She started sweeping out the fireplace but found herself just staring at the grate. Reading was no more helpful; her mind kept wandering. Eventually she poured herself a glass of something-or-other, heated up some leftovers from the night before, and carried it all down to the sunset point.

It was still light and warm outside, but thick black clouds hovered on the horizon. Emily placed her plate carefully on the wall and climbed on beside it, breathing in the view. It felt like years ago that she’d sat in that restaurant in Soho, listening to Scott describing Querencia. Back then she hadn’t been able to imagine that such a place even existed, and the reality had totally lived up to his description. Arriving here had been like opening the gates to heaven. She squinted, trying to see the place how she’d seen it on that very first day, but the magic had become the norm, and despite the excitement of Scott’s visit, she felt flat. The pixie dust was wearing off. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Nothing stayed perfect forever.

Emily swallowed a mouthful of wine, noting dutifully that it tasted like the end of a pencil. What, exactly, was the root of her discomfort? It wasn’t just the thing with the hikers. All weekend, underneath all the sparkle and electricity, there’d been something bugging her. It was something to do with the family house and the weird feeling she got whenever she went in there. It was Aurelia’s pills, the bathroom cabinet, and the three of them: Scott, Nina, and Aurelia. Something about the way they all behaved around each other.

It struck her that she hadn’t once seen Scott give his daughter a hug. His only displays of affection took the form of the odd pat on the head. It reminded her of the way her own father treated her. For the first time since they’d met, Emily’s feelings toward Scott were somewhat less than adoring. Maybe he was ashamed. Maybe that was the real reason he stayed away from Querencia; maybe Aurelia embarrassed him. Suddenly the temper tantrums and nightmares didn’t seem so strange.

And of course, they weren’t that strange. Emily herself had been similar as a child. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how much she and Aurelia had in common: the nightmares, the outbursts, the slightly off-kilter social behavior—Emily had been through all of that. The more time she spent in Aurelia’s company, the more connected to her she felt. What had Nina said? We’re like E.T. and Elliott. One always feels what the other is feeling. Emily could understand that. Some things about Aurelia seemed to almost physically resonate with her, like the way she responded to touch and sound. The way she cried out in those first few weeks whenever Emily got too close, the way she freaked out during thunderstorms. Even her drawings the other day … it was all painfully, bizarrely familiar.

And then, for some reason, Dr. Forte popped into her head again; a startlingly clear image. She was leaning over, her hands outstretched, her lips moving. Close your eyes, Emily. What do you see?

Emily shivered and looked out at the ocean. The water was still and flat, scarred with the trails of fishing boats heading home for the night. Slick, spiky rocks appeared and disappeared like sharks’ fins as the tide climbed to its highest point. Lightning flashed in the distance.

And somewhere behind her, a twig snapped softly under someone’s foot.

Emily whipped around, knocking her fork off the wall and sending it clattering over the rocks.

“Hello?”

Something was moving—a shadow, weaving between the olive trees.

Emily swung her legs back over the wall and stood, her pulse quickening.

The shadow stopped, its edges bleeding into the deepening darkness, and for a second Emily wondered if her mind was playing tricks. But then the shadow spoke.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” said Scott, lumbering into sight.

Emily sagged. “Oh my god, it’s you. I wondered what the hell that was!” She smiled and resisted an urge to flick her hair. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Just came to say hi.”

He shuffled closer, and Emily saw that his eyes were bloodshot, the lids pink and swollen. His cheeks were puffy, as if he’d been hit, and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “Did you just take a nap?” But as she stepped toward him, she caught a strong whiff of booze.

“Oh dear.” She placed her hands on her hips like a schoolteacher. “Looks like I missed happy hour.”

A crack of thunder leaped out of the darkening sky. Scott blinked and lost his balance.

“Whoops-a-daisy.” She laughed. “Maybe you should sit down.” He didn’t move, and she hesitated. As much as she’d have loved a repeat of whatever had happened the night before, something was different. Gone were the playful flirting and the come-to-bed eyes; this time, Drunk Scott crackled with a dangerous intensity.

Emily wondered if she should take him back to his wife, but Nina would be putting Aurelia to bed and probably wouldn’t appreciate her husband crashing around the house and making a mess. Better to take him back to the guesthouse, Emily decided. Make him some coffee.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” She went to help him, to take his arm or maybe let him lean on her, but suddenly he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. She swallowed, her cantering heart breaking into a gallop.

Scott was staring at her with a stricken look on his face, his eyes searching hers, his lips quivering with the weight of things unsaid, and suddenly Emily was consumed with a desire she hadn’t felt since high school, a burning, racing, dizzying feeling that was part Christmas morning, part fever dream. Her whole body was on fire.

“Hey.” His voice cracked and, to Emily’s surprise, a tear leaked out of one eye. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

An icy prickle slid down the back of her neck.

And then Scott crumpled, pitching forward so fast that Emily had no time to think. Her body was confused; she held out her arms as if to catch him while also stepping backward to get out of his way, and his momentum propelled them both toward the wall. Her legs bumped up against the stone and she gripped him by the elbows, hanging on as he slumped onto her shoulder. They teetered for a moment, clinging to one another and rocking dangerously over the drop.

Emily managed to stand her ground and regain some balance, but Scott was like an eighty-kilogram rag doll. Looking down at their arms, twisted together like the roots of a tree, she noticed that his skin was covered in what looked like burn marks: little red craters dotting his wrists, his forearms, and the crooks of his elbows.

“You’re hurt.” The words leaked out of her just as the wind came at them, upsetting their already shaky equilibrium, and suddenly Scott’s mouth was on her neck, her cheek, just inches from her lips, and she inhaled sharply, breathing in his clothes, his skin, his hair. The whole world was reduced to the tingle of his stubble against her jaw, the roar of his sweet, sticky breath in her ear—and the moment was so intoxicating that she closed her eyes. She could feel every curve and swell of his body. A desperate need filled her up. Scott was moaning, a spellbindingly low note that called to her, that asked a question that only she could answer. Their lips met.…

But then Scott was collapsing again, folding in half, crushing her with his whole weight, toppling to the ground and pulling her with him. She resisted, trying to hold him up.

“Scott … I can’t … I can’t breathe.”

Lightning flashed, and for a second everything was bright light and stark shadows. But then the night rushed back and Emily was wheezing, struggling under Scott’s bulk, choking on his boozy breath, and suddenly she was back there in the street, the bus just inches away, its brakes squealing as white pieces of paper filled the sky like birds, and the panic was rising, filling her up until her ribs splintered under her skin … and then she was somewhere else, somewhere unknowable and unseeable but horribly familiar, somewhere dark and lonely and frightening. She bowed her head as she buckled, her legs giving way, her body yielding to the heavy object on top of her.…

And then her hands shot out, seeking to push it away. They connected with Scott’s chest, and she shoved with everything she had. “No!” she yelled, and a bitter cold rushed into the space between their bodies.

Scott dropped to the ground, his hands at his temples, and Emily was instantly filled with regret. She opened her mouth to apologize, but she had no words, no voice: the panic had taken them and wouldn’t give them back. She scrabbled at her own throat as if she could tear it open with her fingers.

In front of her, Scott climbed unsteadily to his feet and paused for a second. Then he shrank away and crashed back through the grass toward the family house, so quickly that Emily was left wondering if he’d been there at all. She was alone by the wall with her hands on her heart. Her labored breath got lost in the whip of the wind as the rain came hurtling in from the ocean and thunder boomed like cannon fire.

And from the direction of the house, under the noise of the storm, came the unmistakable sound of a little girl crying.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SCOTT