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My heart drums inside my ears as I dash inside. As I make my way toward the stairs and up to Walker’s bedroom, my mind is spinning from the events that unfolded over the last few minutes. I watched my dead father walk out of—
I stop at the threshold of Walker’s bedroom as I’m hit with a sense of dread that feels like an anvil around my neck. Turning around, my shoulders tense as I stare at the banister on the staircase. The thoughts racing through my mind as I approach the railing are pure insanity. If I find what I think I’m going to find, then everything I know about Walker and how I came to be here will be called into question.
I take a deep breath as I descend the top three steps and crouch down to look at the bottom of the wooden handrail. My heart stops when I see the letters engraved in the wood: TEDDY O.
I shake my head in disbelief as I rise to my feet and climb back up the steps to the second floor. Standing in Walker’s threshold again, I try to think of what I’m going to say, but my mind is a swirling kaleidoscope of memories. Everything from standing in front of my first-grade class reading an early-release copy of my father’s latest book, to watching my father recite a poem on my wedding day.
I’m married.
I’m married to Walker Marcus Ainsley.
And this house… I grab the doorframe to make sure it’s solid and not just a figment of my imagination. This is my grandmother’s house.
I look at Walker, and my mouth goes dry as I remember the day we applied for our marriage license. I laughed when I found out his real name. I’d only ever known him as Marc.
I lick my lips to unstick them so I can open my mouth and speak. “Marc.”
He doesn’t stir.
I step into the bedroom and amble toward the bed. He’s lying on his back with his head facing the window. As I get closer, my foot happens upon a squeaky floorboard, and I freeze.
His eyelids blink open, but he’s facing the opposite direction, so he doesn’t notice me.
“Marc.”
He swings his head toward me, his eyes wide with some kind of animal emotion I don’t recognize. “What did you call me?”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should tell him I know who he is.
This is what it must feel like when your sanity and your sense of reality begin to splinter. I’ve always wondered how a seemingly normal person can devolve so suddenly into madness.
I’ve read about it in so many news articles. Stories of mothers who convince themselves the only way to preserve their children’s innocence is to kill them. Or men who think the government is involved in sweeping conspiracies, and the only way to make the general public see the truth is to commit mass murder or suicide.
I’ve read about these types of incidents with horror. I’d watched my own father descend into the depths of mental instability. Who am I to think that I’m somehow immune to such a break with reality?
“Cass, are you okay?”
Walker’s voice pulls me out of my reverie, and my focus is square on his face.
“I’m not going crazy,” I say, looking down at him and trying to remember what he looks like without the beard and the unkempt hair.
“I didn’t say you were,” he says, sitting up, so his knees are just inches from mine as he looks up at me. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why you’re talking like that. You don’t have an accent. You’ve never had an accent.”
He looks confused. “I’ve always talked like this. I don’t know what you’re going on about, but I gotta hit the shower.”
I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing up. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He looks at my hand and tilts his head curiously. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I am very confused.”
I remove my hand from his shoulder and step back to get a better look at him. “Why are you pretending we’re not married? Is this some kind of sick game, or what?”
He cocks an eyebrow as he looks up at me. “Cass, you’re scaring me.”
“See!” I shout. “You called me Cass. Just like you did yesterday in the backyard. Marc calls me Cass.”
A shadow of anger passes over his features. “My name ain’t Marc. It’s Walker.”
I shake my head. “Your name is Walker Marcus Ainsley. We applied for our marriage license eight years ago at the city hall building. And that day, you made me promise to never call you Walker again.” I pause to watch his unusually furious reaction. “And you never told me why.”
He shakes his head as he looks at the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know how you know my name, but I suspect you’ve probably been nosing around where you shouldn’t be.”
Now anger washes over me as I remember what I saw in the lean-to shed. “Why have you been hiding my cell phone from me?”
The fury in his features melts into confusion as he looks up at me. “What are you talking about? I don’t got no cell phone.”
“I saw my cell phone in the shed. I went out this morning to—Well, it doesn’t matter what I was doing. I looked through the window—the one on the side of the shed—and I saw my cell phone right there next to your tools. Why have you been keeping it from me?”
The expression on his face changes again, but this time I think I see pity in his eyes. “There ain’t no window on the shed.”
“Yes, there is!” I shout, my frustration with him reaching a boiling point as I march toward the window to look out at the backyard, but I can’t see the shed from here. “Come with me. And bring the key to that padlock. You’re opening the shed for me.” I continue toward the door, but he doesn’t move. “Now.”
He sighs as he stands up and trudges reluctantly behind me until we’re at the back door, where he places a hand on the doorknob to stop me from turning it. “I think you might just need some more rest.”
“Open the door,” I say, ignoring his patronizing suggestion.
He waits a moment before he turns the knob and heads outside with me. As we descend the back steps, I shield my eyes from the bright morning sun, thinking the glare must be playing tricks on my eyes. But as I draw nearer, my stomach plummets.
The window I saw on the side of the shed is gone.
You Knew All Along
Two months earlier
I stuffed my father’s note int
o the pocket of my jean jacket and headed back to the kitchen. My mother and Aunt Lillian were still in the exact same place they were a few minutes ago.
“I have to go, Mom,” I said, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “I have to go get dinner started. Marc has a colleague coming over tonight.”
“A colleague? I thought he quit the firm.”
“He did,” I replied, still heading toward the front door. “This is someone he’s thinking of going into business with.” It was a terrible lie, but it was the first one that came to mind. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Aunt Lil,” I called out as I rushed out the front door and into my SUV.
The leather was searing hot from the mid-June heatwave. I unbuttoned my jean jacket and retrieved the note from the pocket. I considered reading it right there. But if the contents of the note upset me, it would be irresponsible for me to drive while emotional. Instead, I opened the glove compartment and tossed the note inside. I would read it when I got home.
As I pressed the button to turn on the car, my finger trembled, and a warning signal sounded. Ding. Ding. Ding. Looking at the red symbol flashing on my dashboard screen, it took a moment to realize the car was reminding me to push the brake pedal while pressing the ignition button.
I shook my head and took a few deep breaths to calm myself before I pulled away from my parent’s house. I had no reason to be this anxious about a tiny note, which I hadn’t even read.
But as I pulled out onto the streets of Philadelphia, I knew this wasn’t true.
My father had placed the note in that basket of coffee beans recently; otherwise, their housekeeper or his caregiver would have found it before I did. Of course, there was also the possibility that someone had seen it, but they realized it was addressed to me and decided to leave it alone.
