Nearly in unison, we all tuck into our food, and people make a decent attempt at conversation. Next to me Henry indifferently stabs at a piece of lettuce with his fork.
“I know today’s been hard,” I say quietly to him. “But see how good it’s made Grandpa feel to have you here?”
“Where’s Gee now? Is anyone watching her?”
“For the time being, she’s in what’s called a funeral home. After she’s buried near the woods, we can pay our respects to her whenever we’re walking there.”
“But it gets so dark down there at night.”
I have to fight the urge to wince, my heart aching over his concern. I, too, hate to think of her being in those dark, dark woods. “Don’t worry, honey. When you die, you don’t feel pain or fear anymore, so Gee won’t be scared.”
A listless nod. Henry’s floundering, and what we need is to burrow into the den tonight and watch something outrageously funny. I’m relieved when Jake finally passes around slices from the remains of the carrot cake, and I reach across Henry to touch Gabe’s arm. “Movie now?” I ask.
After making our excuses and grabbing fresh drinks for ourselves, Gabe, Henry, and I head down the back corridor to the small, comfy den, with Ginger and Bella choosing to join us. For the first time all day, the dogs seem to perk up and they leap onto the couch, perhaps in anticipation of Claire, who used to snuggle in here with them after dinner. Henry and Gabe drop to the floor and begin fishing through the rows of DVDs lining the lower shelves on each side of the fireplace. I’m hoping the next couple of hours will not only help boost Henry’s spirits, but also ease the tension between Gabe and me.
“Hey, you know what we could use?” I announce. “Popcorn. Why don’t I nuke some while you guys decide on a movie?”
“With butter, pretty please,” Henry calls out as I leave.
I follow the hallway toward the kitchen, where I can hear the sounds of chatter and splashing water from Bonnie and Jake, but most of the house is still. The rest of the family must have retired for the night.
Bonnie looks fairly bushed, but happily helps me locate popcorn. Once I’ve made it, I thank her and Jake again for their efforts today, wish them good night, and, bowl in hand, retrace my steps to the den. Someone, maybe Ash, has flicked off the corridor light since I was here a few minutes ago, but I can see well enough. As I’m about to open the door, I sense someone behind me, and spin around to see who it is.
I nearly jump back in shock. Hannah is standing three feet away from me.
“What’s up?” I say, trying to keep my tone casual over the drumbeat of my heart.
“I wanted to speak to you for a minute.”
“What about?”
Even in the dimness of the corridor, I see her lips turn up in a tiny smile. “I think I owe you an apology.”
Ha. For putting a foxglove in my drawer? For killing my mother-in-law? I wait to see what she’ll say next.
“I found out a little while ago that you’d planned to read the same poem today.”
I inhale deeply, wondering where she’s going with this. It’s surely a booby trap of some kind. “Who told you that?” I ask.
At that moment the den door opens with a creak and Gabe steps over the threshold.
“Hannah,” he says, clearly surprised to see her next to me.
“Hello, Gabe. I was looking for Summer so I could apologize. I found out that I recited the same poem she’d intended to share at the service. I’m so sorry.”
“Who told you that?” I repeat, hoping that Gabe will see me catch her in a lie.
“Nick. He heard from Marcus, I believe.”
“And Claire just happened to mention that poem to you during the brief one-on-one time you had with her before she died?”
“Summer,” Gabe says, as if I’m five years old and just called my kindergarten teacher a “caca head.”
“She did—on a tour she gave me of the gardens.”
I feel a sudden urge to throttle her, to squeeze the truth out of her as she gasps for air, but I sense the tension in Gabe, and his words from earlier echo in my head: You have to stop obsessing about Hannah.
“Apology accepted,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
I’ve caught her off guard with my response. Somehow, as unnerved as I feel, I’ve managed to find the perfect tone, the kind that sounds unchallengingly authentic, but the person you’re talking to knows it’s fake as fuck.
“See you tomorrow then,” she says. She pivots and retreats down the corridor.
Gabe doesn’t seem exactly pleased as I follow him back into the den and settle in with him, Henry, and the dogs, but he doesn’t say anything.
While I was making popcorn, the two of them selected Home Alone, a movie Henry has never seen. It ends up being just what the doctor ordered. Henry, wedged between Bella and Ginger on the sofa, is riveted from the very first scene, and he howls with laughter through much of the film. Though Gabe and I each saw it years ago, we laugh out loud in our respective leather armchairs.
But despite how diverting the movie is, worry gnaws away at me. I’m not sure how Hannah’s apology works into her overall plan, but it must, because from what I’ve seen so far, she always has an agenda.
When the movie ends, Henry insists on watching the credits, but before they’re over, he’s slumped against Ginger, fast asleep.
“I hate to wake him,” Gabe says. “Why don’t I carry him back to the cottage?”
“Okay.” I glance at the floor, which is strewn with rejected DVDs and popcorn kernels. “I’ll tidy up in here and be over in a minute.”
After their footsteps fade, along with the sounds of Gabe shooing the dogs upstairs, I realize how absolutely quiet the house is. I stack up the DVDs quickly, stick them back in the shelves, and scoop up the kernels with my hands.
When I start down the corridor a minute later, I spot light seeping from beneath the kitchen door, and pick up the sound of rustling from inside. It can’t be Bonnie, I think. I’d heard a couple of cars pulling out of the driveway while we were watching the movie.
I’m just about to investigate when the door swings open and Keira emerges into the corridor, wearing a terry cloth bathrobe over her pajamas.
“Gosh, you scared me,” she says. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still down here.”
“Sorry. Everything okay?”
In the light flooding from the kitchen, I have my first recent glimpse of her without makeup this week, and I notice that her light brown skin, always so flawless, is dotted with blemishes, and the area beneath each eye is a puffy crescent. It seems like the past couple of days have taken a toll on her, as well.
“Yeah.” She looks down and I see that she has a man’s dress shirt draped over one arm. “Marcus spilled some red wine on his shirt, and I volunteered to put vinegar on it. It always gets that kind of stain out.”
“Wow, as a wife, I have zero tricks like that up my sleeve.”
“Trust me, this is my only one. Is Gabe still around? Marcus was looking for him a while ago.”
“He’s gone back to the cottage, but I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks . . . I should get back upstairs.”