“I’m so sorry that people thought that about you, Justin. To compound the pain of it all for you like that…” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

  Justin looks down at his hands for a moment before he taps the table and gets up. “That’s all in the past, we don’t need to talk about it.”

  I nod silently, then watch him snap back into work mode as though nothing just happened. “All right. We have the old sink out, now we need to make sure the plumbing is in okay shape.” He picks up a wrench from the toolbox. “You hold the pipes steady while I work on them.”

  I’m a little thrown by what I’ve just found out, but I try my hardest to regain my composure and join him at the sink. When Justin finishes tightening the last bolt, he wipes his hands on his jeans before turning to me with a proud smile.

  “All done,” he proclaims, beaming at the sleek stainless-steel fixture that now adorns my countertop.

  “I’m impressed. You really know what you’re doing.”

  “I aim to please.” He shoots me a sly wink.

  We clean up the mess we’ve made, then move through to the living room. Once we’re settled beside each other on the couch, I reach into my pocket.

  “I want to show you something.”

  I pull out the three photos I found and pass them to him. He takes them and flips through them, studying each one, a puzzled look on his face. “Well, these three girls sure do look happy. Who are they?”

  “Jessie, Sandra and Erica.”

  He nods. “I see that.”

  “Do you recognize any of them?” I ask. “Did any of them used to live around here?”

  He looks closer at each girl before passing the photos back to me. “No. Why?”

  I sigh. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I found them hidden around the house. At first I thought it was just a cute little hello from the past, left for future owners to find. But now I’m not so sure. I mean, they look to have been taken in the eighties, so I kind of thought you might remember these girls from living around here when you were small.”

  “Nope, sorry,” he says. “You could ask the previous owners of the house?”

  This hadn’t occurred to me, but now that I think about it, it might be a good idea. “I guess I could get their number from my realtor, Benton.”

  “Benton Shepherd?” Justin asks.

  I laugh. “Wow, you really do know everyone in town.”

  A frown creases his forehead. “Well, a lot of people know Benton. He’s not the kind of guy to slip under the radar. You’ve seen his car, right?”

  I roll my eyes, remembering how impressed Cameron had been by Benton’s flashy red Mustang. “You think he’s compensating for something?”

  “Yeah. A heart.” Justin scoffs. “That guy has some questionable business practices. He might be all clean-cut and smooth, but he’s as shady as they come. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, my father would have called him.”

  “What do you mean?” My interest is piqued now.

  “Benton makes his living pressuring people into selling their homes for far less than they’re worth, convincing them it’s the best offer they’ll get. He has no problem with lying about the condition of properties, covering up major issues. He’s only interested in his commission, fast sales, and will do whatever it takes to get there.” Justin shakes his head.

  “You think he’s a crook?” I ask.

  “I mean, if it looks like a duck, waddles like a duck, quacks like a duck…” He shrugs.

  “Well there was no fast sale on this house, anyway,” I say. “He told me it was empty for a few years before he eventually sold it to me.”

  Justin looks around. “Well… that one’s hardly a shocker.”

  I grab a cushion and throw it at him. “Hey! I happen to love my little time capsule. Although, I’ll be happy when it finally starts looking a little less outdated.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. Free labor.” Justin throws the cushion right back at me.

  “You know,” I say, “I meant to clarify earlier on that I only told Felicity that we aren’t seeing each other because I wanted to avoid gossip. Not because I’m not interested in you.”

  Justin’s eyes dart around as he pretends to calculate the double negative. “So… that means⁠—”

  I don’t let him finish before I lean in and kiss him. He’s taken the lead in every other way so far. Now it’s my turn.

  18

  RUBY

  I pour my morning coffee, still half asleep, and stumble my way over to the kitchen table. Sitting down, I take a much-needed sip of the dark, life-giving liquid and proceed to neatly line up the three photos on the tabletop.

  I run my fingers over their smiles. Identical. The wide eyes. The huge grins. The hideous but on-trend dresses for that time.

  Who are you? Why are your photos hidden around my house?

  I was disappointed last night when Justin told me he had never seen these girls before. He knows everyone around here. He’s lived in Lonerock his whole life. At forty years old, he may have even been an infant when these photos were taken, but if any of these girls were still around Lonerock by the time he was a young child, surely he’d recognize a photo of them? And the fact that he doesn’t leads me to two possible conclusions. One of which must be true.

  The first: these women were not from Lonerock.

  The second: they were from Lonerock, but they were no longer here by the time Justin grew older.

  Neither of these explanations brings me any further to understanding why their photos have been hidden around this house for decades. Three young women who look to be of no relation to each other. Three identical poses, in the same exact spot, which doesn’t even seem to have been inside this house.

  It’s not making any sense to me.

  And then there’s that nagging question in the back of my mind. The one that won’t go away: are there more?

