Page 25 of Taken Away

Guard. House arrest. Shared exile.

Whatever it was, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

Aubrey set the water flask back down and sat on the edge of the guest bed again, listening to the house breathe around her.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

The Pennsylvania area code on the screen made her chest tighten.

Machelle: Haven’t heard from you. Are you alive? Do I need to call the sheriff of Mayberry?

Aubrey let out a sigh of relief.

Machelle: Also, important question: are the mountain men hot or do they all look like they own three pairs of camo and a tractor?

A photo popped up beneath the text—a dim bar back in Pennsylvania. Exposed brick, leather banquettes, and a neon sign reading THE BARREL ROOM in warm copper script. Two of their friends sat at a high-top in the background, laughing over drinks.

Home.

Before she could overthink it, Aubrey thumbed out a reply.

Aubrey: Alive. Possibly haunted.

She hit send, the joke feeling a shade too sharp as she stared at the dark corridor beyond her bed.

She hesitated, then added:

Aubrey: Tell Emma to order me a pinot at Barrel Room. I’ll drink it in spirit from… wherever I am.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.

Machelle: …The WHAT?

Machelle: Babe. You own cashmere coats. You are not built for porch swings and church casseroles.

Aubrey stared at the screen, glancing from her phone to the guest room’s pale walls and the faint bar of light beneath her door with Moose’s shadow visible at the edge. How am I supposed to do this for a year? What was Aunt Mabel thinking? For the first time since the will reading, the answer felt almost as frightening as the question.

She typed, then deleted three different responses.

Finally she settled on:

Aubrey: I’m fine. Funeral tomorrow. Call you after.

It was the biggest lie she’d told all day.

She silenced the phone and set it face down.

She lay back on top of the covers, eyes fixed on the faint bar of light beneath the door.

The house settled around her with heavy, thermal groans. Outside, the wind rattled the high glass of the window frame, and every shadow in the corner looked like a figure standing waiting. Down the dark hall, Mabel’s empty room sat cold and waiting.

Sleep didn’t come quickly. She lay there for a long time, muscles coiled tight, jumping at every tick of the floorboards.

But when sleep finally pulled her under, it came only because of the slow, steady rhythm of the giant dog breathing against her door—the only living thing keeping the dark at bay.

FIVE

The Ridge House