What Lies in the Woods(7)

Of all the kids in Chester, Liv and I were the least likely to be friends with the mayor’s daughter. But for some reason, Cassidy Green took one look at us and, much to her parents’ consternation, decided that we were going to be best friends. Come recess she declared that we would play with her, and we were too stunned to protest. The adults tried to intervene, refusing transportation to playdates and lecturing Cassidy on her responsibilities as the mayor’s daughter to keep good company, but they were too late—Cass had claimed us.

Soon enough our friendship turned downright feral. Forbid us to see each other and we’d spit and claw and sneak out into the woods until our parents relented. Eventually, they gave up trying to keep us apart. Cassidy was like that. She got an idea into her head and it took her over. Once Cassidy Green was fixed on a thing, there wasn’t a force in the world that could dissuade her.

I might have been the one who discovered Persephone, but Cassidy was the one who made her ours.



* * *



I’d agreed to meet Liv and Cass at ten a.m., which meant stealing out of the apartment before Mitch woke up—an added bonus, given how things had gone last night. It had started with his suggestion that he come with me to “document” my return to Chester, and quickly turned into the fight I’d been trying to avoid. I’d said some vicious things—some I’d meant and some I’d said just to wound him. He’d laid out every one of my transgressions in return.

And now I’d left. I hadn’t actually said the words—said that I was leaving him. But I knew I wouldn’t be going back. I rolled into town feeling untethered. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Mitch and I hadn’t been right for each other, but I’d never been good at being alone.

In the years since I’d left, Chester had been transformed, but you wouldn’t know it driving through town—at least, not until you looked closely. The shops were the same—except that the grocery store displayed antiques in the front window, hoping to scrape together a few extra bucks each month, and the café was themed after a briefly popular but now-forgotten movie that had filmed nearby. The general store advertised rain ponchos for the hikers and campers who hadn’t taken “rainforest” literally enough while they were packing, and there were national park passes in the windows of most of the cars parked on Main Street.

When we were growing up, Cass would have laughed at you if you suggested that she would end up living in Chester as an adult. Turned out the joke was on her, but as far as I could tell, she was happy. She opened the door in a flour-smudged apron with earbuds dangling from one ear. When she spotted me her face broke into a flat-out grin, and before I could even tense up she’d crushed me in a hug.

“Naomi! You’re early,” she declared, popping back and letting me catch my breath. “You look amazing.”

I looked like a herked-up hairball. She looked like something out of a home and garden magazine, with her platinum hair swept up and her makeup immaculate. The apron was protecting a satiny maroon blouse and slacks. I wondered if she had a business meeting or if she always looked like this now.

“I made better time than I was expecting. I hope it’s not a problem,” I said.

She flapped a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Here, follow me in, I’ve got cookies about to come out. Oh, take your shoes off at the door.”

I obeyed, leaving them next to a neat line of pumps and walking shoes and cute little flats sized for a child. How old would Amanda be now? Eight, nine? Cass had gotten pregnant her senior year of college—she and I turned out to have similar coping strategies, but I was luckier with birth control.

Senior year of college—crap, Amanda was almost twelve. Where had the years gone?

The house was pristine. Fresh flowers decorated the mantel. The photos were framed and arrayed with precision. There was a formal portrait of mother and daughter for each year, Amanda growing into a little carbon copy of her mom, a phenotypical rebuke of the father who’d never bothered to even send a Christmas card.

Cass had removed the cookies and set the tray aside to cool by the time I reached the kitchen. “Bake sale at school,” she explained. She waved me toward one of the stools at the kitchen island, which looked like stylish steel spikes and were roughly as comfortable.

“Let me guess. You’re the head of the PTA,” I said, not sure if this was a compliment or a tease. Maybe both.

She wrinkled her nose. “God, no. I don’t have the time. The lodge eats up every spare minute and then some. And we’re wrapping up wedding season, which means I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off. This weekend’s father of the bride calls me three times a day, I swear. Complete control freak.”

“Kindred spirit?” I asked teasingly. I’d handled my share of that kind of client. Even for Cass, once, back when she was pushing me to be the lodge’s dedicated wedding photographer. It would have been a great source of income, but I couldn’t handle that many return trips to Chester.

The nose wrinkle returned. “Oh, hush.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Oh, hush’?” I asked, an incredulous laugh rasping in my throat.

She snorted. “It’s possible I’ve been doing this hospitality thing too long.”

“When’s the last time you said ‘fuck’?” I asked her. “Come to think of it, when’s the last time you actually…” I waggled my eyebrows at her.