“It just . . . came to me.”
“What else do you remember?” His voice was tight now, nearly defensive, and a fragmented recognition flickered to life inside me when I heard it.
I studied the tension in his shoulders. The clench in his jaw. “Almost nothing. Just little things here and there.”
“How can you remember something if it hasn’t happened to you yet?”
“I don’t know.”
Eamon was anxious now, but I didn’t know why. It was almost as if he were afraid of me knowing something, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it was. I’d been planning to ask him about the newspaper articles I’d found last night, but now I thought better of it.
“I wanted to ask you.” I paused, taking a different tack. “Did I keep a journal?”
He set the coffee cup down. “No.”
“Maybe a notebook of some kind?”
“Nothing like that.”
I stared at the floor, thinking. That could mean that I’d stopped having episodes after I came here, or maybe I’d just stopped writing them down. That, or Eamon wasn’t telling me the truth. The thought hadn’t occurred to me before now. What reason would he have to lie?
“What about—”
“The answer is no,” he said again.
“I’m just trying to think of anything that might help me make sense of why I left. Where I went.”
“I know where you went.”
I looked at him, shifting on my feet. I hadn’t expected him to say that, but he looked directly at me, a confidence in his gaze that couldn’t be mistaken.
My voice was a breath. “Where?”
“Back.” The single word a heavy, solid thing between us.
If that was true, there had to be a reason. I wouldn’t have just left. Somehow, I knew that.
The screech of the gate out at the road drew Eamon’s attention to the front window, and with his eyes off me, I finally exhaled. Margaret was here, and she and Esther seemed to be the only buffers between me and Eamon. The vulnerable, sleep-infused first moments of morning were gone, and it had taken only seconds for him to put his guard back up and shut me out. He was a field of buried land mines.
If he wasn’t going to talk to me, I’d have to rely on my own memories, maybe even find a way to trigger more of them on my own. That, or find a way to get answers somewhere else. Margaret, I suspected, could help with that. Esther was prudent and careful, but there was a version of Margaret I knew better than anyone.
Three heavy knocks pounded on the door, and the shadow of a figure moved over the wall in the sitting room. Eamon and I looked to each other, the house settling uneasily around us. It wasn’t Margaret, I thought. Yesterday, she hadn’t knocked.
There was a new tension in the air now, and I could feel it almost right away. Eamon’s hand lifted, gesturing for me to stay quiet. He was watching that shadow, gaze moving to the rifle hanging on the wall.
I pulled my flour-covered hands from the bowl, taking a step backward. “Eamon?” I whispered.
The knock sounded again, rattling the glass window on the door, and he finally moved, leaning to catch a glimpse out the kitchen window.
“Shit.” His hand slipped from the curtain.
“What is it?”
“Shit,” he said again, turning toward me.
Quietly, I moved closer to him so I could see what was out there. A police car was parked inside the gate, a drift of dust still swirling in the air from when it pulled in. I looked to Eamon. The muscles of his arms and shoulders were flexed beneath his shirt, his entire body rigid.
“Don’t say a word.” His voice was so low I could hardly hear it.
I searched his face, the fear in his eyes now flooding into my own veins.
He came closer, hand finding my arm and gripping me tight. It pulled me toward him until I was looking up into his face. “June, do you hear me?”
I glanced down to where his fingers touched my skin before my eyes lifted back to his. I nodded.
He let me go, and I slipped into the bedroom silently. I watched around the corner of the door as he went back into the living room, his gaze landing on that rifle again. There was a split second when I was sure he was going to reach for it.
What the hell was going on?
Again, the pound on the door echoed, and Eamon finally opened it, letting in a blinding light. My mouth went dry when the man on the other side came into view. It was a police officer. Not the man we’d seen on the riverbank. This was someone else, and as soon as my eyes focused on him, the house seemed to fill with a bitter cold. He took the hat from his head, tipping it in Eamon’s direction. His blond hair was cut short and combed in a neat, waving swoop over his brow and his dark, narrowed eyes.
His chin lifted in a greeting, and the door swung wider. “Eamon.”
I pressed myself into the wall, not making a sound.
“Caleb.” Eamon was doing his best to look relaxed, but he wasn’t succeeding. He was still wound up tight, the line of him like stone.
“Heard June finally made it home.”
The man Eamon had called Caleb was peering into the house now, and I drew away from the crack in the door.
“Just got in a couple of days ago,” Eamon said.
“I heard.” A pause. “Thought I’d come welcome her back to Jasper myself. Have that little talk I’ve been waiting so long for.”
“It can wait, Caleb. She just got back.”
“Now, you’re not the only one who’s been waiting for June to come home.” There was something dark beneath the smooth cadence of his voice. I could almost hear a smile in it.
“Another time.” Eamon’s tone didn’t waver.
I couldn’t tell if my breath sounded as loud in the room as it did in my ears. My head was light with it. I chanced a look through the crack again to find Eamon’s hand gripped tight on the edge of the front door.
“Well, it’s waited this long. I suppose another day or two couldn’t hurt.” Caleb’s mouth pulled in a sterile smile as he set the hat back on his head, but there was a threat in his eyes. A menacing glint. “You all have a good day now.”
He turned, going down the steps, and Eamon closed the door. He stood there, waiting until the sound of the car was gone. When I came around the corner of the sitting room, he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a tight breath.
In the nook, Annie was awake, sitting on the edge of her bed with her knees drawn up into her chest. She looked from me to Eamon, her small mouth crooked like she might cry. In an instant, something thorned was growing inside of me, and I could feel myself moving toward her. But Eamon was already crossing the room, scooping her up, and her arms hooked around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He brushed the hair from her face, avoiding my gaze.
“What was that?” I asked, going to the front window to check the road. The police car was out of sight now.