Page 14 of The Woods

He abandons his wine and slides off the stool with a sigh. “Maybe you could make your world-famous Caesar salad to go with it?”

“Sure.” Whenever Geoff wants her to prepare something specific, he calls it her world-famous… It’s pure manipulation, but she’s never called him on it—she just keeps cooking. She only has herself to blame now, as her mother would say.

She grabs Geoff’s glass of wine from the counter and takes it to Polly’s room. Knocking softly and getting only a grunt in response she opens the door. She’s relieved, and a little disturbed, to see her daughter lounging on her bed, unbothered, scrolling through her phone. No sign of tears or emotional trauma at all.

“You okay?” Alice asks, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah,” Polly answers, her tone implying that Alice has just asked an incredibly stupid question. “I’m just never doing that again.”

“Doing what?” Alice runs her thumb through the condensation on her glass so that it drips onto her creased linen pants.

“Trying to help that little shit make friends.”

“Please don’t call him a little shit, Polly.” Alice takes a sip of the wine. “I appreciate you trying to help in the first place, but as you may remember, making friends in high school is a complicated affair. He’ll have to figure it out on his own.” Alice is pretty sure that Polly has never had a hard time making friends, but she hopes she can at least empathize.

“Yeah, well, good luck to him.”

Alice decides to ignore that and move on to more important things. “Did Quinn find out about the—” She pauses, searching for the right word.

“The what?” Polly asks, scowling.

“The history of the house,” she snaps back. “The murders.”

“Oh yeah. He knows. Everyone in town does apparently, and they call it the ‘murder house.’ ” Polly uses air quotes and her lips curl up in a snide grin. “I honestly don’t know how you thought people wouldn’t know about it.”

Alice takes a gulp of wine. “Well, I’ve never moved into a murder house before, Polly. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked. I guess it’s just another way I’ve let the family down.” She moves to stand up, but Polly grabs her hand and pulls her back down.

“Stop with the martyr complex, would you?” she says, laughing. In typical Polly fashion, her wrath has turned to softness so fast it gives Alice whiplash. “I’m sure the longer we live here the more that reputation will fade,” she says reassuringly. “And anyway, I’m not sure it even matters. Most people seem like, totally fascinated by it. Quinn’s just overreacting because, well, he’s Quinn.”

Alice is too grateful for Polly’s kind words to scold her for criticizing her brother. She gives her daughter’s hand a pat. “Thanks for that.”

In the kitchen she finds Geoff sitting at the island, scrolling through his phone with a new glass of wine, fuller than the last. He’s got the lasagna in the oven. She checks the fridge for lettuce and of course there isn’t any.

“If you want my world-famous Caesar salad, then you’d better go to the store for some romaine,” Alice says, closing the fridge. Geoff looks at the glass of wine in his hand. “That’s your first, right?” He gives a slight nod that isn’t as committed as she’d hoped. “So, then you’re good to drive?”

“I’m fine,” he says, pushing the glass of wine away.

“Good. Take Quinn with you so you guys can talk.” She leaves the room before he can find excuses.

Out of her work clothes and in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, she pads back to the kitchen and tops up her wine. Panda’s sitting by the back door patiently waiting for someone to let her out, which means Quinn must have gone with his dad to get the lettuce. She opens the door for her and decides to bring her mother some mail that came for her today.

Panda skirts around the edge of the yard sniffing, and Alice knocks on the cabin door. Standing there, she realizes she hasn’t checked in with her mother much since they moved. An uncomfortable wave of guilt washes over her.

“Entrer!” her mother calls out.

Alice finds her sitting on the couch in the living room with a book on her lap, a Van Morrison record playing softly, and a martini on the table in front of her. Her three rescue cats are gathered around her—the deaf black cat pressed right up against her hip; the ancient calico curled at her feet, blind in one eye; and the gray one perched on the arm of the couch looking like he’s sleeping sitting up. Her mother has been married three times and now jokes she’s finally learned that cats are better companions.

And it’s a good thing, because the cabin isn’t big enough for two people. One large room at the front has a kitchenette, enough space to hold a small dining table, and a living-room area big enough for a couch and an armchair. Off the main room is one bedroom with an en suite. And that’s it. Alice glances around, amazed at how lived-in the place looks. Colorful art, mostly her mother’s own pieces, clutters the walls; dishes are stacked neatly on the open kitchen shelves; books fill the bookshelves; and a multicolored braided area rug ties everything together. In the midst of it all, her mother relaxes, looking immaculate in a hot-pink silk kimono, lipstick to match, and a long braid down her back.

“The place looks great, Mom,” Alice says, sitting down in the armchair across from her.

“I’ve done what I can with what little space there is,” her mother answers, leaning forward slowly for her martini, trying not to disturb the cats.

It doesn’t matter that she has provided an entirely separate living space, rent-free, for her mother, and that Beverley is invited to join them every night for dinner or pop in whenever she wants company; no, Alice will forever be reminded of and punished for the size of the place.

“Well, you’ve made a very cozy home for yourself,” Alice says, ignoring the comment.

“I always have been good with interiors. Remember that house we had on Chestnut Drive? With the peacock-colored walls in the living room?”