Page 39 of Haunted

That’s not the voice he’s been using for the last few minutes with me.

He clearly hears it himself. He puts a hand up, half apology. “Forgive me. It’s a hard week.” He turns to me, and the warmth comes straight back on. “Jonny, this is Alice. Another Denning Court person! Can you believe it?”

I look at her. “I remember you! From the day of the fires. You were walking up the street when I was taking out the trash. I think we talked at the wake, but I honestly don’t remember very much from that time period. It’s mostly a blank.”

“It was a hard time,” Henry says.

She shakes my hand. “Alice Cadwalader.” She’s still looking at me with that careful, measuring expression. “You’re Angela’s boy. It seems like yesterday you were just a kid. You’ve grown up. Your mom would have been proud.”

“Did you know my mother well?”

She looks uneasy. “By sight, mostly. We never really spoke.” She pauses. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Henry grasps me by the bicep and turns toward the door. “Listen, I need to sweep up. We left crumbs at the last meeting and they called me up about attracting ants.”

I nod. She hasn’t stopped studying me. Her eyes keep returning to my jawline, my brow, as if she’s tracing a map she’s seen before.

“I hate that fucking photo,” I tell her. “It’s everywhere. It’s branded me and my whole life. People look at me like they know me and they don’t. They shouldn’t have access to the worst day of my life like it’s a shortcut to understanding me. I am more than that goddamned day, and more than the guy that was crying in Lance Broussard’s arms.” I pull myself together and swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

She smiles at me sadly and puts her hand on my arm. “I think if anybody has any right to be enraged, it’s probably you.” She sighs. “I’ll talk to him, but he’s right. Your picture made the tragic into something personal. That’s why we’re getting a park.”

“Then, if it’s my picture, and my fucking family, why isn’t it called Bishop Memorial Park?” I demand.

“Because he was here, and you weren’t,” she says calmly.

I take a deep breath. “You can tell me I’m being out of line any time now.”

“You’re not.” She shakes her head slowly, but she’s still looking at me with that quiet intensity. “No offense taken. I can understand wanting a clean break.” She pauses. “You remind me of someone.”

I wait for her to say who, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me for a beat too long, and it makes the hair on my arms prickle. It’s not hostile. It’s not even unfriendly. But there’s a weight to it, as if she’s deciding whether to speak.

“Someone from Denning Court?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “From somewhere else entirely.” She blinks and reaches for her purse. “Can I get your contact information?”

“Henry has my card.”

“I’d like my own, if you don’t mind.”

I give her one. She takes it and studies it quietly.

My phone sounds in my pocket.

Aunt Shelley

Don’t ask me why. Captain Eddie’s. Catfish and fries and the hush puppies. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon and I’m not going to be talked out of it. Extra coleslaw.

And then, ten seconds later:

Aunt Shelley

I’m unwell and I want fried food.

“Everything all right?” Alice says.

I look back at that poster of my terrified face. “Yeah,” I say, and put the phone back in my pocket.

Chapter fifteen