CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Wulfecombe

As she sat on a bench by the ford, admiring the river, Tillie tried to ground herself in her surroundings. She took out a tiny sketchbook from her bag, the little tin of watercolors, and a bleed-proof ink pen, and let herself fall into the easy pleasure of capturing the scene. The trees beginning to leaf out, the slant of sunlight, the children wading happily in what had to be very cold water, their parents on the banks, calling out to them. Don't get your trousers wet. It's safe. Walk a little way!

A sense of peace began to creep in, and she took a deep breath. Her previous memory made her feel like she was definitely close to getting the answers she'd been looking for.

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up and saw that it was Liam. He texted: I've just had a big fight with Krish. Can I call you?

Yes!

She glanced to each side to make sure no one would be bothered by her conversation, and when the call came through, she said quietly, "Hey. What happened?"

"I think I just fired him." He sounded bewildered.

"Wow. That's big." The sun spilled over the crown of her head, and she was so happy to be here, in this spot, that it was easy to be the encouraging one. "What happened?"

"He's been interfering in ways that are not okay," he said. She guessed by the sound of his breath that he was walking. "Just before I left New York, he tried to get a woman to seduce me."

A rumbling of disquiet sounded in the distance. "That's a weird thing to do. Why?"

"It's a long story, but he doesn't want me to get involved with you."

"With me in particular?"

"Anyone." He sighed. "This is not a conversation to have on the phone. I want to see you."

"What kind of conversation?"

"It's nothing. Well, it's something, but it isn't what—" He broke off. "You don't have to worry. I promise. Look, I can be on a plane in a few hours, be in New York by morning." He made a noise. "No, wait. I have to see my family. They're expecting me, so it'll have to be Tuesday or so. Can we hold off until then?"

She suddenly realized that she was never going to lie to him. How could she? "Well, here's the thing. I'm not in New York. I wasn't going to bother you, but I found out that the painting was done in a little town near the Devon coast." She took a breath. "So, I'm ... uh ... in England."

"What? You're here? In England?"

"I didn't want you to think I was chasing you or something, so I thought I'd just deal with this, see what I could find out, and then we could talk when you were done."

"Where in England?"

"In Devon." She looked over her shoulder as if to reassure herself.

"Wait. That's crazy. My family is in Devon. In Wulfecombe. Do you know where that is?"

A weird, twisting emotion swirled through her gut, her throat, welled in her eyes. "Liam," she managed in a hushed tone.

"What?"

"That's where I am. My feet are in the ford right now."

He was silent. Then: "This is getting really fucking weird."

"Yeah." She blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her emotion was pure terror, the kind of terrified that seemed unreal, like discovering that a haunted house was actually haunted.

"Don't leave," he said. "I'll be there in a few hours. Where are you staying?"

"The Green King."

"I'll be there soon."

"Okay."

He hung up, and she held the phone loosely in her palm, heart racing, then thudding, unable to make up its mind. What the actual hell was going on here?

The phone buzzed and showed her Liam's name. "Hello?"

"I forgot to say I really can't wait to kiss you."

A small laugh broke through the fear in her body. "Me, too."

"Tillie, this is—"

She waited.

"It's important."

"Yeah." She nodded, even though he couldn't see her.

"I'll see you soon."

It was impossible to sit there after that conversation. She walked aimlessly through the streets of the village, maybe half looking for the little house in the painting or maybe the yellow building that had looked familiar, or anything, really, that might jog her memory.

The light was still bright at 5:00 p.m., and she wandered up one lane and down another, admiring spring bulbs exploding from the beds, tulips and narcissi and a big patch of lily of the valley. She knew their names because her mother had taught her, and it made her feel close to Arlette to recite them.

She suddenly missed her so very, very much. Her funny croaky laugh, the way she'd put a hand to her upper chest when something was hilarious. She could be very funny, a master of puns and sly asides, and she had a friend in a crow who brought her presents of bits of glass or squashed bottle caps. She called him Reaper, for a Blue Oyster Cult song.

As if Arlette had sent him, a giant crow landed in the garden in front of Tillie and squawked. "Is your name Reaper, too?" she asked. It gave her a beady eye, squawked again, then flapped its wings and lifted off.

"Oh, Mom," she said aloud. "What is this all about? Couldn't you have left a letter or something?"

She thought of Jon's question. Are you sure you want to keep going down this road?

She was suddenly not at all sure.