Now, Daddy reached the end of the newspaper article. I was only vaguely aware of Buddy saying, They let that many bleedin’-heart white beatniks into Derby County, they’re just askin’ for trouble, and Mama saying, Only thirty-four percent of Negroes are registered? Sheer laziness. Why don’t they just get themselves to the courthouse and take care of it?, and Brenda saying, Do you think the neckline on this dress is too revealing?, because I knew … I knew in a way I couldn’t explain even to myself … that I was going to be one of those white students working to register Negro voters.
I knew it the way I knew my own name.
Chapter 3
KAYLA
2010
“So,” the female police officer says once introductions have been made and the four of us—two officers, Natalie, and myself—are all sitting in my office. “Give me a description of her.”
I’d hesitated about calling the police, not wanting to overreact, but when Natalie told me she’d given Ann Smith no personal information about me whatsoever, I thought I’d better talk to someone.
“She had red hair,” I say. “Very red. Dyed I’m sure. Shoulder length. It sort of fell forward, covering her face.” I demonstrate with my dark hair, smoothing it over my cheeks with my hands.
“But her eyebrows were brown.” Natalie touches her own eyebrows, as pale as her own long blond hair.
“Could her hair have been a wig?” the male officer—PETRIE, his badge reads—asks.
I hadn’t thought of that and I realize now that the woman’s hair had looked shiny and thick for someone her age. “Yes, I suppose it could have been.”
“Race?”
“White.”
“Eye color?”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “She wore mirrored sunglasses. She refused to take them off when I asked. She said the light bothered her.”
Officer Oakley, the female officer, looks at her partner as if that’s a telling piece of information.
“She wore very red lipstick and red nail polish. Her nails were long. Acrylics. But … sloppy. As though she did them herself. She had on a white blouse and khaki pants.”
“You were very observant.” Officer Oakley smiles.
“And her voice was deep,” I add.
“Croaky,” Natalie adds.
“Could she have been a he?” Officer Oakley asks.
Despite the deep voice, there’d been something so female about the woman. “It’s possible, but…” I press my lips together. Shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe trans?” Officer Petrie offers.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just don’t … She was so strange. But here’s the thing that really got me. Really … shook me up.” I sit forward. “She knew things about me. She knew about my husband. He was killed four months ago. He was also an architect here and we designed our new house together in a new development in Round Hill. He was working inside the house and one of the construction workers accidentally left a handful of screws on the top step of the staircase before the railing was installed. Jackson didn’t see the screws and he stepped on them and fell. The woman knew about it. And she knows I’m about to move into the house. And she knows I have a little girl, nearly four years old. She even seemed to know the lot our house is on. And she said something about…” I bite my lip, trying to remember her exact words. “Something like, ‘You shouldn’t move in there.’”
“When are you moving in?” Officer Petrie asks.
“Saturday.” I’ve had my own misgivings about moving into the house. Will I ever be able to walk up those stairs without thinking of the accident? But Jackson and I had been designing the house for the seven years of our marriage. It was our dream house, a spectacular contemporary on four wooded acres. Jackson would want Rainie and me to create a life in that house, and I truly do want to live there. I just want to feel okay about it.
“Where are you living now?” Officer Oakley asks.
“We’re living temporarily with my father in Round Hill. We moved in with him—into the house I grew up in—after Jackson … after the accident.” It’s still too hard for me to put those two words together: Jackson died.
“And where is your daughter now?”
“You mean … right this minute?”
She nods.
I glance at my phone for the time, suddenly afraid. Is Rainie in danger? “She’s at my father’s,” I say. “She goes to preschool in the morning. Then he picks her up and takes her to his house, where—”