With her knees tucked under her chin, she stared outside. It was a clear night, with just a sliver of a moon and stars everywhere. She spotted a flock of wild turkeys down by the barn, led by the fattest tom she’d ever seen. What were they doing traipsing around so late? She quickly put on her slippers and ran downstairs, her blanket wrapped over her shoulders. She made as little noise as possible so as not to wake her grandparents, who worried about her too much as it was—even before New York.
Ducking out the side porch, Wendy immediately realized it was colder outside than she’d expected. She tightened her blanket around her and walked out back, triggering the motion-detector light. But the turkeys were gone now, the night quiet and still. She walked a little ways up the lane behind the barn. She was in pajama pants and an oversize T-shirt, but she didn’t have on any socks, and the blanket wasn’t really warm enough—she should at least have grabbed a coat.
Her poem really was stupid, she thought, shivering in the night air. She wasn’t being overly hard on herself. She didn’t regret tearing it to shreds.
And her apple crisp. What a disaster. No matter what anyone else said, it was disgusting. The oats were hard. The apples had turned to mush. Her dad said it was good, but Wendy had noticed he ate his helping with a lot of vanilla ice cream. It wasn’t the recipe—it was her. She’d done something wrong. Her mind hadn’t been on making apple crisp.
She’d kept seeing Juan—Vincente Perez—smiling at her, trying to make the indignity of having her bag searched easier for her to take. She’d had no idea he was lying about who he was.
And that awful Bobby Tatro. The things he’d said to her while she was hiding in Juliet’s bedroom. She kept hearing him, seeing herself, as if she were perched atop her aunt’s curtains and was looking down at what was happening to her—watching herself pushing the bureau in front of the door, imagining her expression as she’d tried to block the evil, horrible words from entering her mind. He talked about what he’d do to her. What he’d do to her aunt. He’d liked the idea that Wendy was in the bedroom, frightened, at his mercy.
She stopped in the middle of the lane. She thought she’d heard something. The turkeys? She tightened the fleece around her and decided she should head back. The motion-detector light had gone off again, and she was out of its range, anyway. It was just too dark to go any farther. She’d start a new poem when she got back to her room. Writing helped quiet the memories of NewYork.
“Wendy?”
She nearly screamed, but Matt Kelleher immediately caught her hand and said, “No, no, it’s just me. I thought you saw me.”
“Where—”
“I was up at the cabin, out working on my camper.”
Her heart raced, but she patted her chest, trying to get herself to calm down. “Did you see the wild turkeys?” she asked him.
“They just walked across the end of the driveway up at the cabin. Kind of late for them, isn’t it? But they’re fun to watch. Just don’t want to get in the middle of a turkey fight.” His shaved head stood out against the blackness of the woods behind him. “Thought I heard someone out here.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Wendy mumbled, not explaining further.
“Yeah. I can understand that.”
“My aunt’s here. Juliet. Did you meet her?”
“Briefly.”
Wendy sniffled. “She had to talk to me about—about what happened. I know everyone’s worried about me.” She wiped her eyes with her fingertips but wasn’t crying. “But I’m okay. Really.”
“It’s hard, I know, having everyone hovering over you, watching you for every little thing you do,” Matt said gently. “Makes you feel claustrophobic, doesn’t it?”
“That’s it. Exactly. I know they mean well.”
“I remember, when my wife was dying—” He paused, caught up in his emotions, then went on thoughtfully, “People did their best, I guess, but sometimes I just needed to be alone. To be honest, there were times I didn’t even want to be around her. That made me feel guilty, but that’s just the way it was. I didn’t want to be alone all the time by any means—but it was like people, circumstances, wouldn’t let me be normal.”
Wendy nodded, amazed at his understanding. “My dad and my grandmother keep looking at me like I’m going to suddenly fall into a million pieces or go crazy or something.”
Matt laughed a little. “Yeah. I know that look.”
She smiled. “Thank you for telling me about your experience. I feel—” She hesitated, uncertain whether her train of thought would offend him. “I think it’d help me deal with what happened if I could—” She stopped herself. “Never mind.”
“If you could what, Wendy?”
“I’ve had a hard time saying goodbye to my dog. Teddy. And here, when I know you’ve lost your wife—”
“Your dog was a part of your life for a long time.”