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Authors: Molly Harper
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involving Bette Davis, Billy Wilder, or Alfred Hitchcock—although considering their surroundings, they did skip Psycho . They wanted to be able to shower without a buddy system.
They fell into a daily routine—wake up at six, group breakfast and discussion of plans for the day’s progress, wait for the construction crews to arrive on the ferry at eight sharp, work until five, break for dinner and progress reports. Lather, rinse, repeat. Anthony’s arrival each morning seemed to bring normalcy, or at least good cookies. Marie’s much-appreciated contributions were kept in an R2-D2-shaped cookie jar on the shared kitchen counter.
They weren’t exactly gelling as a team.
Deacon threatened to send the lot of them to some sort of hellish team-building retreat involving trust falls and high-ropes courses, but that seemed counterproductive to the whole completing construction on deadline objective. And they were getting the work done. The rooms were being systematically and meticulously cleaned, their contents catalogued. The grounds crew had cleared the debris and were digging new beds andreseeding the lawn. Anthony’s people were through with making sure the roof wouldn’t fall on their heads and were finally getting around to structural changes.
According to Jake, Vi had led a rebellion against Deacon at the EyeDee office when he’d tried to organize a retreat with his staff involving a rock-climbing wall. He’d almost lost his graphic-design department. And the use of his left foot. Vi did not suffer fools or trust falls gladly.
As for Nina, she suffered through the same dream on the nights she’d worked herself into exhaustion and slept deeply. It was always the same. She made the bed, arms trapped her from behind, and she felt hands close around her throat. And just when she couldn’t bear the pressure around her neck another moment, she was underwater, watching her hands floating above her head. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be learning from this dream. Or even if she was supposed to be learning something or her subconscious was just sort of a jerk.
So she avoided going into the house, keeping her back turned to it whenever possible so she wouldn’t see imaginary people-shapes roaming the roofline. The dread she felt about potential dark-figure sightings outweighed any curiosity about the wonders inside, even when Cindy described the broken-down solarium with its old copper pots full of long-dormant soil. She had plenty of excuses for not going inside, since her work involved the yard. But the house loomed at the edge of her awareness, a constant foreboding presence that gnawed at the edges of her concentration while she worked the soil. She could swear she felt it watchingher, nudging at her, trying to get her attention, like a child tugging at his mother’s skirts.
Of course, Nina suspected that telling the others these thoughts would result in the loss of her job and a one-way trip to the loony bin. So she took to working with her earbuds in and music blasting to keep herself distracted.
Nina’s growing friendship with Cindy was a comfort to her. She didn’t ask why Nina was always up long before early-riser Cindy was out of bed. She simply accepted the cup of coffee Nina had brewed and asked Nina random questions, about the day she had planned, about her parents, anything to draw Nina out of her contemplative funk and into the real world. Nina came to admire Cindy’s practical nature, her snarky sense of humor, her refusal to back down from a project, even when it was intimidating as all hell. Cindy Ellis had steely spine to spare. If she could just get Cindy and Jake to stop fighting like rabid squirrel monkeys every time they made eye contact, life on the island would be relatively peaceful. Almost.
FRIDAY MORNING WAS witness to yet another Cindy-Jake blowup. Anthony and Nina were standing outside the broken remains of the greenhouses, discussing how they might restore one to
They fell into a daily routine—wake up at six, group breakfast and discussion of plans for the day’s progress, wait for the construction crews to arrive on the ferry at eight sharp, work until five, break for dinner and progress reports. Lather, rinse, repeat. Anthony’s arrival each morning seemed to bring normalcy, or at least good cookies. Marie’s much-appreciated contributions were kept in an R2-D2-shaped cookie jar on the shared kitchen counter.
They weren’t exactly gelling as a team.
Deacon threatened to send the lot of them to some sort of hellish team-building retreat involving trust falls and high-ropes courses, but that seemed counterproductive to the whole completing construction on deadline objective. And they were getting the work done. The rooms were being systematically and meticulously cleaned, their contents catalogued. The grounds crew had cleared the debris and were digging new beds andreseeding the lawn. Anthony’s people were through with making sure the roof wouldn’t fall on their heads and were finally getting around to structural changes.
According to Jake, Vi had led a rebellion against Deacon at the EyeDee office when he’d tried to organize a retreat with his staff involving a rock-climbing wall. He’d almost lost his graphic-design department. And the use of his left foot. Vi did not suffer fools or trust falls gladly.
As for Nina, she suffered through the same dream on the nights she’d worked herself into exhaustion and slept deeply. It was always the same. She made the bed, arms trapped her from behind, and she felt hands close around her throat. And just when she couldn’t bear the pressure around her neck another moment, she was underwater, watching her hands floating above her head. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be learning from this dream. Or even if she was supposed to be learning something or her subconscious was just sort of a jerk.
So she avoided going into the house, keeping her back turned to it whenever possible so she wouldn’t see imaginary people-shapes roaming the roofline. The dread she felt about potential dark-figure sightings outweighed any curiosity about the wonders inside, even when Cindy described the broken-down solarium with its old copper pots full of long-dormant soil. She had plenty of excuses for not going inside, since her work involved the yard. But the house loomed at the edge of her awareness, a constant foreboding presence that gnawed at the edges of her concentration while she worked the soil. She could swear she felt it watchingher, nudging at her, trying to get her attention, like a child tugging at his mother’s skirts.
Of course, Nina suspected that telling the others these thoughts would result in the loss of her job and a one-way trip to the loony bin. So she took to working with her earbuds in and music blasting to keep herself distracted.
Nina’s growing friendship with Cindy was a comfort to her. She didn’t ask why Nina was always up long before early-riser Cindy was out of bed. She simply accepted the cup of coffee Nina had brewed and asked Nina random questions, about the day she had planned, about her parents, anything to draw Nina out of her contemplative funk and into the real world. Nina came to admire Cindy’s practical nature, her snarky sense of humor, her refusal to back down from a project, even when it was intimidating as all hell. Cindy Ellis had steely spine to spare. If she could just get Cindy and Jake to stop fighting like rabid squirrel monkeys every time they made eye contact, life on the island would be relatively peaceful. Almost.
FRIDAY MORNING WAS witness to yet another Cindy-Jake blowup. Anthony and Nina were standing outside the broken remains of the greenhouses, discussing how they might restore one to
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