Hemlock Pond

By Alan Nayes

Megan Parker and her young son move into an old farmhouse with a haunted pond on the property. But they find there is more living in the pond than only fish and turtles. Far more…

Megan soon discovers the dark curse of Hemlock Pond will touch her family in ways she never could have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Nayes
• Release date: Aug 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476036700

Alan Nayes

Alan Nayes is the author of numerous novels and short stories. He resides in Southern California. Please visit www.anayes.com for a complete list of his novels. Thank you.

Book preview

PREFACE

How could a view be both so frighteningly desolate and alarmingly beautiful? She’d never traveled to the arctic far north, but she imagined the vista would not be so very different—except for the trees, many only barren trunks and scraggly limbs. They would remain denuded and brown until the winter snow melted. Even the hemlocks had lost some of their green.

Sparkling white surrounded her position atop the shallow knoll. In every direction, the snow blanketed pastures and woods, even touching the big house on the hill.

Below her, the pond was no longer visible, hadn’t been for several months, hidden under a foot-thick mantle of solid ice. Every day she would walk over the submerged water and attempt to see what she’d started. The police kept coming by, asking the same questions. She didn’t care. She’d never tell. She thought about the cattail marsh, dormant for many weeks—would it survive the brutal temperatures? And the kiddy dock where they used to fish—she hoped the pinewood planks would not splinter and break.

And under the ice…

The deputy sheriff had said five months of freezing cold.

Then in the spring, the pond ice would thaw. When the snow melted, she would be ready for It. She had secured a heavy chain with ankle shackles to the huge oak behind the house. She’d picked a spot secluded from view and where the sun’s early morning rays bathed the ground. She knew It would come for her at night. Then once the shackles were locked in place, there would be no place for It to hide. What she had done, she would undo. Sure, she was afraid. More afraid every day. She prayed the end came quickly. And with little pain, though she doubted this would be the case. For either of them.

For now, she could do nothing but shiver and wait.

So shiver and wait for It, she would.

CHAPTER 1

Megan Parker never believed in God. Not really believed. True, she recited all her childhood prayers while attending Sunday school in the Lutheran church: Holy Father, help me to…, Now I lay me down to sleep…, Our Father, who art in heaven…. And there were times during her early years in that cramped brown clapboard house in Dallas, Texas, when she could almost make herself believe someone was listening. Please, heavenly Father, help Mommy and Daddy stay together.

Her parents divorced when she was eleven.

No, Megan Parker never truly believed while growing up.

Years later, when her four-year-old son was diagnosed with cancer, she found it necessary to alter her nonbeliefs. A malignant retinoblastoma, a tumor of the eyes, the doctors told her, the most aggressive form. She would never forget how the pediatrician, an older physician on the verge of retirement, had averted his gaze as he’d delivered the painful news. Zachary Parker was promptly referred to a medical specialist in the arcane field of optic malignancies.

That day Megan subconsciously found herself believing. Because, she reasoned, how could she hold an entity responsible for her child’s misfortune, if she didn’t accept the existence of that entity?

How could you, Father? she lashed out silently. "My precious boy, why his eyes, his fucking eyes, for god sakes?"

Megan became intimately familiar with terms that prior to the diagnosis would have elicited nothing more than a comment. How sad. Now these same words sent icy chills of terror through her mind.

Leukocoria: the pupil turns white, like a blind cat’s eye. External beam radiation. Photocoagulation. And that most dreaded word of all, other than death: ENUCLEATION.

Megan wanted to scream every time she heard the word. No one was going to cut out her little boy’s eyes. Another round of divine entreaties: Please, God, don’t let…

The team of Dallas oncologists infused poisons strong enough to weaken a buffalo through her baby’s veins. Etoposide, carboplatin, vincristine. The drugs burned his thin blood vessels. He cried, lost weight, pleaded. Mommy, make the pain stop. He failed to thrive.

Megan hung on and so did Zach, though his illness waxed and waned. She began taking antidepressants. These helped her cope.

She left on family leave from her work as a physical therapist at a busy Dallas suburb clinic to tend to her son’s recovery. Her boy was in and out of radiation therapy. Medical bills mounted. More antidepressants. The strain on Megan’s marriage became noticeable, then palpable, like a beating out-of-sync drum, and finally intolerable. Husband Joe left home early and worked late. Megan fought hard to make the union survive. But Joe had already thrown in the surrender towel.