  I’m not sure what exactly comes over me as I look down at these photos. Maybe it’s the double espresso that I’ve just chugged down on an empty stomach; maybe it’s the fact that I’m missing my kids so badly that it feels like half my heart has been ripped out and is over there in Arizona with them; maybe it’s these goddamn huge grins on these three girls’ faces that seem more and more tortured by the second as I stare down at them—but before I even know what I’m doing, I’m tearing the house apart, bit by bit, trying to find another photo.

  I pull off skirting boards, I test every floorboard and tile, trying to find something loose that might hide another maniacally grinning girl behind it. I’m pushing out dressers and beds, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. It’s like I’m possessed. I don’t even know what I’m trying to prove or how another photo might help me figure this out, but for some reason, the mere idea of another one of these photos living secretly inside my house as I go about my day, unaware of its existence, makes me feel as though my spine has grown a thousand little centipede legs that wriggle around under my skin.

  I can’t stand it. I don’t know who these girls are. I don’t know why their photos were left here, but it’s no longer cute. It’s no longer fun. Their smiles are burned into my mind, their mouths wide in a macabre grin, taunting me.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear my phone buzzing on the kitchen table and I run downstairs, nearly tripping over the mountain of things piled up on Cameron’s bed, which still sits in the upstairs hall. Any progress I’ve made on the house pales in comparison to the absolute chaos the rest of the place is in right now.

  By the time I get to the phone, I’m sure I’m going to miss whoever is on the other end but when I look at the screen, I see Mory’s name and I quickly swipe to answer. “Mory!”

  “Woah, Mom. Dial it back a little. Are you okay?”

  I try to calm my breathing, realizing that I must have sounded like a madwoman to my daughter. “Sorry. Sorry, Mory. It’s just so nice to have you call. I figured you’d be busy with your father and Caitlyn. Are you guys having fun?”

  “Yeah, um. I guess.”

  That doesn’t sound reassuring. “You guess?”

  “Yeah. I mean…” Mory pauses, something clearly on her mind. “Well… I miss him, Mom.”

  “Miss wh—” I cut myself off as I realize exactly who. “Oh. Hutch.”

  There’s quiet on the line. Then the sound of sniffing. Mory is crying.

  “Oh, honey. You really miss him, huh?” I say, wanting to reach into the phone and hold my baby girl close to me.

  “Yeah,” she sobs. “I miss him so much. I just want to come back home, Mom.”

  I try not to take this personally. Neither Mory nor Cameron have ever called me up from their father’s house to tell me they miss me, or that they want to come home to me. But it is one of life’s fundamental facts that there are no stronger emotions in the world than those of a teenage girl in love.

  “Mory, baby, I’m sorry. I know you miss Hutch, but you’ll be home in just a couple of weeks and you two can catch up then. And you’ll have so much to talk about after the break.”

  The sobbing at the other end of the phone continues and it’s torture for me, not being able to hold my daughter and kiss her hair and tell her it’s all going to be okay.

  It’s completely irrelevant that in a year from now she will probably have forgotten this boy and have moved on to another. The fact is, at her age, love is all consuming. Every hour of every day is spent thinking about that person who makes your world go round.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had feelings like that, but I remember those days. I even remember having those feeling about her father, Aaron. Hard as it is to imagine now.

  And when Justin lingered at the door last night, his lips still hungry on mine as we said goodbye, I sure can’t say my feelings for him felt at all tepid. In fact, the whole night was pretty damn steamy, let me tell you. But I’m not in love with Justin. And that’s the difference between sixteen and thirty-eight. I’m able to separate my hormones from my emotions.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes pouring supportive words into the phone until Mory’s ragged breaths become more stable and she eventually calms down enough to tell me that she really is having a great time over there, despite being utterly lovesick, and that Cameron is so immersed in a Christmas movie that he can’t even make it to the phone right now to say hello.

  When we eventually hang up the call, I have a realization that sends a warm glow all the way through my core: Mory and Cameron might enjoy being at their father’s house more than being here with me, they might have more fun there, they might love to cook and eat meals with Caitlyn and their father, play games and do endless wonderful activities… but when my daughter had real feelings—overwhelming ones that were eating away at her heart—she called me. She needed my voice to soothe her. She needed her mom.

  This alone is enough to pick me up and carry me through the rest of what already promises to be a very long day.

  19

  RUBY

  “Hmm.” Felicity shakes her head, her blonde hair swishing around her narrow shoulders. “No, I don’t know them.”

  My heart sinks. I’d come over to the Parkers’ house after speaking with Mory to ask them about the photos, but Felicity had insisted that I come in and try a slice of her home-made cinnamon cake. I’d been hoping Felicity or Quinten might be able to tell me who these girls are. My manic searching this morning didn’t turn up any additional photos, but I just can’t shake the feeling of unease that’s settled over me.

  I don’t know who these women were, or how their pictures ended up in my home, hidden in the most obscure places, but their haunting smiles seem to follow me in my mind wherever I go, seared now into my consciousness.

  “Honey, how about you?” Felicity calls her husband over from where he pours us coffee.

