He shuts that out, not wanting to think about the somber expression in Dr. Klauber’s eyes as he examined Nan, nor the pity in his receptionist’s kindly tone when Rupert told her they wouldn’t be needing to schedule another appointment this time.
Dr. Klauber was ordering an oxygen tank for Nan’s room at home. He said there was no need to bring her back to the office. The fifteen-minute drive to Dunkirk was too hard on her now.
“But then . . . when will I see you again?” Nan asked Dr. Klauber in her halting, labored voice.
Dr. Klauber didn’t answer her.
Rupert supposes he should resent the doctor for that—for the way he looked past Nan, addressing only Rupert.
But he doesn’t resent Dr. Klauber. He doesn’t want anything spelled out for him, and certainly not for Nan.
Dr. Klauber tactfully mentioned that Rupert could bring her to the hospital if he’d like—that she might be most comfortable there, and that Dr. Klauber would then be able to see her when he made his rounds.
Rupert saw the expression in Nan’s weary eyes when she heard that. He quickly assured the doctor that she would be perfectly comfortable at home.
And she will . . .
In this home, at Ten Summer Street
Rupert raises his hand to knock again, frustrated, knowing it will be futile, but—
And then he sees her, there, through the screen. Framed in the familiar doorway at the end of the hall leading to the kitchen.
For a moment years drop away and he’s certain that it’s Katherine standing there. His beloved little towheaded daughter.
He half expects to hear her giggling voice greeting him, to see Nan coming out of the kitchen behind her . . .
But it’s all wrong.
The little girl’s eyes are as blue as Katherine’s were, but hers are oddly empty and unfocused.
Her hair is too yellow, too long, too loose.
Her clothes are too modern.
Nan always had Katherine in dresses, or full skirts and blouses, and short socks with lace edging, and white or black little-girl shoes with straps . . .
This isn’t Katherine.
This isn’t his house.
Katherine isn’t here, and Nan isn’t here.
“Who’s there?” the little girl asks, standing absolutely still in the doorway, her hands outstretched to clutch the frame, her sightless eyes tilted in his direction.
Rupert realizes that she knows he’s here; she must have heard his knock and his voice. She senses him now, though she can’t see him.
Where the hell is her father?
Has he left her alone?
What kind of parent would do that?
Doesn’t he realize the world is a treacherous place?
Rupert studies the child for a long moment.
He’s about to call out to reassure her when she does something strange. Something that sends a chill down his spine.
Her head snaps suddenly to the left, toward the base of the stairs—as though she’s heard something, or glimpsed movement from the corner of her eye.
But she can’t see.
And there is nothing to hear, or the sound would have reached Rupert’s ears, too.
“Are you the person who was in my room last night?” she asks abruptly, still facing the empty stairway.
Silence.
Rupert holds his breath, watching.
“Well, why did you take my book? Where did you put it?”
Dread steals over Rupert as he watches the bizarre one-sided exchange.
“It isn’t funny,” the child says. “Stop laughing. Stop it. I’m going to tell my daddy about you.”
The little girl’s expression changes then. Even from yards away, with these old eyes, in the dim light of the hall, Rupert can see the flicker of fear in her vacant blue eyes.
“Why not?” the little girl asks the invisible visitor. “Who are you? Are you my mom?”
Rupert holds his breath, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
“Wait, come back!” the little girl cries out suddenly, letting go of the door frame and stepping forward. Her hands flail in front of her as she feels for something to guide her way. There is nothing.
She takes another step forward, feeling blindly, fumbling, stranded helplessly in the middle of an unfamiliar room.
Again, she calls, “Come back!”
Rupert backs away silently, descending the porch steps without a sound, his heart racing madly as he hurriedly strides away.
“GEEZ, WHAT’S UP with him?” Kent mutters to Miranda as the old man brushes by them, hurrying off down Summer Street and disappearing around the corner onto Cleveland Avenue.
