THE QUESTION MARK
Jude pulls into Naomi’s driveway, the wipers of his BMW gliding across his windshield. Her front door opens. She races through the rain and slides into the back seat next to Twig. She pulls off the hood of her raincoat. “Lovely night for a play.”
Twig ducks closer to the window to peer up at the clouds. “It’s supposed to clear up at approximately 8:15 post meridiem.”
“It’ll be nice to see the sky again,” Naomi says.
March has come in like a lion and gone out like a wet blanket.
Jude reverses out of Naomi’s drive. The four of us are headed to the Opera House to enjoy thehigh school’s production ofInto the Woods, starring Kate, Harrison, and our friend, Harper.
“There’s gonna be a full moon on Wednesday,” I say, an offhanded comment. After two years of paying close attention to its various phases, old habits die hard.
“Are the two of you going to have a stake out?” Naomi asks.
I catch Twig’s eye in the sideview mirror.
Jude quirks a brow. “A stake out?”
“For the Woman of the Woods,” Naomi says.
“Ah,” he replies, turning out of her cul-de-sac.
“They used to have one every full moon,” she continues. “It was a normal part of life.”
“A part that freaked you out,” Twig says.
“Yes, well. It’s a part of your routine, and routine is good. Even if it’s strange.”
This has become Naomi’s new mantra.
Routine and normalcy.
Her coping mechanism of choice.
The Woman of the Woods is Foggy Hollow’s local ghost, rumored to roam the cemetery at night when the moon is full. Twig and I had stakeouts because we were determined to catch her on film so we could show the world—once and for all—that the supernatural exists. Now we have a whole world of proof, none of which involves the Woman of the Woods. And somehow, we’ve spent the pastseveral months hiding it, understanding somewhere deep down that the world isn’t ready.
As if reading my mind, Twig sighs. “It was a great ambition, capturing her on camera. But ambitions change.”
My smile slides away.
He’s right, though.
Ambitions do change.
It’s part of growing up.
“You should at least start up the podcast again,” Naomi insists.
Jude reaches across the console and takes my hand while the windshield wipers continue to swipe at the rain. “I wouldn’t mind some new episodes.”
I catch Twig’s eye again.
I can tell he misses it, too. Our longstanding date on Saturdays in Maggie’s basement. It’s strange though, restarting a podcast that has become so popular. Resuming the role of host when we’ve been the subject. It’s not fun, feeling like a bug under a microscope. I squeeze Jude’s hand. As a Vandenberg, he understands the feeling.
He slows to a stop as we approach an intersection. “You have plenty of topics to cover.”
“Oh?”
