Page 57 of The Unmaking of June Farrow

Again, the pound on the door echoed, and Eamon finally opened it, letting in a blinding light. My mouth went dry when the man on the other side came into view. It was a police officer. Not the man we’d seen on the riverbank. This was someone else, and as soon as my eyes focused on him, the house seemed to fill with a bitter cold. He took the hat from his head, tipping it in Eamon’s direction. His blond hair was cut short and combed in a neat, waving swoop over his dark, narrowed eyes.

His chin lifted in a greeting, and the door swung wider. “Eamon.”

I pressed myself into the wall, not making a sound.

“Caleb.” Eamon was doing his best to look relaxed, but he wasn’t succeeding. He was still wound up tight, the line of him like stone.

“Heard June finally made it home.”

The man Eamon had called Caleb was peering into the house now, and I drew away from the crack in the door.

“Just got in a couple of days ago,” Eamon said.

“I heard.” A pause. “Thought I’d come welcome her back to Jasper myself. Have that little talk I’ve been waiting so long for.”

“It can wait, Caleb. She just got back.”

“Now, you’re not the only one who’s been waiting for June to come home.” There was something dark beneath the smooth cadence of his voice. I could almost hear a smile in it.

“Another time.” Eamon’s tone didn’t waver.

I couldn’t tell if my breath sounded as loud in the room as it did in my ears. My head was light with it. I chanced a look through the crack again to find Eamon’s hand gripped tight on the edge of the front door.

“Well, it’s waited this long. I suppose another day or two couldn’t hurt.” Caleb’s mouth pulled in a sterile smile as he set the hat back on his head, but there was a threat in his eyes. A menacing glint. “You all have a good day now.”

He turned, going down the steps, and Eamon closed the door. He stood there, waiting until the sound of the car was gone. When Icame around the corner of the sitting room, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling.

In the nook, Annie was awake, sitting on the edge of her bed with her knees drawn up into her chest. She looked from me to Eamon, her small mouth crooked like she might cry. In an instant, something thorned was growing inside of me, and I could feel myself moving toward her. But Eamon was already crossing the room, scooping her up, and her arms hooked around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He brushed the hair from her face, avoiding my gaze.

“What was that?” I asked, going to the front window to check the road. The police car was out of sight now.

Eamon’s eyes found me over Annie’s blond head. I could see him trying to decide how to answer. Or maybe deciding if he would answer at all. It was the same look he’d had a few minutes ago.

He passed me, going into the kitchen and taking an apple from the bowl on the shelf. “Why don’t you go say good morning to Callie?” His deep voice softened, his mouth pressing into Annie’s hair as he placed it into her hands.

Her fingers closed around it, and he set her down, her nightgown swaying around her skinny legs. Then she was pushing out the back door, letting the screen slap behind her.

He watched her go. “It’s not important. He just has some questions.”

“About what?”

Eamon hesitated, and my eyes narrowed on him. He was sifting information again, deciding exactly what to say.

“Not long before you left, something happened.” His hands slid into his pockets. “He’s interviewed everyone in town about it as part of his investigation, and now he wants to talk to you.”

Slowly, the pieces strung together in my mind. “The murder,” I said.

Eamon hesitated just enough for me to notice. “Yes.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. He’s the sheriff, June. It’s his job. That’s all.”

That definitely wasn’t all. Eamon didn’t want me talking to him, and I suppose the fact that I didn’t actually remember anything was the reason. If I was questioned about the murder, I’d have no clue what to say. But that didn’t explain why those newspaper clippings and a photograph of Nathaniel Rutherford were hidden in the bedroom or why Eamon had gone white when he saw that police car outside.

This was what Esther was talking about when she said I’d come at a complicated time.

Eamon glanced out the window again, jaw ticking. Down by the barn, Annie’s small frame was clinging to the fence of the paddock. The mare was sniffing her tangle of blond hair, and Annie’s hand was hooked around her snout as if the horse were a puppy.