Bitterroot Lake

Déjà vu all over again, her mind alerting her to danger. Was it to her this time?

But why? And from whom?

Or was the danger from within, from her own emotions, as tangled as the bedcovers?

After the nightmare, after she’d rushed down the hall in search of the mysterious figure, Holly had led her back to bed and crawled in beside her, wrapping her arms a

round her. Like when they were kids and one of them needed comforting. But at some point, she’d woken and switched beds. Now alone in Sarah’s bed, Holly uncurled and rolled onto her stomach, one arm under the pillow, legs bent as though she were running, or leaping.

The way Abby slept.

And the terror struck her again.

Abby’s fine. She’s fine, a voice inside her said.

How do you know that? You don’t know that, another voice said. She can’t reach you. She doesn’t have a father to call.

Sarah rushed out of the bedroom to the landing and grabbed the rail, one hand to her chest. Slow, slow, slow. In and out, the way her therapist had told her to do when the panic attacks hit. Breathe slowly, try not to think, just focus on the breath.

In, out. In, out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cat sitting in the bedroom doorway, watching her.

“Go on,” she told the cat. “Janine’s up. I smell coffee. She’ll feed you.”

The cat did not move.

In the bathroom, Sarah rested her hands on the cool white porcelain of the pedestal sink. “Sarah Elizabeth McCaskill Carter,” she told the face in the mirror. “Get a grip. You are fine. Your daughter is fine.”

The sharp, floral scent of the lavender soap calmed her as she washed her face. “You’ve got this. You’ve got this.”

So easy to say in daylight. So hard to believe in the darkness.

* * *

But before she did anything else, she had to know whether the voices were right. Which voices to believe. Abby was an early riser, like Jeremy, who loved a morning run, also like him. And she needed to hear her daughter’s voice.

She hiked up the lane, her bare feet slipping inside the tennis shoes, checking for reception every few hundred yards. The car would have been quicker, but she needed to move. When she got past the big bend, her phone pinged and her heart leapt. But it was just the morning check-in from the house sitter, followed by a text from a friend.

She touched the screen and watched the phone icon vibrate. Heard the almost imperceptible catch as the call was answered.

“Hi, Mom.” Bright and shiny, her Abby. Nothing was wrong.

“Abby, honey. So good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too, Mom. I’m out for a run with my roommate and the girls from down the hall.” More former high school runners. Sarah and Jeremy had met them last fall at parents’ weekend, slender, leggy colts like their daughter. “I gotta go, Mom. They’re getting away from me. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, honey,” Sarah called into the silence.

Nothing was wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

“Ohmygosh, bacon,” she said a few minutes later, the kitchen’s linoleum floor chilly on her bare feet. “Second time this week. And coffee cake?”

“I am the Cake Lady,” Janine said.

“Great name for a bakery. If you ever wanted to open your own.” Sarah filled a heavy white mug with fresh coffee, then lifted it to her face. “Mmm. Cinnamon?”

“Now you sound like Holly,” Janine said, her tone wary. “Talking about me opening my own business. Are you two conspiring?”