Then Kate’s hand was over hers, pulling the phone away from her daughter’s ear.
“Hey!” Grace cried. “What are you doing?” She tried to hold on, but Kate pried the phone from her, held it to her own ear.
“Who is this?” she demanded, knowing she sounded shrill and not caring.
“Hi, Mrs. Corbin.” A high-pitched voice, amused. “It’s Madison.”
A female school friend, not that boy. Not Damien. Stunned, Kate let the phone slip from her ear.
“Jesus, Mom.” Grace easily plucked it out of Kate’s hand and pressed it back to her own ear before turning away. “Sorry, Mad, my mom’s just having some freak-out.”
She was gone before Kate could apologize, striding away from her mother back across the lawn, heading in the direction of the house. She disappeared inside.
Four hours had to be endured before Ian was ready to leave and Kate could stop smiling. Every hour counted, each minute taking an eternity to pass.
There was silence in the car as Ian drove the secondhand Volvo through Wickfield’s quiet streets. The new house was only a few blocks from the center of town, an older residential street with sidewalks in front of frame homes, most with front porches, built in the early years of the twentieth century. Sycamore trees lined both sides of the street, branches stretched to form a canopy high above the road. Street lamps spaced at equally measured intervals cast soft yellow puddles onto the asphalt.
It was too quiet here. There were no sirens, no trucks, no sound of rushing cabs or the subterranean rumble of trains to help lull her to sleep. She found the silence unnerving.
Their house was two-story with a wide front porch. Four bedrooms, two full baths, an updated kitchen, but original hardwood floors and beautiful molding. The selling point, though, was in the back of the house, at the end of a pavered driveway. A previous owner, a furniture maker who liked light, had turned the detached garage into a workroom complete with lots of large windows. It was a perfect studio.
Yet Kate’s canvases and easels were still wrapped, sitting in the center of the room with the crates of supplies she’d cleared out of her studio in Brooklyn. Every time she went to unpack them, something else needed to be done in the house. It wasn’t that she was avoiding it, or at least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
Ian parked on the driveway and they made their way, still in silence, up the path to the front door. Once they were all inside, Kate turned back to check that it was locked.
Ian’s soft chuckle surprised her.
“What?”
“You don’t have to check here. I’m sure that even if we left the door unlocked nothing would happen.”
“There’s still crime even in small towns.”
“Sure, but c’mon. This isn’t like the city.”
Grace spoke from the stairs. “Yeah, it isn’t nearly as cool.”
Ian sighed. “It’s late. You need to get to bed, Grace.”
“Whatever.” The tone was pure teenage disdain. She ran up the stairs before either parent could respond.
Ian scowled and started after her, but Kate stopped him with a touch on his arm. “Let her go.”
“And let her get away with talking to us like that?”
“Pick your battles—she’s tired and angry about the move.”
“She’s spoiled is what she is.” He ushered Kate ahead of him up the stairs and switched off the hall lights before following. “When I was her age, I held down two jobs to help support my family.”
Kate stifled a yawn. Not this story again. She knew it so well that sometimes she felt as if she had been Ian’s sibling and had lived through the death of his father and watched Ian deliver newspapers every morning and bag groceries every evening to help his widowed mother make ends meet.
She’d seen Grace roll her eyes when Ian told this story, and knew that she thought it was at best an exaggeration. Not because she doubted the truth of what her father said, but because she couldn’t relate at all to the story. Grace’s life was too far removed from that kind of suffering to be able to relate. Kate’s life had been like that, too. Raised by two doting parents with enough time and money to lavish on her, she’d been protected from grief.
“I can remember being so tired and depressed at night that I literally fell into bed,” Ian said behind her as she walked into their new master bedroom. She nodded, understanding. She wasn’t protected anymore. She knew what it was like to be so worn down that sleep seemed like her only refuge.
Except it wasn’t. Deep sleep evaded her here just as it had in the city. Ever since that awful day in her studio, she hadn’t been able to sleep continuously for more than a few hours at a time. Knowing that she’d dream about the assault undoubtedly caused anxiety, but all the relaxation tips she’d tried did little to help.
Ian fell asleep quickly just like always. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, envying it, before reaching up to switch off her bedside light. She waited for the darkness to settle, for the various shades of black to emerge. Everything was new here, even their bed. Ian had been excited that the space was finally big enough to get the king-size bed he’d always wanted, but now the emotional gulf separating them had become a physical gulf as well. She could reach him only if she stretched her arm to its farthest point. She didn’t.
Rolling onto her side, she stared at the faint stripe of moonlight coming through the filmy curtains, a perfect line of ivory across charcoal. Chiaroscuro. Light and shadow. It wasn’t only art that could be explained with this concept. And if her life before had been tipped further toward light, then she’d just been lucky.
She thought again of the student they’d been discussing at the party, Lily Slocum. She tried to imagine someone simply walking down a street and vanishing. Light and shadow. Shadow and light.
She drifted into half sleep with the image of Lily Slocum in her head, picturing her as a line of moving light receding into darkness.
Chapter Two
Ian Corbin stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie and ran the new job title through his mind. Dean Corbin. Ian Corbin, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. He’d been Professor Corbin or Dr. Corbin for so long, it was going to take time to make the switch.
Red silk tie in place, he dropped his arms and looked at himself. Pressed white shirt, new charcoal suit, and a tie Kate had picked for him. It was going to be hot today. He’d probably ditch the jacket as soon as he got to the office.
He had a sudden memory of that late summer day, all those years ago, when he’d taught his first class. Only two years into his doctoral program, he’d been completely green and barely older than the undergrads he was being asked to teach. It had been a hot, sultry morning just like this one and the sense of excitement just the same.
He smiled at his reflection. Except for a slight blurring of his jawline and the silvering of his temples, he looked essentially the same. It was only if he looked closer, stared deep into his eyes and counted the fine lines creasing the skin around them, that he saw the profound change.
He’d been single back then, a small-town boy made good, his own savings and a handful of scholarships making it possible to get his undergraduate degree. It was still some years before he became a husband and a father, a time in his life when he worried he didn’t fit in with the other students, the ones who traveled from wealthy suburban towns followed by an endless supply of money from parents who were alumni. He’d rented what was virtually a cold-water flat near the train station, the hot water a trickle when it deigned to appear. The walls of the building were so thin that he could hear every word of recrimination between the couple next door and sometimes startled awake fearing that a whistling engine