Four months after the divorce papers were filed, and sixteen months after the initial diagnosis, ophthalmic surgeons did what Megan vowed she would never accept: they removed Zachary Parker’s right eye.

Megan suffered nightmares for months afterwards, dreaming her son’s eye had been plopped out with an ice cream scooper. She imagined she could hear the sucking sounds as the optic nerve and artery were severed, like pulling off a rubber suction cup from a frigid window pane. Plop. She’d awake in a cold sweat, palpating her own eyes.

Why my son?

After the surgery, a new physician assumed Zach’s care. Dr. Kylie Brodie, fresh from a Stanford University residency, was intelligent and pretty and hip, everything Megan would have cherished in an older sister, if she’d had one.

Their bond was cemented solid after one forty-five-minute office visit. Miraculously, Zachary’s condition improved over the ensuing twelve months. With Kylie Brodie’s expertise in treating malignant eye tumors and her intuitive manipulation of complex therapeutic regimens, Megan watched her son’s health blossom until one afternoon, Dr. Brodie proclaimed, There’s no sign of residual tumor.

He’s cured? Megan gasped.

For the time being, Kylie Brodie cautioned. One more year and he’ll be out of the woods for good.

Thank God, Megan gushed, unaware she’d even said it.

She was able to cut back on her antidepressants.

Then, four weeks after celebrating Zachary’s seventh birthday, Megan learned Dr. Kylie Brodie had accepted a position as Chief of Oncologic Services at a medical center just outside Madison, Wisconsin. She would run her own oncology eye clinic.

Eleven hundred miles away!

Megan’s decision to pull up stakes came as easily and naturally as brushing her teeth. Her divorce was final, Joe spent little time with his son, and she relished the possibility of leaving the pain and misery of the preceding three years in Texas behind. Inside, though, she accepted the real reason for abandoning Dallas. Megan Parker adamantly refused to allow any other ophthalmic surgeon to care for her only son. Only Stanford grad Kylie Brodie could make the grade. She’d preserved her baby’s life. No one else would be offered the opportunity.

And that was how Megan Parker found herself cruising north through Illinois on Interstate 90 listening to an Alan Jackson CD in mid-August.

Destination: Oakgreen, Wisconsin.

CHAPTER 2

That first time Megan set eyes upon the large house on the hill, she experienced a brief temptation to shift their Chevy Tahoe in reverse and turn around. Perhaps move Zachary, their yellow Lab, Layla, and Mighty, the family cat, to something less imposing, like an apartment or even a town home. The Internet photograph had not prepared her for such a commanding real-life image.

This place is too damn big.

But her second of indecision was fleeting, passing quickly, as the stately structure disappeared from view behind a rise of trees. Part of her reluctance she attributed to her mother’s admonitions about moving so far away—she’d made it sound like Megan and Zach were traveling halfway to Siberia, rather than only out of state. Mom, we’re still in the same time zone, Megan had reassured her.

No, today, Megan would simply relish the good fortune her son was in remission, and try as best she could to make their first day in their new home special.

Megan spotted the bus stop the agent had told her about and decelerated.

There, Mommy, Zach chimed in, pointing. Layla barked.

Megan grinned. I see it, dear.

She turned and maneuvered down the property’s shady gravel drive, past trees that had to be over a century old, feeling tremendously relieved the trip had gone so smoothly. Two days they’d been on the road from Dallas. Eighteen hours total. One night stay over in Springfield, Missouri. Not a hiccup the entire time. Even Mighty, the ornery old tomcat, had behaved. From Interstate 90, she’d connected to Highway 94, passing through small towns with quaint names like Cottage Grove and Sun Prairie. Once she passed the sign Welcome to Oakgreen, Population 8161, she’d breathed easier.

She had no difficulty finding Three Trestle Road. Within minutes, she was bouncing the Tahoe across the bridge of the same name, called appropriately for its three identical wooden support frames. She slowed and waved at the man gazing down into the creek. He wore the look of an old-timer, heavy gray whiskers, shabby clothing, very thin. He gazed at her a moment before waving back. By this stage she and Zach were in the woods bordering the property. She crested a shallow rise and that’s when she’d seen the house above Three Trestle Road.

