She felt a kind of release as she passed through the open gate and left the grounds, as though she’d been freed from a grasp she hadn’t realized was painful. When she glanced in the rearview mirror again, it was gone, and she saw only the green tops of the trees.
If they were having guests, she’d need to do a big grocery shopping trip. And according to Peter, there was a woman in town who’d long been the housekeeper at Merle House. Did he say they were distantly related? Peter thought she might come part-time to help Samantha get the rooms ready, be on hand for some light cleaning, help in the kitchen. Samantha hadn’t even mentioned it to Matthew, because he’d balk at the cost. According to Peter, Penny Grann worked mornings in the coffee shop, where there was also free Wi-Fi. All the talk about Amelia March, about the house, about the abandoned boys’ school out in the woods, about Matthew’s grandfather, had her curious. She had some more research she wanted to do, without interruptions, without Matthew or Jewel looking over her shoulder. So that would be her first stop.
She pulled the Jeep into a spot in front of the café in the picture-postcard town square. A little park sat in the center, with a gazebo and a playground, a sign announcing the fall festival and pumpkin patch this coming weekend. She wondered if Jewel would want to go, then remembered that her daughter wasn’t three anymore, full of giggles and smiles and wide-eyed wonder. The reality of the outing—dragging a sullen teen through a pumpkin patch while the kid stared at her phone, shooting miserable glances at everyone and everything around her—would not match Samantha’s momentary fantasy of a joyful family outing.
She locked the Jeep—though, really, who would want it? Then she crossed the sidewalk to step inside the warm, cozy space lined with booths and bustling with chatter and clanking cups—mommy groups, students with open laptops, solitary workers, the usual daytime coffee shop crowd. The aroma was heavenly, and she was desperate for a real cup of coffee, not the sludge they’d been drinking at Merle House. The sign said SIT ANYWHERE YOU LIKE, so she chose the spot by the window and slid in.
A blessed sense of freedom washed over her as she shifted off her jacket. She found herself staring at the black Jeep. What if she just didn’t go back? Then guilt, a flush of heat to her cheeks. How could she even think such a thing? She could leave Matthew, maybe even should. But not Jewel. And Merle House—what was it about that old place? It needed her; she knew that. She couldn’t leave. Not yet.
“Good morning.”
The woman standing by the table was older, with a pretty blonde bob and kind, watery hazel eyes. Was it still morning? Samantha glanced at her phone. Yes, just.
“Good morning,” said Samantha.
The other woman looked at her with a tilt of her head. “Oh, are you Mrs. Merle?”
“I am,” she said, surprised. “Samantha.”
She hadn’t spent much time in town, didn’t really know anyone yet. Yet. They weren’t staying here, she had to keep reminding herself. She may never meet anyone here.
“I’m Penny Grann,” offered the waitress. “I used to be the housekeeper there. Pete said that you, young Matthew, and your daughter were living up at the house.”
Samantha stuck out her hand; the woman’s grip was firm and warm.
“That’s right,” said Samantha. “In fact—I’m here to see if we can’t lure you back for a couple of weeks. We’ll be having some company and could use the help. Around your schedule, of course, part-time?”
Something passed across the other woman’s face, a sadness, as if remembering something dark. “I’m almost done with my shift here.”
“Join me for a coffee, then? My treat,” suggested Samantha.
She was surprised at how eager she was for this woman’s company, for her to come back to Merle House. The thought had only recently occurred to her, and now she felt an edge of desperation for it to be so.
The woman hesitated, smoothing out her apron. Samantha thought she might refuse. Even Peter, whom they rarely saw, seemed to be edging further away daily. They’d see him out in his gray jumpsuit doing something or other—mowing, trimming, blowing leaves. Tasks they’d neither assigned nor really needed to be done. Maybe he knew that the money was running out. Maybe Penny knew that too.
But then the other woman surprised her. “Lovely. I’ll just be a minute. What can I get you?”
Samantha smiled. “A triple latte would be heaven.”
After Penny had left her, Samantha opened her laptop and cleaned out her in-box—which was mostly junk. All but the most stalwart friends had long since dropped away. A battle with illness, followed by Matthew’s scandal—his alleged affair, the woman in question still missing. Most people, especially those associated with the college, distanced themselves right away. As if whatever had touched Samantha and Matthew was contagious, as if the years of friendship, parties, professional favors, school pickups, backyard barbecues had meant nothing. And maybe they hadn’t. Maybe none of it was ever real. Certainly, now that they were ensconced at Merle House, it all seemed like a distant dream—that life, the people they were.
In the morass of newsletters, coupons, advertisements, missives from Jewel’s online school, one email made her stomach clench.
I’m still looking for her, read the subject line.
It was from the private detective who had taken on the case of Matthew’s missing student, Sylvia Rowan, hired by Sylvia’s female lover and supposed partner in crime, another con artist who preyed on
