closed door to the boy’s bathroom. Someone else was
up, then.
When Fiona stopped in the door to the girls’
bedroom, Willow jumped up. “My turn.”
Erin had appeared now as well, and she shrugged. “I
have to go get something clean to put on first anyway.”
As usual, she looked exquisite this morning, her
black hair glossy in a plait, her skin smooth. Fiona had
never seen her break out in acne, sweat or even frown.
The only adopted child of a cardiac surgeon father and
a mother who designed exquisite linens that sold at
high-end department stores, Erin was invariably composed and quiet. She was a straight-A student and the star of the Knowledge Champs and Hi-Q teams, but no
more than a ripple on her brow would show when she
made a mistake or was outmatched. Fiona often
wondered if she was anywhere near as serene as she
appeared, or whether she suffered from the pressure of
having to live up to such high-achieving parents.
Fiona made a face. Big assumption on her part.
Maybe Erin’s parents were easygoing despite their
career successes. Fiona had only met them once.
“Sleep well?” she asked, as they went downstairs.
Erin nodded. “Except Willow kept talking in her sleep.”
“Could you understand what she was saying?”
“Once in a while. But it didn’t really make sense.
Like once she said, ‘Why did you fall down?’And when
I asked what she was talking about, she said, ‘You fell
over that blue thing.’”
Fiona laughed. “That sounds pretty normal. Dreams
hardly ever make sense.”
“I guess that’s true.” At the foot of the stairs, she
looked shyly at Fiona. “Do you ever have ones where
you can fly?”
“Not fly, but bounce. And stay up for a long time. Do
you actually soar?”
“Uh-huh. Everything’s tiny below.”
Somehow that seemed rather aptly to symbolize
Erin, who often kept herself apart from her peers. Fiona
didn’t remember, for example, ever seeing her with a
boy.
“Does the dream worry you?” she asked carefully,
as they entered the kitchen.
“No.” Her voice was very soft. “Except I’m scared
of heights. So it seems weird.”
Yes. It did.
“You okay rooming with Willow?”
“Sure. Are these the clothes we can borrow?” Far and
away the most petite of the girls, she lifted garments
until she found a turtleneck that was clearly a woman’s.
More from the lost and found, Fiona surmised.
Unless it belonged to John Fallon’s currently
absent wife.
“Come and get some breakfast after you’ve had
your bath.”
Erin nodded and left Fiona alone in the kitchen. She
sliced bread and popped two pieces in the toaster, then
gazed at the small paned window beyond which she saw
nothing but floating white flakes.
“Can I get you some eggs?”
Fiona jumped, turning. “You should clear your throat
when you come into a room.”
He lifted his brows. “Like a butler? Ahem, ma’am?”
She laughed at him. “Exactly.”
“I feel like a butler some of the time. Invisible.” He
looked surprised at his own admission.
“You own the lodge,” Fiona protested.
“But guests feel as if they’re paying for me to wait
on them. Which puts me in the servant class.”
“Really? Do they talk as if you aren’t there?”
“Not everyone. But some do.”
She studied him. “You don’t sound as if you’re used
to it. Which means you haven’t been doing this long.”
“I’m learning on the job.” His expression, never
forthcoming, closed completely. “Your toast has popped
up. And you didn’t tell me whether you want eggs.”
“If you mean it, I’d love some. Scrambled,” she added.
He nodded and got supplies from the enormous
refrigerator while she buttered the slices of toast and
slathered on jam that looked and—when she took a
bite—tasted homemade.
In only moments, it seemed, John set the plate of
eggs on the table in front of her.
“Will you sit down with me?” she asked. “I suppose