Looking back on that specific sliver of time, Megan would recall how churchly their future home had looked, perched on a hill like a truncated version of a European medieval cathedral. In microseconds her eyes swallowed in the steeply pitched roof, arched windows, double chimneys, and the ring of billowy white clouds suspended directly overhead like some otherworldly halo.

Looks like one of Grandpa’s smoke rings, Zach had said.

And Megan had laughed. It felt so good.

She slowed midway around the circular drive and parked near the stairs leading up to the porch. Oak and birch surrounded the house and high in the trees Megan heard the twitter of several species of birds.

With a long exhale, she turned off the ignition.

A cool moist muzzle nuzzled her earlobe and she reached over her shoulder and scratched the Lab’s neck. I’ll let you out in a sec, Layla.

Zachary pulled the big tomcat past the Lab’s front paws which rested on the center console. Mighty, how do you like your new home? he asked playfully.

Megan watched the feline switch its tail insolently and rise on its haunches. She couldn’t understand the attraction Zach had for the stubborn old cat, except that it had been Joe’s favorite pet, too. She’d inherited it from her ex after the divorce and if it somehow wandered loose on the property and became lost, she probably wouldn’t complain. Much. ’Course, she’d never express these negative thoughts to Zach, who was enamored with its quirky personality, interacting with the animal at times like it was a sibling. And if Zach was happy, Megan was happy.

What do you think? Megan asked, rifling through her purse for her cell phone. She was supposed to let the agent know when they arrived.

It’s awesome. This is really our place?

For one whole year.

It’s great, Mommy.

He flipped off his seat belt and opened the door. Mighty slipped off his lap and stalked toward a large white birch. Want me to take Layla for a walk? he asked.

Be careful. She opened the console and passed him a leash. I don’t want her roaming free until we have a chance to look around.

There’s no cars in a million miles. Despite the protest, he clipped the leash to the dog’s collar and stepped out. Can Mighty and I take Layla into the woods?

Stay in the front yard for now.

That’s no fun.

Zach.

Layla tugged, pulling Zachary behind him.

Megan stopped them after only a few feet. You forgetting something, young man? she asked.

We just got here, he groaned, holding Layla at bay.

The rule, she reminded him.

Frowning, he silently returned to the SUV and lifted out a pair of protective eye goggles. Clamping the leash between his knees, he slid them over his head. Satisfied? He glowered.

Megan grinned. I love you, Zachary Parker.

While Zach walked the dog, Megan began the initial phase of unpacking. She wanted to have the house opened and aired out before the movers arrived. She walked up the front steps and stood a moment. The porch extended along the entire length of the house and was as wide as a one-lane road. Megan couldn’t resist a grin. How perfect for an outdoor gathering. Immediately, she envisioned guests for an open house get-together, maybe some children from Zach’s school chasing each other across the yard and her new friends watching from the wooden railing, everyone laughing and talking and having a fun time.

For an instant, Layla’s barking and Zach’s shouting floated away from her, and she imagined she could hear a child’s voice, indecipherable yet full of emotion, descending from the porch rafters. She caught herself shivering, then the moment passed. How odd, she thought, attributing the fugue episode to fatigue from the long drive. She looked for Zach and spotted him walking Layla near a garden of rhubarb. Mighty crouched beside the white birch.

Everyone accounted for. Good.

Megan found the keys under a flower pot near the door, exactly where the agent had said he would place them. The flowers were wilted and brown but she knew within a few days she’d have the dead ones dug up and replanted with fresh stems.

The lock turned easily and she pushed open the door. Oh my God, she mouthed silently, marveling at the spacious interior. A light breeze wafted past her, carrying the lemony scent of pine oil. Someone had been cleaning. The wood floor glistened in the sun’s rays that leaked in past the closed shutters and drapes. The wide entranceway opened into an even wider vestibule. She tapped the hardwood beneath her soles. Solid. She had just the rug to place there, too.

From where she stood she could see the living room, with its huge bay window facing the drive, the family room and den, and the wide wooden staircase leading up to the second floor landing. She couldn’t wait for the agent to arrive to give her the grand tour. Already she sensed a kinship growing between her and the old farmhouse.

Mommy, Zach called from the yard.

She cast one last approving look upstairs, then stepped out. Shielding her eyes, she found him jumping excitedly on the gravel drive.

Layla, Mighty and I found a pond, he shouted.

