Simon certainly thought of her as more than a friend.
But Dad just stands there, blinking at the photo. “You got this from Simon’s bedroom?”
“From a disposable camera. Jude and I found it under a loose floorboard.”
“This picture was on that film?”
“Yes.”
He sets his hand on top of his head, his wedding ring forever in place.
I narrow my eyes at it. “Did we move here because of her?”
“Selah, we movedawaybecause of her.”
My father isn’t a good actor. He doesn’t lie, which is part of the reason this came as such a shock. How could he keep this from me? But now it seems he hasn’t. Now, I think he’s just finding out for himself.
He shakes his head. “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of mix-up?”
“It’s not a mix-up,” I say. “He wrote about her in his journal. They hung out together before he vanished.”
Dad sinks onto the sofa, truly dumbstruck.
“What are the chances?” he finally asks.
It’s a rhetorical question.
And yet, if Twig were here, he’d probably know. I’m sure they’re smaller than point zero eight. Still, Dad grapples for logic. For an explanation. Because my father is a logical guy who thinks most things can be explained. After all, I never had a prophetic dream when I was little. That was a trauma dream. Induced by my drug-addicted, here-again-gone-again, deeply troubled mother. Soon enough, Dad will come to terms with this new tidbit of information, and he’ll chalk it up to wild coincidence.
But not me.
Never me.
My mother lived here.
She went through some doorway betweendimensions. She stepped into something supernatural.
I think about the other night.
Before I saw the light turn on in the manor, I dozed off and had a small snip of a dream. I was chasing someone down a hallway. And that someone whispered my name. In a voice that sounded an awful lot like my mother’s.
Come find me.
My skin prickles.
What if it didn’t just sound like her? What if itwasher? What if she’s been here this whole time—stuck on the other side, trapped with Simon and his family? Maybe this is why I’ve always felt such a strong connection with Foggy Hollow.
My mother is here.
And she’s trying to get out.
29
FRESH DIRT
Irun my fingers along the carving.
DG + DB
