"The dogs know their job," Adrian replied. "They will maul anyone who enters the building after hours, just as I trained them to do. Case closed."
The soup was removed and the next course brought in, steak with vegetables. Patrick was silent, his eyes flicking from one member of the family to the next, like those of a wary animal.
"Did Louise give you a phone message, Trent?" Emily asked. "Someone from the Queen Victoria called today."
"The hotel?" Robyn cut in. "You're not still seeing that woman, Margery whatever."
"Gilbert," Trent said, pronouncing the last name distinctly.
"I would think, Trent," Robyn went on, "that somewhere in New York or Philadelphia, you could find a woman more suitable than a hotel manager who went through the Wisteria public school system."
"And I would think," Trent responded, "that if you had a worthwhile way to spend your life, you wouldn't be so concerned about mine."
"Perhaps if she had her own romance," Emily suggested slyly. "How many years has it been since you've had a man in your life, Robyn? I mean, besides your father."
Robyn's eyes bored through Emily.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the dining room's old windowpanes. The flame in the fireplace sputtered and blew out.
"Where-where did that come from?" Trent asked softly.
Everyone turned, following his eyes to a window. The sky was completely black now, but the outside floodlights had come on, lighting the window casements like small stages against the darkness. There wasn't a sound at the dinner table-not a sip from a glass or a clink of silver. In the window farthest to the right sat a battle-scarred orange tabby.
Without a word, Patrick pushed back his chair and walked toward the window. He laid his palm flat against the glass. The tabby arched its back, rubbing against the pane, as a cat rubs against the leg of someone it knows.
"Can I let him in, Daddy? Can I keep him?"
"Darling, you have an allergy," Emily said.
"But-" "He's a feral cat," Adrian replied. "You can't own a wild animal like that. They are never happy staying inside."
"But he likes me," Patrick pleaded.
Brook glanced from the cat to his mother. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Trent gazed at the shabby cat, as if entranced. Orange stripes, a bitten-off tail, half of its left ear missing-it was identical to the one Ashley had loved.
Ashley's cat could still be alive, I reasoned, for cats could live twenty years or more. It seemed too much a coincidence that another animal would have the exact same coloring and scars as Ashley's and would choose the same window he had liked to occupy twelve years before. But if this was Ashley's feral cat, how much more a coincidence was it that he would show up now, now that I had returned to Mason's Choice, now that Patrick saw something in the air he called Ashley?
I was dreaming, unhappy, five-year-old dreams, having cried myself to sleep in the cottage bedroom. Ashley had taken Lilly, my golden-haired baby doll.
She had shelves full of her own dolls, but she wanted mine. When Ashley snatched Lilly, I screamed for help, but since I did a lot of shrieking while playing with her, the adults ignored me until it was too late. Now Ashley had hidden my doll where no one could find her.
I sat up suddenly, awakened from my afternoon nap by the sound of something crashing through the cottage window. Broken glass flew inward. I jumped out of bed, then saw my doll lying on the floor among the sharp pieces.
"Lilly!"
"You can have her back."
Surprised by the sound of Ashley's voice, I looked up. She was supposed to be punished, not allowed out of the house till she gave back my doll, but she sat on the limb of an old maple outside my bedroom window.
"You climbed the tree," I said in awe.
She shrugged. "We can climb anywhere." The orange cat she loved, the wild one with the torn ear, was perched two branches higher, staring in at me.
"You can have Lilly. I don't want her," Ashley said. "She's ugly now."
I looked down at my baby. Her teeth had been colored black with a marker. Jagged black scribbles had been made all over her beautiful face.
"Mommy!" I howled. "Mom-my! Mommy, I need you."
Hands tugged at me. Small hands held my face. "Kate? Kate!"
1 sat up, no longer in a cottage bedroom, but in the main house at Mason's Choice. The clock read 2:05 A.M. Patrick stood next to my bed, his eyes big and frightened.
"Patrick, what is it?" I asked, struggling to free myself from the threads of my dream. "Is something wrong?"
"It's Ashley," he said. "She keeps talking."
"What?"
Patrick chewed on the sleeve of his pajamas. "I told her to be quiet, but she won't. She won't let me sleep."
I climbed out of a bed and knelt in front of him. Resting my hands on his thin shoulders, I could feel him shivering beneath his flannel top. "You were dreaming."
"No, Kate, she's there. She's in my toy closet, playing with my horses."
I glanced toward the stairway between his room and mine. What did it mean-both of us dreaming of Ashley at the same time? Nothing, I told myself.
Returning to her home, it was only natural I would dream of her. But perhaps not so naturally, Patrick did.
I slipped my arms in my dressing gown, then took a jacket from my closet and put it on Patrick. He looked small and vulnerable in it, its cuffs dangling well below the ends of his arms.
"Let's go have a look," I told him, then headed down the steps. He trailed behind, reluctant to go back to his room, but equally reluctant to be left alone in mine. At the bottom of the turning stairs I stopped. The door of his toy closet was ajar; light emanated from within.
"Who turned on the light?" I asked quietly.
Patrick looked unsure. "Ashley," he answered at last.
Though my mind kept saying these were nothing but dreams, my hands were shaking. I stuffed them in the pockets of my gown, then crept toward the door of the walk-in closet. Without touching the door, I slowly moved my head forward, till I could peer through.
In the slice of lit closet I could see two horses on the floor, Silver Knight and Whirlwind, facing each other as if someone had been playing with them. A light prickle ran along the back of my neck. Ashley had loved to put together these two horses, to make them "talk." I wriggled my shoulders, wishing I could slip out of the eerie grip of another coincidence.
"I don't see her," I said, opening the door wider.
Patrick, who had stayed on the bottom step, crept over and peeked in. "She left. But she'll come back. She'll come back as soon as you leave. I want to sleep in your room, Kate."
If I let him do it once, he'd want to do it again and again.