You did? Where?

She followed his gesturing finger. Walking along the wood railing, she stopped when she reached the far side of the porch where an old pine rocker sat facing the distant woods.

Behind her, she was aware of Zach running up the steps and dashing toward her. See it? See it? he repeated.

Megan’s eyes focused along the tree line to where the woods grew to a point. Beyond, lay a large pasture. Then like a handmaid’s mirror seen from a distance, she spotted the oval shimmer reflecting blue under the azure sky. Yes, I do, honey, she said.

I love this place, Mommy, I really do, Zach gushed, embracing her waist.

An idyllic image flashed in Megan’s mind—she, Zach, and a dog and cat spending a leisurely day picnicking on their own private pond—and she suddenly felt her bond with the estate strengthen. I’m glad, baby, she said.

Then the wind shifted into their faces, and Megan detected the smell of water. It wasn’t a purely fresh scent, neither was it especially unpleasant. Not fishy either.

Is that from the pond? she heard Zach ask.

I believe it is, she replied, thinking the smell, well, different. Then tousling her son’s hair, she said, Up to helping Mommy unpack?

CHAPTER 3

Months from now, in the dead of winter with a foot of snow on the ground and the skeletal branches of birch and hemlocks clawing at the crisp cold air like huge, multi-jointed fingers, Megan would reminisce on that first day and wonder what she could have seen—some hint, an omen maybe—that would have warned her about such dark fey things hidden in one’s future. Entities that lay concealed behind pristine landscapes, spring flowers in bloom, an antique rocker on a wood porch, or perhaps submerged in a body of water no larger than an acre. But that afternoon, she had no reason to dwell on dark thoughts. She was too occupied getting moved in.

The real estate agent arrived a half hour before the van and movers. Steve Worley was tall and lanky with an unruly mop of red hair. So we meet in person at last, he said, his boyish grin evoking a small-town friendliness Megan found lacking in Dallas. She introduced herself and Zach, then allowed him to lead.

She’d chosen the property from an Internet guide, with some trepidation, but as the tour progressed, any lingering anxiety evaporated. The estate was truly a prize. The house had four bedrooms; three upstairs, one downstairs. Both the master bedroom and family room had fireplaces which would significantly decrease heating costs during the colder months. Green swaths of ivy covered two outside walls all the way to the eaves, lending the structure a primeval, almost fairy-tale, look. Heavily wooded on three sides, the estate felt secluded, yet was only minutes from Oakgreen. Worley, who was also the property manager, reminded her more than once that rents closer to Madison would be double, or triple, and her lease gave her the option to buy. The decision maker had been the location, though. With easy access to the interstate, she could reach Dr. Brodie’s clinic in less than twenty minutes, less than half the time it took in Dallas. Little traffic, too. Plus the clear, fresh air would be good for Zach’s immune system. She recalled reading that smog and pollution increased the incidence of childhood infections.

Did you know, Zach, that within an hour’s drive, you have four lakes, Worley enlightened them. There’s Lake Mendota, Waubesa, Kegonsa, and Lake Koshkonong.

Those are funny names, Zach said.

Worley smiled and winked at Megan. Indian names. This land was settled hundreds of years ago by Native Americans. Legend has it certain creeks in the area had medicinal value and the Sioux and Kickapoo tribes would bring their wounded and ill to be treated.

Zach looked up at him through his goggles. Could they cure cancer? he asked.

Megan watched Worley stumble at the question, but he recovered nicely. I don’t know about cancer, son, but the water sure worked miracles for a parched throat.

He discussed the pond. It was called Hemlock Pond after the copse of hemlocks growing along one bank. The water and Hemlock Creek were on a separate seventy-acre parcel—Megan’s lease included the ten acres and the house—but she had free access to the pasture and woods since the same landlord owned both.

Can’t beat that deal, he quipped.

No, Megan agreed, especially when she observed how excited Zach became with the prospect of fishing so close to home. She would make it clear to him the pond was off limits, though, unless accompanied by an adult.

Once inside, Megan marveled at how Hemlock House had been designed for efficiency and comfort. The kitchen was large and U-shaped with a center counter. While he showed them the washer and dryer vestibule, the basement, and pointed out the high vaulted ceilings, Megan counted more walk-in closets and pantry space than she and Zach would ever fill. She couldn’t wait to get settled in and she noted the same anticipation in Zach. Even Layla was acting animated. Only Mighty slunk around appearing disinterested.