“Who knows? Maybe he saw a ghost”
Kent chuckles. “Then we’re in luck. Did you notice where he was coming from?”
“Of course. Should we check it out now, or wait until later?” Miranda is clutching a white piece of paper in her hand, repeatedly rolling it into a tube between her palms and unrolling it again.
“Will you quit doing that?” Kent snatches it from her. “It’s getting all wrinkled. We didn’t bring that many copies with us.”
“We brought plenty. And if we get low, we can always photocopy it,” Miranda points out.
“Yeah, at a nickel a copy. That’s a waste of money.”
Miranda sighs, thinking it’s probably going to be a long summer. The trip with Kent seemed like such a good idea when they were back in Boston, and she was nursing her broken heart, desperate to get out of town. Now she wonders if she might not have been better off doing a weekend beachfront rental in Scituate with some of her friends instead of trekking across the country looking for ghosts. It would certainly be more relaxing.
She glances up at the house that so intrigued her yesterday. Again, she feels a prickle of interest. There’s something here. She dismisses thoughts of lying on the beach and tells Kent, “Let’s knock and see if somebody’s home. There’s a car parked out front and it looks like the inside door is open.”
“Sounds good.” He carefully tucks the sheet of paper into his shoulder bag and they pick up their pace.
As they near the house, Miranda spots movement near the lilac tree beyond the porch. A man and a woman are emerging from a cellar stairway beside the foundation. The man she recognizes from yesterday—the one who drove up in the red car with the little girl.
Miranda nudges Kent, who nods and says in a low voice, “Come on, before they go into the house.”
“Excuse me,” Miranda calls, walking swiftly toward the attractive dark-haired couple. They look up, startled.
“Can we talk to you about your house for a moment?” Kent asks, boldly crossing onto the overgrown lawn.
Miranda follows, noticing that the woman seems uncertain and looks at the man, waiting for him to respond.
“What about the house?” the man asks, folding his arms across his chest with an expectant stare.
He’s beautiful, Miranda thinks, fixated on his perfect features. Too beautiful. Not my type . . . and apparently, I’m not his.
She drags her attention to the brunette at his side, finding her petite and utterly perky-looking. Kind of like that actress Kent likes so much—Sandra Bullock. A far cry from sturdy Miranda, with her wiry red hair and freckles and extra padding at the hips and thighs.
“We’re scientific researchers in the field of paranormal studies,” Kent says with practiced efficiency, after introducing both himself and Miranda. “We’re conducting an investigation here in Lily Dale and we’d like access to your property later tonight.”
The man is scowling even before Kent is finished speaking, which is when he promptly shakes his head. “I have a young child. I can’t have people in the house late at night when she’s trying to sleep.”
“We wouldn’t need to come inside,” Miranda speaks up, addressing the woman, who doesn’t seem to share her counterpart’s inhospitable attitude. “We have a release form that explains the investigation process—sh
ow them, Kent.”
Kent begins reaching into his bag as the man says, “Don’t bother. I’m not interested in knowing more.”
Miranda persists gently, “But we’d just like to take a look around the yard—maybe take some pictures and use some of our equipment to measure—”
“No,” the man cuts in flatly, not even bothering to consult his wife. “Absolutely not.”
Miranda bristles, reminded of her ex-husband. Like this brusque stranger, Michael seemed to think he was the sole spokesperson of the family.
“You wouldn’t even have to know we’re here,” Miranda says, turning to the woman, sensing that she’s far more receptive to their request. “We do this sort of thing all the time and we’re always careful not to disturb anything—or anyone.”
“I’m sure you are,” the woman says with a faint smile. “But it’s not up to me.”
“Obviously not.” Kent’s tone is huffy. “Come on, Miranda.”
“If you change your mind, we’re staying at the hotel right down the street,” Miranda calls over her shoulder.
She hears the man mutter, “Trust me, I won’t change my mind.”
