gave her an assessing look. “You’ve learned a few things since we last talked.”

“My grandfather said he didn’t tell me because he thought I was better off not knowing. He’s not thrilled that you took it upon yourself to be my tour guide into my mother’s past.”

“And how do you feel?”

“I still love my mom.”

He hesitated, as if this was a side effect of his actions he hadn’t intended. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel otherwise. I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

Something made her wonder if he meant help her, or help himself. “Why was it such a big deal to be seen at night?” she suddenly asked. “I mean, you come out at night now, don’t you?”

“No.”

“No?” she asked, surprised. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You’ve said that before. How do you know?”

He gave her a look that made every nerve in her body feel alive. Like when someone comes up behind you and startles you-there’s a small, sudden twitch, a quick gasp of air. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said.

“Win, what are you doing back here?” The man dressed like Win suddenly appeared from around the front of the bandstand. He was bulky but not fat, as if his own importance made him take up so much room. He smelled of cigars and sweet laundry starch. He looked at Win, who tightened like a rope knot with clear animosity. The man’s eyes then fell on Emily. “Ah,” he said, as if something suddenly made sense. “You must be Emily Benedict.”

“Yes.”

He gave her a politician’s smile, lots of teeth, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I’m Morgan Coffey, mayor of Mullaby. And Win’s father. I believe I saw you at my daughter’s party last Saturday? I don’t recall you being