Upstairs, Megan stood behind her son in what would be his bedroom. The view from the window was partially obscured by a huge gnarled oak tree within reaching distance of the glass pane, but by moving to the side only a few feet, the image became mesmerizing. She found herself taken in by the pastoral scene—forest, green pastures, and Hemlock Pond, as well as the neighbors’ homes on either side of the property. The sun was settling near the horizon, casting a golden hue on everything not buried in shadow.

It’s so tranquil, she murmured.

Worley echoed her thoughts. You won’t find views like this in Milwaukee.

Zach tugged at her hand. You made a good decision, Mommy.

Megan pulled him next to her. Through the eye of a child, she decided the place would be a pretty fun place to live, especially after illness had kept a boy in and out of hospitals and clinics for the last three years. I’m glad you approve. She grinned.

Back outside, Worley showed her an old brick kiln where firewood could be stacked and kept dry. It was near the stone walkway on the way to the pond. He was just giving her the name and phone number of the estate’s caretaker, Edsel Moorer, when the moving van pulled in to park in front of the detached garage.

Megan mentioned the old man she spotted on the bridge, wondering if he was Mr. Moorer.

Worley grinned and shook his head. I saw him, too. That’s Jacob Stein. He’s a handyman at the Lutheran church. An oddball to say the least, but entirely harmless. Lived in Oakgreen all his life. And for some inexplicable reason he harbors this, how should I say this, preoccupation with Hemlock House.

Megan wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Should I worry? she asked, looking over at Zach.

The agent chuckled. Trust me, Mr. Stein won’t bother you none. He stays away from the property. Before departing, Worley briefly looked at the dog and cat. If I can offer a few words of caution, though. Three Trestle Road is never congested; however, in the mornings and late afternoons, you do get a few big trucks come rumbling past.

Megan inferred what he was warning. I understand, she said, casting a concerned glance at Layla.

Then she walked over to meet the movers.

By seven-thirty they were moved in—the essentials, anyway. Beds, mattresses, large furniture, and appliances, including the washer and dryer, though both needed hooking up. Megan planned to call Edsel Moorer first thing tomorrow. With the electricity on and water running, she and Zach were ready to spend their first night in Hemlock House.

She would get to the boxes stacked in the kitchen and out in the garage over the next several days. She wasn’t due in to her new job at the physical therapy clinic in Oakgreen until Tuesday, five days away. Plenty of time to register Zach for school, call Dr. Brodie and schedule an appointment, and get acquainted with their new home. Country living. She couldn’t wait.

Upstairs, she opened her window. The early evening air was cool and carried a pungent, pleasant scent—birch wood, wild poppies from the pasture, and freshly cut wheat from the neighbors. Chirruping crickets and peeping tree frogs made for a relaxing symphony of nature. From the woods, she listened to the lone call of a hoot owl.

Tired but not ready for bed, she found a washcloth in the bathroom and removed some dust from the cherrywood frame of the large antique mirror above her dresser. The family heirloom had survived the move with nary a crack or gouge. Under the ceiling light, the gold inlays sparkled like thin threads of glitter. The mirror was Megan’s favorite gift from her deceased grandmother and she planned to hang on to it long enough to pass it on to one of Zach’s children.

Gazing at her reflection, she saw Mighty sitting in her doorway. When their eyes met, the tomcat slinked out of view toward Zach’s room.

That animal does not like me, Megan muttered. She returned the washrag to the bathroom and walked out to check on Zach, Layla plodding behind her.

What’re you doing? she asked, finding him mounting a telescope on its tripod. I see you’ve been busy.

Mr. Worley said deer sometimes come out in the pasture to feed, he said, adjusting the eyepiece.

Megan smiled. She stepped around Mighty and walked to the window. Beyond the back property line, the field rolled gently toward the horizon, which had turned burnished orange from the setting sun. Her eyes drifted toward the pond, now nothing more than a gray depression on the landscape.

It’ll be dark soon, she said, deciding she really was going to sleep well tonight.

She watched Zach peer through the lens, make another adjustment, and then step back, his brow furrowed.

Well? she asked.

It’s nothing.

No deer?

He shook his head. I thought I saw… He shoved both hands into his pockets.

What did you see, Zach?

