“Right.” He nodded reflexively, calculations running behind his eyes. She didn’t know what the house was worth these days. Not that it mattered, if Daphne and Juliette didn’t agree to sell.
She’d sent them each a message, telling them that she and Nathan would be staying at the house for a while. She’d left it at that, for now. Daphne hadn’t responded at all. Juliette had sent one word—ok. She had no idea what they’d think about selling the house. She had no idea what they thought about anything.
She walked up to the cast-iron gates. There was a thick chain wrapped around them, secured with a heavy padlock. She tugged the gate uselessly anyway, making the chain rattle.
“Don’t you have a key?” Nathan called. He’d gotten out of the car but stood behind the open door, like he needed it as a shield. She understood the impulse. She looked past him. The trees kept them mostly out of sight, but she could see the house across the street, and the curtain twitching aside in one window there.
“Nope,” she said ruefully. “I’ve got the house key, but that’s it.”
“Seriously, Emma?” Nathan said. The spot between her shoulders tensed up. “Who does have one, then? Someone’s getting in there to take care of it.” He gestured behind her at the well-manicured lawns.
“We pay for a service. And there’s someone who comes out to check around every few months. I’m sure we can get the key from him,” she said quickly, soothingly. “We’ll deal with the gate tomorrow. Just leave the car here and we can go around. It’ll be fine.”
“The whole thing isn’t fenced off?”
“Just the front here, for cars,” she assured him chirpily. She popped open the trunk, hauling out the bag that held her essentials.
“I’ve got that,” he said, moving to intercept.
“I’m not an invalid,” she protested, even though her limbs felt like rubber after the drive and all she wanted to do was curl up in a bed—any bed—and sleep for a week.
“Don’t be so stubborn,” he chided her, reaching to take the bag from her. This time she let him, standing back uselessly as he grabbed his own suitcase as well.
With Emma carrying some of the lighter groceries, they tromped off to the right of the gates. The imposing height of the cast iron gave way to a chest-high wall farther along, and then even that fell away, leaving only the rows of trees that provided privacy from the road. They trudged toward the house, Nathan dragging his rolling suitcase across the grass with limited success.
“Is that an actual carriage house?” Nathan asked, looking askance at the extra building.
“It is. Not that it’s seen an actual carriage for a century,” Emma said. “The hitching post is original, too.” She nodded toward the feature in question, metal trending toward rust.
“What about the house?” Nathan asked.
Her breath was coming fast, her heart galloping. She told herself it was just the exertion. That sickly-sweet trickle at the back of her throat, the lurching in her stomach, was just the inaptly named morning sickness. The way her vision narrowed as those steps grew closer …
“Hey.” Nathan’s fingertips bumped her shoulder. She jumped, twisting away from him, and his lips parted in surprise.
Crazy, you look crazy, she thought, imagined her hair gone to frizz and wild from the drive, her eyes wide, pupils panic-blown. She shut her eyes, drew a steadying breath through her nose. “The house. The house is—it was built in the 1980s. The original house burned down.”
“You okay?” Nathan asked quietly.
“Let’s just get inside,” she said.
Up the steps. Suitcases off to the side. Find the key. Get the key to the lock, hands shaking—“I’ve got it,” Nathan said, taking it from her. He turned the key. Pushed open the door. He looked at her, asking wordlessly if she wanted to go in first. She shook her head. She couldn’t. But then he started forward and she grabbed his arm, fingers dimpling the fabric of his sleeve, a breath hissing between her teeth. He couldn’t go in there. No one should go in there.
“Emma?” he asked.
“No, no,” she said, dimly aware that it didn’t make sense as an answer, that he hadn’t asked a question, really. “Sorry. Go ahead.” She eased her grip on him.
Still looking at her more than ahead, he stepped across the threshold.
“Jesus,” he said. She stiffened and strode in after him, a wild anger filling her she couldn’t explain, but when she stepped past the threshold she stumbled to a stop.