please . . .
Calla inserts the power cord into the laptop, then drops to her hands and knees with the plug, looking for an outlet.
There’s one— and, how convenient, there’s the phone jack, right next to it.
All she has to do is—
A deafening crash of thunder . . . and the room is plunged into blackness.
Almost immediately a siren kicks in somewhere outside, an eerie wail in the night.
Whoa.
She hears her grandmother calling her from downstairs. “Calla?”
“Up here, Gammy.”
“That must have struck a transformer. Looks like the whole town is dark. Don’t move. I’m coming up to find the— oof .”
Hearing a thud, Calla cries out, “Gammy?”
“I’m okay. I just walked into something.”
“Be careful! Do you want me to come down?”
“No, I’m coming up. Just stay where you— oof .”
“Gammy!”
“I’m okay, I’m okay.”Odelia mutters a curse under her breath and the steps creak as she painstakingly ascends.
A few minutes—and oofs and curses— later, she appears in the doorway, accompanied by a blinding beam.
“What is that, a searchlight?”Calla shields her eyes with her forearm.
“It’s a miner’s hat. I used to live in coal mine country, remember?”
“West Virginia?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“I didn’t know that. Don’t you have a regular flashlight?”
“This is better. It leaves the hands free.”
Yeah, for coal mining.
“I have one for you, too,”Odelia says, and the blinding light comes closer. “Put it on and we’ll go downstairs and eat all the ice cream in the freezer.”
“What? Why?”
“So that it won’t melt and go to waste. Here you go.”
Calla obediently puts on the miner’s hat her grandmother hands her, asking, “How long do you think it’ll be before the power comes back on?”
“Oh, you never know . Sometimes just a few minutes. Once in a while, though, we’re out for a few days.”
“A few days?!”
“Hopefully it won’t be that long.”
Hopefully not.
But you’re probably not going to get into the laptop tonight, Calla tells herself, following her grandmother down to the kitchen.
As she scoops Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch into a bowl in the beam of her miner’s flashlight, she can’t help but wonder if she isn’t just a little bit grateful, deep down inside, to put off delving into her mother’s secrets once more.
SIX
New York City
Tuesday, October 9
3:17 a.m.
The dream begins the same as it always has.
She’s walking along a grassy shore beside lapping blue water. It’s not a big lake; she can see the opposite shore not far in the distance, rimmed by rolling hills. The sky is blue and the sun is shining.
There are lots of tall trees to cast dappled shade around her as she walks.
Nearby, she can see clusters of cottages. Victorian- style, with shutters and fish-scale shingles; cupolas or mansard roofs; porches with gingerbread trim.
There are flowers everywhere. The air is heavy with their perfume; they bloom in crowded garden beds, spill from window boxes and hanging pots.
They’re even here, beneath her feet, growing in a clump on the grassy shore.
These flowers have short, slender, sturdy stems fringed with tiny bell- shaped white blossoms.
Lilies of the valley.
She found a photo in a horticulture book months ago, when the dream first began to haunt her.
As she bends to pick one of the fragile blooms, the sun slips behind a cloud. Thunder rumbles in the distance as she raises the flower to inhale its fragrance, and all at once, she can hear voices. Female voices.
She can’t see them, and she can’t hear most of what they’re saying, but what she does hear is disturbing:
“. . . because I promised I’d never tell . . .”
“. . . for your own good . . . don’t know how you can live with yourself . . .”
“The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.”
She gazes out over the lake to see that the water has turned black, churning ominously beneath a stormy
Calla inserts the power cord into the laptop, then drops to her hands and knees with the plug, looking for an outlet.
There’s one— and, how convenient, there’s the phone jack, right next to it.
All she has to do is—
A deafening crash of thunder . . . and the room is plunged into blackness.
Almost immediately a siren kicks in somewhere outside, an eerie wail in the night.
Whoa.
She hears her grandmother calling her from downstairs. “Calla?”
“Up here, Gammy.”
“That must have struck a transformer. Looks like the whole town is dark. Don’t move. I’m coming up to find the— oof .”
Hearing a thud, Calla cries out, “Gammy?”
“I’m okay. I just walked into something.”
“Be careful! Do you want me to come down?”
“No, I’m coming up. Just stay where you— oof .”
“Gammy!”
“I’m okay, I’m okay.”Odelia mutters a curse under her breath and the steps creak as she painstakingly ascends.
A few minutes—and oofs and curses— later, she appears in the doorway, accompanied by a blinding beam.
“What is that, a searchlight?”Calla shields her eyes with her forearm.
“It’s a miner’s hat. I used to live in coal mine country, remember?”
“West Virginia?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“I didn’t know that. Don’t you have a regular flashlight?”
“This is better. It leaves the hands free.”
Yeah, for coal mining.
“I have one for you, too,”Odelia says, and the blinding light comes closer. “Put it on and we’ll go downstairs and eat all the ice cream in the freezer.”
“What? Why?”
“So that it won’t melt and go to waste. Here you go.”
Calla obediently puts on the miner’s hat her grandmother hands her, asking, “How long do you think it’ll be before the power comes back on?”
“Oh, you never know . Sometimes just a few minutes. Once in a while, though, we’re out for a few days.”
“A few days?!”
“Hopefully it won’t be that long.”
Hopefully not.
But you’re probably not going to get into the laptop tonight, Calla tells herself, following her grandmother down to the kitchen.
As she scoops Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch into a bowl in the beam of her miner’s flashlight, she can’t help but wonder if she isn’t just a little bit grateful, deep down inside, to put off delving into her mother’s secrets once more.
SIX
New York City
Tuesday, October 9
3:17 a.m.
The dream begins the same as it always has.
She’s walking along a grassy shore beside lapping blue water. It’s not a big lake; she can see the opposite shore not far in the distance, rimmed by rolling hills. The sky is blue and the sun is shining.
There are lots of tall trees to cast dappled shade around her as she walks.
Nearby, she can see clusters of cottages. Victorian- style, with shutters and fish-scale shingles; cupolas or mansard roofs; porches with gingerbread trim.
There are flowers everywhere. The air is heavy with their perfume; they bloom in crowded garden beds, spill from window boxes and hanging pots.
They’re even here, beneath her feet, growing in a clump on the grassy shore.
These flowers have short, slender, sturdy stems fringed with tiny bell- shaped white blossoms.
Lilies of the valley.
She found a photo in a horticulture book months ago, when the dream first began to haunt her.
As she bends to pick one of the fragile blooms, the sun slips behind a cloud. Thunder rumbles in the distance as she raises the flower to inhale its fragrance, and all at once, she can hear voices. Female voices.
She can’t see them, and she can’t hear most of what they’re saying, but what she does hear is disturbing:
“. . . because I promised I’d never tell . . .”
“. . . for your own good . . . don’t know how you can live with yourself . . .”
“The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.”
She gazes out over the lake to see that the water has turned black, churning ominously beneath a stormy
Similar Books