He bit at his lower lip.

Megan moved closer. Tell me, she said, suddenly feeling not quite so at ease.

He grabbed the eyepiece and gazed again, swinging the scope in a shallow arc. It’s gone.

What’s gone? She stared out the window. The trees and pasture had become a mosaic of shifting shadows. Don’t play games, now what did you see? she asked, perturbed at his odd behavior.

When he refused to meet her gaze, she turned him to face her. I want you to tell me—

Before she finished, Zach broke out in a loud giggle.

Why you little— She laughed, grabbing him. Don’t do that to me, young man. They rolled on the bed, wrestling and squirming on the mattress.

I got you, Mommy, he squealed.

Sensing the fun, Layla barked and shoved her muzzle into the fracas.

Layla, Zach howled. We got Mommy, didn’t we?

After a few minutes of frolicking, both were worn out.

Megan sat up first. Patting his belly, she looked down on her son, relishing his high spirits. It really was a delight seeing him so happy. More than anyone, he deserved to feel good. Grab your jacket, she said. We’ll go into town for dinner.

We can’t eat here?

No food. Tomorrow night, I promise.

After they had eaten and returned to the house, Megan moved a chair from the kitchen out on the front porch. The crickets and peeping frogs had brought in friends and from deep in the woods somewhere, she heard the solitary call of a loon. What a lonely sound, she thought, ever so thankful she had Zach. Living without her child would be unimaginable.

She sipped a glass of wine. For the first time since arriving, a soothing blanket of calm settled over her. True, it was a relief the moving in was in large part complete, but it was the night that was so relaxing. The tranquil atmosphere tugged at her eyelids. No doubt, she would sleep like a baby tonight.

A flickering light across the yard drew her attention. For a moment she tensed, thinking it might have been someone’s flashlight ducking through the far trees. Then she saw a second light, and a third. There were more flickers by the big birch.

Megan chuckled. Zach, she called. Come see the fireflies.

For over an hour, well past Zach’s normal bedtime, they ran and leaped and caught the tiny twinkles of living light, and when they finished, Zach had a mason jar full of the flying insects. When he held them up, their flashing illumination reflected the happy glow in her son’s face. It was one of the most fun evenings Megan could recall playing with her son. The jar reminded her of a miniature piece of the night sky, full of tiny flickering stars.

What should I do with them? he asked, mesmerized at the moving clusters of yellow the glass held.

You could let them go, Megan suggested.

Zach laughed, unscrewed the top, and with two shakes of his hands, the fireflies flew free into the night.

Megan sat on the steps and pulled Zach next to her. Moments like these she wished she could collect in a trunk and keep forever.

He leaned his head against her shoulder. Mommy, thank you for bringing me, Mighty, and Layla here, he said.

Thank you for coming along, Megan replied, kissing him on the cheek.

Later that evening, after she’d put Zach to bed, Megan walked through the entire house ensuring all the doors and windows were secure. She took a flashlight and poked her head in the attic—only a few wood boxes, no bats thankfully—then ducked downstairs to check the basement. Besides the furnace, there was plenty of storage space, a long wooden tool counter, and some old furniture including a dusty sofa and two cabinets. Layla kept her company, sniffing all the corners and along the baseboards.

Finding everything closed up tight, she returned to the kitchen and attempted to feed Mighty again. Earlier when Zach had tried, the finicky cat had taken only one bite then sat insolently on his haunches. He wouldn’t even follow Zach upstairs when he’d called, even though Zach had set up the feline’s favorite sleeping blanket next to the wall near his window.

Megan found the cat sitting in front of the back door. She moved the canned tuna meal near the flicking tail.

Eat, Mighty, Megan coaxed.

The tomcat wouldn’t look at her. She watched him meticulously clean his front paws, then wander past her into the den. She hoped he was finally going to Zach’s bedroom to sleep. She guessed the strange surroundings were upsetting to the pet. He would get used to his new house soon enough.

Before a shower, Megan made a call to her mother. Yes, all was well. Zach was doing great, he loved the place. She hung up, a little perturbed that her ex hadn’t called for their son. Joe knew Megan’s cell phone number. What a selfish creep. She’d let Zach call him with their new number once the landline was hooked up.

Feeling clean and refreshed, and tired—it’d been a long day—Megan dried off and threw on her bathrobe. She