Open House(28)

Priya bent forward and wrote her name on Josie’s sign-in sheet, smelling gardenias from the flower arrangement nestled inside a blue-and-white vase. WELCOME! Josie had written at the top. “She’s definitely here,” Priya said, pointing to what she figured had to be Josie’s handwriting. No one said anything as Priya filled in her email. She felt the heat of her husband’s stare against her back, and then turned and met his eyes. He didn’t look as furious as she thought he would. He looked a little nervous, actually.

“Should we go upstairs?” Haley asked, staring at all of them. Priya glanced around and quickly assessed the home: new hardwood floors, top-of-the-line light fixtures, intricate millwork, and all of it complemented by tasteful furniture that looked straight out of a Lillian August showroom, though Priya imagined someone like Haley would decorate it quite differently if she moved in.

“Sure,” Priya said. “Maybe she can’t hear us down here.” She followed Haley toward the staircase, but just then a whistling noise came from the back of the house, as though a window was open, and the storm was coming inside.





TWENTY

Haley

Did you hear that?” Haley asked Dean, but he didn’t respond. He turned on his heel and strode toward the sound.

“Josie!” Dean called, and Haley flinched at the intensity of his voice. The whistling noise came again, and Haley hurried to follow Dean, her pace lightning-quick to keep up with his long strides. Her boots were tracking snow through the house, she was sure of it, but the way Dean had called Josie’s name made her feel an urgency that scared her. She rounded a corner into a massive marble kitchen and almost crashed into Dean, who stood still and stared at an open window. Brad’s and Priya’s footsteps sounded behind them. Priya was saying something beneath her breath, but Haley couldn’t make it out. A glint of metal on the tiled floor caught her eye, and on closer inspection, she realized it was a knife coated with blood.

“Oh my God,” Haley said, and Dean turned to take in the knife and froze. “Josie?” Haley screamed, twirling in a circle, her heart pounding. Where was she? “Are you here? Josie!” She knew how hysterical she sounded, and the rational part of her brain told her to calm down, but then she rounded the kitchen island and saw Josie lying facedown in a pool of blood. “No!” Haley cried, dropping to the floor. “Brad!” she screamed, and he was suddenly beside her, turning Josie onto her back. Josie’s eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Bloody blond hair was matted to her face, but she didn’t appear to have a head wound. Blood had seeped through her white sweater near her shoulder. Haley checked for a clear airway, and then lowered her ear to Josie’s mouth to listen for breathing while Brad searched for a pulse. Priya was crying in the background, and Dean was frozen until Haley commanded, “Dean, call nine-one-one. Address is 35 Carrington.” Haley watched the rise and fall of Josie’s chest. “She’s breathing,” she said.

“She has a pulse,” Brad said as Dean talked to the operator. Brad moved quickly to apply pressure to the wound near her clavicle.

Haley’s fingers went to find Josie’s pulse for herself. “Stay here, Josie, we’ve got you, you’ll be all right,” she said, unsure whether it was true.





PART III





TWENTY-ONE

Emma

Ten years ago

My phone buzzes, and I’m so sure it’s Brad replying to my text about me seeing Priya that I nearly throw it against the pavement. But it’s not him—it’s my dad, writing to tell me that he’s sorry for the things he said, and wondering if we can meet tonight and talk.

I sniff back tears. I used to be so sure that I was ready to leave my parents, and convinced that Yarrow was the ultimate freedom from them, even if I only moved a few miles away. But every time something goes wrong, I want them close the same way I used to as a kid.

OK, I text back, terrified my dad is going to kill me when I tell him I’m pregnant. When?

I’m still standing against the brick wall of the last town house on Brad’s street. I peek around the corner just to make sure Priya’s not coming after me, but the coast is clear. Maybe she’s calling Brad now about my visit, accusing him of everything she must know is true. I slump down so I’m sitting against the cold pavement, my back resting against the bricks. When there were rumors that Yarrow had gotten Priya Khatri as a visiting artist, I already knew who she was and worshipped her accordingly. After making my case to the registrar that I absolutely, positively needed to be in her class—Josie did the same—I spent weeks scouring the internet and viewing her work and reading her reviews and criticism. But it’s not like she was famous enough that there were paparazzi photos of her personal life online. When I started her class, I became even more enamored, and not just because Priya was so talented, but because she was also kind and exceedingly generous. She treated us like adults, and like our work was worth something.

But now this? Brad Aarons is Priya’s fiancé? I’d watched Priya’s stomach grow over the course of the semester, but I never asked her about the father of the baby, or about anything personal at all. And not because I have such great manners or boundaries, because I don’t, but because I could sense she didn’t want to talk about those things, maybe because they were so inessential to what we were doing together in her classroom.