Page 25 of The Devil Knows Her Name

I smiled despite myself; it wouldn’t have been the first time someone called me to help move furniture. “Sure. When is this trip happening?”

“We thought we’d all take a trip down this summer, once Paul’s all settled in,” Christine said. “It’d be nice to get out of Burrsville for a change.”

The conversation moved on, everyone chiming in with summer plans and ideas for the trip. I was content to let them talk around me, knowing I couldn’t go on the trip even if I wanted to—and I didn’t particularly want to. I had no desire to see Virginia, to see more towns crumbling under the refusal to move on, more people too despondent to care about themselves let alone others, all bathed in heat so thick you could chew on it. But I was bound to the pond by a short leash, the borders of Burrsville forming my own borders. Even if not for the pond, I was the anchor for all the wards, all the magic, and without me, it would fail.

There was a part of me that wished I could tell them all. I let them assume things about me, let them think I was simply too busy or too home-stuck to leave, but they deserved better than to be lied to. There were times I wanted to confess, times I almost had, teasing around the edges of the truth in private conversations. Christine had thought I was speaking metaphorically; Evelyn had looked at me with a sympathy and concern I couldn’t stomach; Georgie had said, “What are you smoking up here, Tess?”

Those moments had cracked the dreamlike façade that maybe I wouldn’t have to make them forget me. Moments like these made me wonder if they were already starting to.

I grabbed another box and went back down the hallway to the bathroom, resisting the urge to shut the door behind me. I slid open the closet door and started pulling things off the shelves—extra tubes of toothpaste, dog shampoos, a hair dryer covered in dust, anything I was sure Paul wouldn’t need between then and the next morning.

I stayed there much longer than necessary, taking my time with towels and washcloths and toiletries. I avoided the medicine cabinet over the sink, as it felt too private, and where once I would’ve poked my head out the door and called, “Paul, are you good with me clearing out the medicine cabinet?” now I simply left it undone.

When I’d run out of things to dawdle over, I taped the box shut and brought it out to the living room. “I think that’s almost everything,” Max said. “Why don’t we take a break for dinner?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and we all looked at each other. “I didn’t even see anyone else pull in,” Paul said, and went to answer it. I glanced out the window as he turned the knob, but it was too dark to make out the features of any of the vehicles in the driveway.

When Paul opened the door, I felt a swoop of familiar vertigo, but rather than physical space I was unmoored in time. Norman was standing on the porch—but it wasn’t Norman, of course; it was Zeke and David, standing shoulder to shoulder, their breath steaming in the cooling autumn air. It was eerily similar to the first time I’d met Zeke, as if the universe wanted to draw a thick, ugly underline beneath the experience.

Everyone else let out a delighted cry of surprise—even Max, who I hadn’t realized had even met the pastor. When I’d left the parsonage the day of the welcome gathering, some part of me had assumed my friends would catch on to the energy of the home and leave shortly after I did with the same bad taste in their mouths, but clearly I’d been wrong. Paul shook Zeke’s hand in a firm grip and did the same to David in the condescending, assessing way older men did to teenage boys.

Zeke was grinning broadly. “We heard you were leaving town, and we thought we’d come see if you needed anything,” he said to Paul.

It was only then that I saw Rachel had followed them in, dwarfed by the large frames and expansive personalities of her husband and son. She crept from their shadows like an imp, smiling thinly and bobbing her head, her hands curled like claws around the edges of a yellowed casserole dish. As her gaze met mine, her smile faltered, curdling into a disapproving pucker.

“You all remember my wife, Rachel,” Zeke said, as if giving us permission to notice her.

Everyone hesitated to move forward; the woman was pressed so close to her husband she could’ve been a lesser, conjoined body, nothing more than a cancerous growth with a face. Finally, Christine bridged the gap to take the dish.

“This smells awfully good,” Christine said, prompting a little chorus of echoing niceties.

“We were actually just about to have a bite of dinner,” Paul said. “We’d be happy to have you all join us.”

“Wouldn’t feel right when we haven’t done any work,” Zeke said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got quite the crew here to help me out.”

The pastor and his family were ushered to the informal dining room, which was just a square of linoleum in the otherwise carpeted living room. David trailed behind, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. I felt equally uncomfortable, hovering awkwardly as everyone else took their seats in an attempt to find the least obtrusive spot. I landed at the end of the row, David at my side and Evelyn across from me. If I’d hoped to avoid attention, I was out of luck, because Evelyn kept peppering Zeke with questions, ensuring his eyes never strayed far from our end of the table.

“Now, I remember you said you were from Pennsylvania—whereabouts?”

“Just over the border, on the outskirts of Erie. I had a church there for fifteen years, and I really thought I’d be there till the day I died. The Lord had other plans, though.”

“Well, we’re certainly grateful he did.” Evelyn beamed, and I fought to keep my face neutral. Evelyn had always been the most religious of the group, but in the past decade, I’d thought we’d trained it out of her. Apparently it only needed the slightest encouragement to come roaring back to the forefront.

The conversation went in fits and starts between bouts of chewing. I kept my eyes on my own plate, working through Georgie’s dirty rice, avoiding Evelyn’s baked chicken and the tuna casserole Rachel had brought. When Max launched into the historical features of the parsonage—one of his favorite topics—David shifted slightly in his chair to look at me.

“Anything new at the animal sanctuary?”

He said it quietly, obviously intending to let everyone else continue their own conversation, but the rest of the table went silent. Rachel’s gaze narrowed to a flensing blade, as if she wished she could cut off my corner of the table and me with it.

I forced a smile. David’s shoulders were stiff, as if he could physically feel the weight of the eyes on us. There was something vaguely desperate in his polite expression.

“There’s always new animals, and the sanctuary changes with the seasons,” I said. “But on the whole, my job is making sure there isn’t anything too new—it’s best to maintain equilibrium.”

“Tess works awfully hard up there on the hill,” Evelyn broke in, wresting the conversation from me with an air of embarrassment. “She’s practically a pioneer woman.”

There was a murmur of agreement. I looked back at my food, rankled by Evelyn’s need to make me appear wholesome. Zeke cleared his throat.