“What an asshole,” Kent says. “I should have known somebody who looks like that would be a close-minded asshole.”
“Now that’s open-minded.” Miranda shakes her head at him. “You should have let me do the talking right from the start. You came on too strong. You know we have better luck when we take a more subtle approach, Kent.”
“This is Lily Dale,” he says stubbornly. “I figured people would be more receptive here.”
“So did I.” Miranda looks back over her shoulder.
The spot where the couple was standing, beneath the branches of the lilac tree, is now vacant.
Or so it appears.
There’s something there, Miranda thinks, shaking her head. She’s almost certain of it.
There’s something there, and without the owner’s permission, they’re not going to be able to check it out.
“Let’s try again tomorrow,” she tells Kent.
“Are you kidding? He’s a lost cause. There are plenty of other active spots around here, Miranda.”
“I’m sure there are, but—”
“Okay, here we go,” Kent says with an exaggerated sigh. “Another Miranda obsession in the making.”
“I am not obsessed.”
“You are always obsessed. You are an obsessive personality. You told me yourself that your therapist helped you figure that out.”
That’s true. Miranda makes a mental note never again to rehash her therapy sessions with Kent
“Forget about the damn shrub, Miranda.”
She sighs. “I’ll try, Kent.”
But it’s not going to be easy.
She casts a last longing look over her shoulder.
Chapter Seven
“THANK YOU, JULIA,” Dulcie says shyly from the backseat of the car as Paine starts the engine.
“Your dad’s the one who bought everything,” Julia points out, turning to see Dulcie happily clutching two big plastic shopping bags bursting with new clothing.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Dulcie says dutifully. “And you too, Julia. Because you’re the one who helped me pick the stuff out.”
“You did a good job,” Paine says, glancing into the rearview mirror as he backs out of the parking spot in front of T.J. Maxx. “I never know what to buy for her.”
“She’s going to look adorable in those blue and white capri pants,” Julia says. “Don’t forget to wear the sandals we bought at Wal-Mart with them, and the blue top, too, Dulcie. It matches your eyes perfectly.”
“I won’t forget. But if I do, you can remind me, Julia.”
Julia says nothing to that. Ever since they left Lily Dale a few hours ago to do some shopping here in Dunkirk and Fredonia, she’s been trying to think of a way to back out of her promise to Paine. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to spend time with Dulcie, because she does—more than ever. Clearly, the child craves female affection.
But ever since those paranormal researchers waylaid Julia and Paine in the yard, he’s been in a brooding, contemplative mood. Granted, he’s been perfectly polite to Julia, and grateful for her input in the matter of Dulcie’s wardrobe. But she can’t help remembering his bitter cynicism last night, his contempt for Lily Dale and everyone in it.
The more Julia considers his earlier request for help with Dulcie, the more certain she is that she has enough headaches right now without complicating her life further. She would be better off steering clear of him until he and Dulcie leave. Hopefully, that will be soon—although Paine did spend quite a bit of time and money in the hardware department over at Wal-Mart earlier.
He bought a shower head, and some tools, and everything he’ll need to repair the old screens. He even bought some furniture stripper so that Julia can refinish the old dresser in Iris’s basement. He picked it up while she was in the shoe department with Dulcie, helping the little girl find sandals and sneakers.
Julia’s thoughts keep drifting back to the expression that crossed Paine’s face when he wheeled his full cart over to where they were, and found out Dulcie’s old shoes were a full size too small.
He looked momentarily devastated—as though he had made some awful, irrevocable error.
Julia found herself wanting to pull him aside and tell him not to beat himself up over it—that he’s clearly trying to be a good father. That he is a good father, in the ways that really count.
So Dulcie outgrew her shoes. So her part isn’t even and her pigtails are lopsided and her fingernails need to be trimmed. So what?
