Page 95 of The Witch

I can’t lie to him and tell him that I’m certain someone is with her twenty-four hours a day. It’s something I’ve got to have a conversation with my parents about sooner rather than later. “She’s fine,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

Henry pulls up in front of Pemberton. Instinctively, I glance out the windshield, up at the attic. I hold my breath as I raise my eyes, dreading that flash of peacock-blue. Thankfully, the window is dark.

“Hey.” Henry’s words tug me back into the car. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Me too.”

He leans in to kiss me, and things get about as steamy as they possibly can, which is not very, considering we’re sitting in a Lincoln Town Car in front of my grandmother’s house.

“Do you…?” I glance over at the house. The attic might be dark, but somebody is awake in the living room. “Want to come inside?”

“Very, very much.” His jaw tightens. “But I don’t think I’m going to get a hero’s welcome if I walk through the door of that house.” He reaches out and toys with a lock of my hair. “And call me old-fashioned, but I don’t mind taking things slow. As long as you promise you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

When I first arrived, I didn’t plan on staying very long. Just long enough to check in on Gram and find a new job. But now I’m glad none of my job applications for positions back in New York yielded any responses, because I’m in no hurry to leave. If we don’t sell Pemberton, Gram needs me—and if we do, it will be a big job to clear all our belongings out of this old house. More and more, I’ve been considering taking Henry up on his offer to manage the estate. As it turns out, it won’t be so easy to leave Pemberton behind.

“Will you call me?” I ask.

“Try to stop me.”

Henry kisses me one more time, and then I climb out of his car. Ethel’s car isn’t around, which means the light in the living room is most likely my grandmother. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she’ll remember something that would be helpful.

When I get into the house, Gram is sitting on the sofa in the living room, quietly knitting. It’s such a grandmotherly thing to do. I remember her knitting all the time when I was a kid. She made me a sweater when I was fourteen that was so nice that I wore it all through high school.

I wonder what the DNA test will show. If she’s not actually my grandmother…

“Hey, Gram,” I say. “What are you making?”

Gram holds up the yarn that is accumulating in her lap. I realize now that the pattern is all confused. I don’t know if she meant it to be a shawl or a scarf or what, but it’s riddled with holes and dropped stitches. If she stops knitting, the whole thing might just unravel.

“I’m not sure…” she says uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about it.” I sit beside her and pat her reassuringly on the knee. “I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.”

Gram seems grateful to put down her knitting. She looks up at me and smiles. “Sure. What is it, Julia?”

She called me by the right name. It’s a sign she’s having a good day. “Did you ever have a woman working here named Celia Caine?”

The smile drops instantly off her face. “Celia?”

“That’s right. She worked for you, didn’t she?”

“I…I shouldn’t say…”

“And she was engaged to Mick, wasn’t she?” I prompt her.

“Yes. He…he loved her very much.” She blinks her watery eyes, as if surprised at her own words. “But no. I can’t…”

“Do you know where Celia is now?”

“No.” Gram shakes her head vigorously so that her jowls tremble. “I can’t talk about Celia.”

“Why not?”

“I…I’m not supposed to.” Her wrinkled hand flies to her face. “She told me I can never talk about Celia. She said don’t even say the name.”

“Who said that?”

Before Gram can get out another sentence, we are interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open, followed by Ethel’s heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor. I swear under my breath. I was so close…