The Girl Who Chased the Moon

emanating from him, like heat from a fire. He was so odd and lovely. For a moment, she was completely under his spell. She’d been staring at him for a while before she realized what she was doing. Then she also realized her hand was still on his on her neck. She slowly moved her hand and shifted away. “I’m fine now. Thank you.”

He took the paper-covered Creamsicle off her neck and held it out to her, but she shook her head. He shrugged and unwrapped it. He took a bite as he sat back and crossed his legs, studying the store in front of them. She almost wished she’d taken the Creamsicle now. It looked delicious-cool vanilla and sharp bright orange.

“I’m Emily Benedict,” she said, extending her hand.

He didn’t turn to her, nor did he take her hand. “I know who you are.” He took another bite of the Creamsicle.

Emily’s hand fell to her lap. “You do?”

“I’m Win Coffey. My uncle was Logan Coffey.”

She looked at him blankly. This was obviously something he thought she should know. “I just moved here.”

“Your mother didn’t tell you?”

Her mother? What did her mother have to do with this? “Tell me what?”

He finally turned to her. “Good God. You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” This was beginning to concern her.

He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time. “Nothing,” he finally said as he threw away what was left of the Creamsicle in a receptacle by the bench, then stood. “If you’re not feeling well enough to walk home on your own, I can call our driver to take you.”

“I’ll be fine.” She lifted the can slightly. “Thank you for the Coke.”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry I refused to shake your hand. Forgive me.” He held out his hand. Confused, she took it. She was immediately shocked by the warmth of him, stretching out to her like wandering vines. He made her feel tangled in him, somehow. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling, just strange.

He released her hand and she watched him walk down the sidewalk. His skin almost glowed in the morning summer sun, which was slanting across the buildings in blinding golds and tangerines. He looked so alive, shining with it.

For a moment, she couldn’t look away.

“Emily?”

She turned and saw her giant grandfather walking toward her carrying a paper bag. People were parting on the sidewalk, watching him in awe. She could tell he was trying not to notice, but his enormous shoulders were hunched, as if attempting to make himself smaller.

She stood and tossed the can of Coke into a nearby recycling container. Vance came to a stop in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I thought I’d meet you so we could walk home together.”

The look on his face was almost indecipherable, but if she had to guess, she’d just made him sad. She was horrified.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately said. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Was that Win Coffey you were talking to?”

“Do you know him?”

Vance stared down the sidewalk. Emily couldn’t see Win anymore, but Vance’s height obviously gave him an advantage. “Yes, I know him,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

“I’m sorry, Grandpa Vance.”

“Don’t apologize, child. You did nothing wrong. Here, I brought you an egg sandwich from the restaurant.” He handed the bag to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and put one impossibly long arm around her, then walked her home in silence.

Chapter 3

You’ll never guess who I met today,” Win Coffey said as he stood in front of the large sitting room window and watched a whale of gray sky swallow the pink evening light.

There was a sound of ticking heels on the white marble floor of the foyer, and Win could see the reflection of his mother as she entered the room, followed by Win’s younger sister. His mother sat beside his father on the couch, and his sister crossed the room to the settee.

Win’s father, Morgan, folded his newspaper and set it aside. He took off his reading glasses and focused on Win, not his wife. It had been a long time since Win’s parents had really looked at each other. They seemed like ghosts to each other now, only ever seen out of the corners of their eyes. “Who did you meet?”

Right on schedule, the blinds began to automatically lower in the sitting room. Win waited until the window was completely covered, shutting out his view, before turning around. The room smelled of cold oranges and was filled with antique furniture-Federal-style highboys and couches tastefully upholstered in blue and gray florals. It was just so old, so familiar. Nothing ever changed. “Emily Benedict.”

Her name was instantly recognized. His father’s anger was sudden and tangible. It charged the air with hot currents.

Win silently returned his father’s stare, not backing down. It was something Morgan himself had taught him. And they had been butting heads enough lately that this was a familiar dance.

“Win, you know my brother would be alive today if it weren’t for her mother,” Morgan said tightly. “And our secret would still be safe.”

“No one in town has ever said a word about that night,” Win said calmly.

“But they know. That puts us at their mercy.” Morgan used his reading glasses to point at Win. “And no one should be more angry than you, the first generation to grow up with everyone knowing, with everyone looking at you differently.”

Win sighed. It was something his father could never understand. Win wasn’t angry. If anything, he was frustrated. If everyone knew, why did no one talk about it? Why did his family still stay in at night? Why did they cling to traditions that simply didn’t make sense anymore? If people looked at Win differently, it was because of that, not because of the story of some strange affliction the Coffeys had, seen only once, over twenty years ago. Who was to say things couldn’t be different now? No one had even tried.

“I don’t think Emily knows,” Win said. “I don’t think her mother told her.”

“Stop,” his father warned. “Whatever you’re thinking. Stop. Emily Benedict is off-limits. End of discussion.”

A woman in a white dress and apron entered the room, carrying a tray with a silver tea service. Win’s father gave him a look that meant Be quiet now. They rarely talked about it among themselves- in fact Win sometimes thought his mother had even forgotten and she seemed strangely happier that way-but they never, ever talked about it in front of the help.

Win turned and walked over to where his sister, Kylie, was sitting in the far corner of the room. She had her phone out and was texting someone. This was traditionally reading time in the Coffey household, at dusk, just before dinner. It was an old family tradition, dating back hundreds of years, structuring their time at night when they were all forced to stay inside because of their secret, even on beautiful summer nights like this one. Win didn’t see the point of it now, and he was itching to go outside. He’d felt this building for months now. He didn’t want to sneak around like there was something wrong with him anymore.

He sat beside his sister and watched her ignore him for a few minutes. Win was almost two years older than Kylie, and when they were kids, she used to follow him around relentlessly. She was about to turn sixteen and she still followed him, either to vex him or to protect him. He wasn’t sure which. He wasn’t sure she knew, either. “You shouldn’t test him,” Kylie said. “If I were you, I’d stay far, far away from that girl.”

“Maybe I’m just getting to know my enemy.” It was unsettling, his unexpected fascination with Emily, with her unruly blond hair and the sharp edges of her face and body. When they’d shaken hands that morning, he hadn’t wanted to let go. There was something vulnerable about her, something soft under those sharp edges. He’d been