Julia looks out the window. From here, she can glimpse the sign for the movieplex where she and Andy are going to see that Julia Roberts film tonight. Now she wishes she didn’t say yes when he suggested it last night over dinner. She tells herself that’s because she’d rather see the movie some other time—like on video, in the comfort of her own living room, instead of crammed into an uncomfortable seat in a crummy, no-frills cinema.
But she realizes that’s not the only reason she doesn’t want to go tonight.
It’s Andy.
The voice is familiar, Julia realizes, tuning into the energy that sweeps over her. She can feel her grandmother with her. Telling her that she doesn’t want to see Andy.
And suddenly, it isn’t clear whether the reluctance is coming from within Julia herself, or fed to her by Grandma’s energy.
This wouldn’t be the first time Grandma has barged into her thoughts to voice an opinion. Once, when Julia was trying on sweaters down at the mall in Jamestown, she clearly felt Grandma pushing her to get the red one, when blue is more in keeping with Julia’s understated style.
Grandma always went for bright colors. That incident amused Julia.
This one doesn’t.
Does Grandma have something against Andy?
“No, Daddy,” Dulcie calls out abruptly from the backseat as Paine stops at the intersection at the edge of the parking lot and turns the steering wheel back toward Route 60.
“No, what?” he asks, surprised.
Julia glances into the backseat and sees that Dulcie is shaking her head adamantly. “Don’t turn back toward Lily Dale. There’s a bookstore the other way. Remember?”
“The Book Nook,” Julia says, marveling at the little girl’s ability to perceive not just the slight movement of the wheel, but the direction they should be facing. She tells Paine, “I told her earlier that it’s in a shopping plaza just down the road in the opposite direction.”
“It’s getting late, Dulcie,” Paine says, looking at the digital clock on the dashboard. It’s almost five. They’ve been shopping for several hours now. “I’m sure we’ll find your book at home if we look again.”
“No.” Dulcie shakes her head stubbornly. “It’s gone.”
“It can’t be gone.”
“Well, it is.”
Julia glances from father to daughter, noting the
similarity in their suddenly tense posture and willfully set chins. She thought Dulcie was the image of Kristin, but for the first time she vividly sees Paine in her, too.
“Dulcie, that’s impossible,” Paine says. “The book can’t be gone.”
“It is. It’s not in the house.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t. I know it’s gone because—”
She breaks off.
Paine glances into the rearview mirror at his daughter’s face. Julia turns her head to see Dulcie’s arms folded resolutely, as they were before. But this time, her expression isn’t just obstinate. Her blue eyes are troubled.
“How do you know it’s gone, Dulcie?” Julia asks softly.
“I just do.” Dulcie turns away, toward the window.
Paine says nothing. But he spins the steering wheel to the right, pulling out of the parking lot toward the shopping plaza.
Two minutes later, the three of them are walking into the cozy Book Nook. As before, Paine escorts Dulcie, his hand on her arm. He told Julia earlier that she’s been taught to use a cane, but doesn’t like to, especially in public. Apparently, there are cruel kids back home who teased her about it at some point.
Julia’s heart aches at the thought of what this sweet child has been through. From her disability to the wrenching loss of her mother—and now Iris’s death. It isn’t fair.
I can’t abandon her, Julia thinks. No, she’s going to keep her word to Paine. She’s going to be there for Dulcie for as long as she’s in Lily Dale.
They stop just inside the front door, beside a display marked LOCAL INTEREST. Paine looks at Julia expectantly. “Do you want to . . . ?”
“The children’s books are back this way,” Julia says, touching Dulcie’s arm. “Come on, sweetie. I’ll bring you.”
“I’m going to check the home-improvement section,” Paine tells them, releasing his grasp on his daughter. “I’ll meet you by the register in a few minutes.”
Julia leads Dulcie to a wide aisle along one end of the store, where the shelves are crammed with children’s books. It doesn’t take long for them to find a new copy of Where the Wild Things Are. Julia selects several other books that she loved as a child.
In the Blink of an Eye Page 14
