Chapter Four
Jessica moved through the rooms of her new house, undeniably detached. At any other time, she would have loved the new place, but not without Jacob.
A feeling of anxiety swept through her, sending the room spinning around her. She leaned heavily against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t have a panic attack her first day in the new place…she just couldn’t.
“Hello?”
The sound of a woman’s voice echoed off the walls of the living room, high-pitched and nasally. “Anyone here?”
Jessica’s eyes flew open. She sucked in great gulps of air attempting to rein in her panic. “I’ll be right there,” she managed to gasp between bouts of dizziness.
“Not a problem. Take your time.”
After several more heartbeats of leaning against the wall for support, Jessica managed to survive her attack. But the anxiety she felt inside still remained.
She straightened her shirt, ran a hand through her long, dark hair, and forced one foot in front of the other.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you?” a short, plump woman with bleached blonde hair announced with a smile. She held a covered dish in her hands.
Jessica attempted to return her smile but failed miserably. “You didn’t.”
“I’m Margarette Hawthorn, but my friends call me Marge. I live on the other side of the cul-de-sac, on the right. The one with the fish mailbox.”
“I didn’t notice a mailbox. Sorry.”
Marge appeared uncomfortable. She suddenly thrust the dish she held at Jessica. “I’d heard y’all would be arriving today, so I made you a casserole to welcome you into the neighborhood. I hope you like it.”
Surprised by the gesture, Jessica accepted the dish. “Thank you, Marge. I’m Jessica, and my husband’s name is Owen. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you, and it’s no trouble at all.”
An awkward silence fell.
Marge clasped her hands in front of her and gazed around at the bare walls. “I see they painted since the last time I was here.”
“You knew the people who lived here before us?” Jessica trailed off into the kitchen to put the casserole away.
Marge followed. “They were a really nice couple. Had two rambunctious children. Do you and your husband have any kids?”
Jessica’s throat closed. She set the dish down onto the countertop and shook her head.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Marge continued, obviously not noticing Jessica’s distress. “Well, you’re still young, I’m sure you’ll fill the house with little ones in no time.”
Fighting back the tears that threatened, Jessica cleared her throat and turned to face her neighbor. “Thank you again for the casserole, Mrs. Hawthorn. I would offer you a drink, but we haven’t unloaded the dishes yet.”
“Please, call me Marge,” the woman insisted, turning back toward the living room. “I’ll get out of your hair. But once you are settled, Benny and I would love to have you over for dinner.”
The last thing Jessica wanted was to mingle with the neighbors. She craved nothing more than to be left alone. Regardless, she found herself saying, “That would be nice. Thank you.”
Marge nodded and then left, leaving Jessica to wonder what had just happened. She’d never had anyone bring her a casserole in Chicago. Not that she had many friends. She didn’t. She’d had fewer still after Jacob’s death.
“Who was that?” Owen came through the door, carrying a large box with the word PICTURES scrawled across the top.
Jessica pointed toward the far corner of the living room. “You can put that over there. The woman who just left is one of our neighbors. Her name is Marge Hawthorn. She brought us a casserole.”
Owen set the box down and straightened. “A casserole? What for?”
Jessica shrugged. “Sort of a house warming gift, I think.”
“That was nice of her.” Owen wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.
It was nice, Jessica silently agreed, hoping she hadn’t come across as rude to the woman.
Several different men began filing into the house carrying boxes. Jessica stepped aside as Owen lead them all to specific rooms.
“I’m going to have a look around outside,” she called out, hoping her husband heard her over the murmuring of voices inside the house.
When no response came, she strode through the open front door and into the yard.
The place really was beautiful to Jessica. She’d never seen trees the size of the ones surrounding the house. They were majestic with their low-lying limbs twisting toward the ground in different shapes.
Jessica appreciated the fact that the house sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, it assured more privacy.
She moved around the yard, her gaze straying to the wooden, two-story house on the left side of the cul-de-sac.
The place appeared to have been empty for some time if the peeling paint and overgrown grass were any indication. One of the downstairs windows was busted and an old, dingy-white curtain hung half askew from its shattered pane.
An icy wind suddenly swept through the yard, sending goosebumps peppering her skin. Jessica rubbed at her arms, her gaze glued to the front of that house. It seemed to call to her, silently beckoning her forward.
She trailed across the lawn, dodging the swaying moss that hung from the oak trees until she reached the adjoining property line.
Another burst of cold air appeared, sweeping through the grass and stirring up the leaves at Jessica’s feet. The chilly wind felt out of place on the otherwise warm, summer day.
A strange sensation overtook her in that moment, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Something bad had happened in that house. Jessica wasn’t sure how she knew it, she only knew that she did.
She turned to go when movement in the upstairs window caught her eye. She squinted against the glare of sunlight trickling through the trees and peered up at the dirty glass of the window. There, staring back at her, stood a dark-haired boy, wearing what looked to be a striped T-shirt.
He couldn’t be more than seven years old, she guessed, attempting to make out his features. The same age as Jacob had been before… She couldn’t finish the thought.
Jessica lifted a hand, sending him a quick wave, but the boy didn’t reciprocate. He continued to stare down at her for long moments before backing from her view altogether.