  Quinten hands both me and Felicity a cup then sits down, pulls on a pair of glasses and picks the photos up to study them. He holds one of them out to Felicity. “This kind of looks like the woman who works at the auto shop, don’t you think?”

  Felicity shakes her head. “No. The ages don’t line up. Judging by when these photos look to have been taken, these women would be in their sixties by now, and she’s late forties at most.”

  He makes a throaty noise. “I guess you’re right.”

  “The dark-haired one looks a lot like Miss Tammy, Leo’s old kindergarten teacher, it’s possible this could be her mother,” Felicity suggests.

  Quinten shakes his head. “No, Miss Tammy’s mother is the secretary there, remember? She was the one who showed us around that first day.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right,” she muses. “It’s been so long, I forgot. Wasn’t she the one that sang us the class rules in the tune of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’?”

  The couple both laugh at this and I can see this is getting me absolutely nowhere.

  Felicity passes back the photos to me. “Sorry we can’t be of more help. You could always try contacting the previous owners, Stan and Anita Desmond.”

  “You know them?” I ask, sliding the photos back inside my handbag.

  “Used to,” Felicity says. “But they moved away a long time ago.”

  “You don’t happen to have a contact number for them, do you?” I ask in hope.

  “No, sorry. I used to be in touch with Anita, but she’s since changed her number and I don’t have the new one. But Benton Shepherd sold you the house, right? He should have it.”

  This brings me right back to my conversation with Justin last night. Although after hearing about Benton’s somewhat shady practices, I can’t say I’m all that enthusiastic about the idea of getting back in contact with the man.

  When our coffee cups are empty and Felicity and Quinten walk me to the door, I can’t help but share with them my conversation with Mory this morning, and her emotional reaction to missing Hutch.

  “Oh, that’s adorable.” Felicity clutches her chest. “Those two make such a cute couple, don’t they, honey?”

  Quinten smiles. “Well, I know Mory certainly has our Hutch’s heart, anyway. They’re texting all the time. He never stops talking about her.”

  Felicity puts a hand on my shoulder and lowers her voice. “I want you to know, I did have a talk with Hutch about the age difference. And he told me he’s waiting until she turns seventeen next month to officially ask her out on a date. Something a little more romantic than a robotics session with his father!”

  “That’s sweet,” I say.

  I don’t have the heart to break it to them that Mory and Hutch have been secretly meeting up for weeks behind their backs.

  When I get home, I don’t waste any time trying to find Benton’s number. With one week until Christmas, he’ll likely soon be out of the office until the new year, and I want to get to the bottom of this before the kids get back from Arizona. After emptying my handbag out onto the coffee table, I find Benton’s business card amongst the rubble and type the number into my phone.

  The photos stare up at me from the coffee table as I pace the living room, my call ringing out unanswered. The eyes of the girls in the pictures seem to follow me as I go, watching me.

  After everything Justin told me about Benton Shepherd last night, he’s not someone I particularly want to be calling for a favor right now, but I don’t have much choice. He must have a number for the previous owners of this house and I don’t know where else to find it. I tap my fingernails impatiently against each other as I wait for him to pick up.

  “Shepherd’s Real Estate, how can I be of help today?” Benton’s voice finally comes through the line, smooth and slick.

  “Benton, hi, it’s Ruby Blake,” I say, my voice steady.

  “Ruby! It’s great to hear from you. How’s everything with the new house?”

  “It’s wonderful.” I stretch the truth tight enough to snap. “But there’s something I hoped you could help me with.”

  “Fire away,” Benton prompts.

  “I need to contact the previous owners, if that’s possible. I have some questions for them.”

  “Questions?” Benton sounds curious.

  “Yeah. You know, just about the history of the house and such,” I say.

  “Oh, well, I can tell you all of that. The last owners moved in when it was built in the early eighties, they moved out to live closer to their grandchildren a few years back and were the only owners of the property until they sold it to you last August,” he explains.

  “Yes, thanks. You mentioned all this when we met before. But I have some more in-depth questions I’d like to ask the last owners myself, if you could give me their number?”

  I hear Benton exhaling between his teeth. “No can do, sorry. Giving out clients’ personal information goes against our policy here, I’m sure you understand.”

  I had a feeling this would be the answer, but I was hoping Benton would be the kind of guy who wouldn’t care too much about bending the rules.

  “The thing is, Benton, I’m concerned about some… items that I’ve found around here,” I say.

  There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “What kind of items, Ruby?”

  I don’t feel like sharing anything more with this guy. “Just some personal things that I’m sure the last owners would like to have back.”

  Benton now speaks softly. “Well, that’s no problem at all. If you drop them into my office, I’d gladly pass them on.”

  Something about this offer sets my senses on alert and I have a strong feeling that giving these photos to Benton would not be a good idea.

  “You know what? It’s really not that important. I’m sure they took everything they wanted from the house,” I backtrack.

  “Are you sure, Ruby? Because I don’t mind⁠—”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” I rush. “I’ve got to go. Happy Holidays.”

  I end the awkward exchange feeling a little rattled.