“Isn’t it? Come on, Jessie—maybe you’re wrong. Maybe—maybe the…” He cast about in his head for the right words. “Maybe your mom’s death—”
“Unhinged me? Made me crazy?” She sighed. “Chris, crazy people don’t think they’re crazy. They don’t even wonder about it. And I do. Every day.” She sank back into her chair. “Every fucking day I wonder if I’m crazy. But what if I’m not, Chris? What if I’m not?”
He looked down at her, not knowing what to do, what to say. How had he gotten into this mess?
“You do think I’m crazy. I can see it in your face.”
She ran into the bathroom and got her wet clothes. “Don’t worry,” she called, slinging them over her shoulder. “I’ll mail these sweats back to you. I won’t ever darken your doorstep again. I won’t bother you anymore!” And she ran into the front room.
“Hey!” He went after her. The front door slammed shut behind her and within a few seconds he had it open again. She’d reached the gate.
“Lettie! Don’t go!” he shouted.
She stopped and stared back at him, the rain pouring down her face. “What did you call me?”
“I—uh—”
“You called me Lettie.” She stepped back onto the porch. “Why did you do that?”
“I—I don’t know.” He really didn’t know. He knew her name was Jessie. His head started to hurt. Everything started to spin. “I don’t feel right—”
“Chris!” he heard her shout, and then everything went black.
He opened his eyes.
She was looking down at him, her face lined with concern. But she wasn’t Jessie anymore. Oh, sure, she was about the same age, and looked like Jessie, but she was different somehow. The hair—it was the hair. Jessie’s hair was shoulder-length; now it was hanging down her back. And it wasn’t raining anymore: the sun was shining and he could feel the sweat on his forehead and under his arms.
“Are you all right, Samuel?”
“I—” He struggled to get up to his knees, but the dizziness came back. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. He heard a horse clopping by and shook his head. The air was different somehow. Everything was the same but somehow different.
“Samuel, talk to me!”
“I don’t know what came over me,” he managed to say, opening his eyes and looking at her again.
“You scared me.” Her voice was small, and shook with every word. He felt her lips press against his forehead. “Are you sure you are fine? Should I get you some water?”
“I’ll be fine.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. God, he loved her. He thought about her every waking moment, and dreamed about her as well. The pretty face, the delicious figure, the sweetness in her eyes, the gentle way she molded her body into his when they kissed, the taste of her mouth, the swell of her breasts…
“Chris?”
He blinked a couple of times as he looked at her.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to get help?”
He sat up. The rain continued to pound down. A car went by. They sat there in the mud staring at each other, breathing hard.
“Let’s get inside,” he said.
“What happened to you just now?” Jessie asked, helping him stand.
“I—I don’t know.” He shook his head.
“You’re white as a ghost.”
“I feel a little dizzy, that’s all.”
She pressed her knuckles into her mouth and started shaking. “It’s happening to you, too, isn’t it?”
He walked away from her, up the steps and into the house. He sat down on the couch, mindless of how wet and muddy he was.
Jessie followed and knelt down on the floor in front of him. “Chris, talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was all jumbled. He looked at her and she was Jessie—the tangled wet black hair, the big brown eyes. “You”—he swallowed—“you weren’t—”
“I wasn’t what?”
“You weren’t you.” He swallowed. “You weren’t you anymore.” It sounded crazy, even to himself, but he couldn’t think of any other way to say it.
Jessie looked at him intensely. “Was I her?”
“I—”
“Oh God.” She got up and walked across the room.
“And I wasn’t me, either.” Chris took some deep breaths. Calm down, everything’s fine, deep calming breaths, in with the good air, out with the bad, get a hold of yourself, you’re in control. He looked over at Jessie. “Is this—is this what has happened to you?”
She nodded. “And it’s happening more and more, Chris.” She walked over and sat on the couch, taking his hand. “Now do you understand, Chris?”
He swallowed and nodded. “What—what is happening?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jessie asked. “Lettie Hatch wants to live again.”
Chapter 5
“So what do you think of your new home?”
Sarah Jane stared at the white Victorian standing like some great lady on the beach. The wind was whipping her hair and a salty chill bore down at her from the crashing surf. There were hardly any houses nearby; the whole ride down to the end of the Cape had left her exhausted. This was truly the end of the world. Only yards from the house the land ended, crumbling into the sea. Sarah Jane had never known a place could feel so isolated.
“It’s charming,” she said, hoping her words didn’t sound as false as she felt.
Horace offered her his arm. His pockmarked face was beaming, gaps in his walrus mustache exposing his yellowed and broken teeth. Sarah Jane took his arm and gave him her most gracious smile—the one she’d used on lawyers and judges to convince them of her sincerity. He swung her down from the automobile and she caught a whiff of his cologne and the slightly sour smell of whiskey it barely covered.
“Now, I know it’s not what you were expecting after the house in Washington, my dear, but we have the town house in Boston as well.” Senator Hatch puffed up his chest. “And it’s very cozy and warm—especially in the winter. Ellen—” He made a face, as he always did on the rare occasions when his first wife’s name came out in conversation. “Ellen loved it here.”
Well, I’m not Ellen, Sarah Jane wanted to say, but she kept her smile plastered on her face as he escorted her up the walk to the front door, jabbering all the way about how long the house had been in the Hatch family. He’d been born here, his daughter was born here, and he was hoping their children would be born here as well.
Have I died and gone to hell? Sarah Jane wondered as Horace opened the front door, bellowing for his daughter and her governess. From upstairs came the sounds of feet scurrying, and suddenly his daughter descending the staircase, followed by a sour-looking gray-haired older woman dressed completely in black.
“Papa!” The young girl practically leaped into his arms, and he kissed her cheek and spun her around, finally setting her down.
“Lettie, this is your new mother, Sarah Jane.”
The teenager turned to look