Page 42 of The Unmaking of June Farrow

“The same way the rest of us have explained it every time this has happened. You create a story, and you stick to it. You don’t draw attention, and you don’t offer explanations. Frankly, the more mad they think you are, the better.”

That’s exactly what Gran and Birdie had done with my mother—let the town think she was crazy and that was the reason she’d gone missing. The reason she’d never come back. It was much more believable than the truth.

I pressed my fingertips to my temples. I’d always known that they weren’t telling me everything they knew about Susanna. I thought it was because Gran was trying to protect me. That she didn’t want me to live in fear of what was coming. But really, she was protecting her daughter. And herself.

“Okay, what else do I need to know?”

“Well, there are rules.” She stood, going to the stove, and poured the rest of the coffee into another cup. “The door won’t open to you if you don’t have the locket, and you can cross only three times. After that, it won’t appear to you anymore.”

“But you just said I’ve been here before. If I crossed as a baby and then came here five years ago…”

She shook her head. “No. The last time you were here, you were older. The younger you has only crossed once—when you were seven months old. You, in this body, have now gone through the door only twice. Then, and now. You have one more crossing left, a choice to make. The same choice every Farrow makes eventually.”

I waited.

“Which side of time you want to live on. Which life you want to live.” She answered my unspoken question. “After that, there’s no going back.”

Is that what I’d done? Crossed to 1946 and eventually decided to cross back?

“And that’s not all. The second rule is that you may go only where you do not exist.” She pointed at the locket. “There’s only one of you, June, just like there’s only one of those lockets. That will never change. The locket around your neck disappeared when you crossed because it already lives here. It ceased to exist. Yourmindcan exist in two places at once, but your body cannot. So, if you walked through the door right now and went back to a time in which you already exist in the future—say, 2022—you, also…disappear.”

I swallowed, the gravity of the idea like a weight pressing down on top of me.

“The other thing you need to think about is what kind of information you’ve brought with you. No talking about what happens in the future to any of us. No warning us of danger or opportunity or anything else. There are too many risks. Too many things that could be affected.”

My thoughts immediately went to Gran. There were decades of her life I’d witnessed. I even knew the exact day she died. But the people on this side of time didn’t have that luxury.

“Who did people think I was when I came here?”

Esther slid the locket toward me. “It was years after Susanna died that you showed up. I said you were another cousin. Just left it at that, and people didn’t act too curious. Not until…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, until things got complicated.”

“So, where do people think I’ve been all this time?”

“Taking care of your sick mother back in Norfolk.”

“For a year? People believe that?”

“Not really. That’s the problem.”

That was why the deputy had acted so suspicious, but it didn’t explain why that woman on her porch had been so terrified.

“Which is why I’m taking you home as soon as you finish that cup of coffee.”

I froze. “What?”

“We might have been able to keep this quiet until the door reappeared, but now you’ve been seen, June. If Sam saw you yesterday, the entire town will have heard that you’re back.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to go back to that house.”

“That’s exactly what I expect you to do.” Esther frowned. “I know your life was turned upside down when you ended up here, and if you feel like all of this isn’t fair, then you’re right. You should have been told.” She lowered her voice, “Margaret should have prepared you. But while you’re on this side of the door, I expect you to do everything in your power to make sureourlives aren’t burned to the ground by the time you leave. It’s important that things go on as normal.”

She said it with a calm authority that didn’t leave room to argue, and that made me wonder just how much trouble the other June had caused them.

“He doesn’t want me there,” I said.

“No, but he knows that he needs you to be if we’re going to keep this town from turning our family inside out.”

I felt sick just thinking about the house on Hayward Gap Road. That bedroom. The photograph on the dressing table.