Page 31 of Her Wicker Guardian

I look toward the house.

Shannon follows my gaze. “Rachel’s getting ready for work.”

I understand Rachel. The rest is less clear.

“Work,” Shannon says again. She points toward the house, then down the driveway. “Rachel. Work.”

I follow the direction of her hand. House. Driveway. Rachel.

Rachel is going somewhere.

“Rachel?”

“Yeah. Rachel.”

The screen in Shannon’s hands lights. She touches it several times, then turns it toward me.

Rachel is there.

I go to her. Her face is flat beneath the smooth surface, smiling in a way I haven’t seen her smile, with her head beside Shannon’s and Laura’s. Blair and Janet are partly cut off at the edge.

I reach toward the picture and stop before touching it.

“Picture,” Shannon says. “Rachel.”

I look from the face in the object to the house.

“Rachel.”

“Yes.”

Shannon moves her finger across the surface, and Rachel disappears. My hand closes.

She brings the picture back without my asking.

This time I touch it. The surface is hard and cool beneath my fingertips, so I bring it closer. It has no warmth. No movement. No scent like the shirt Rachel gave me last night.

“Not Rachel.”

Shannon looks at the picture. Then she looks toward the house.

I point there. “Rachel.”

My finger touches the flat face again. “Not Rachel.”

For a few seconds Shannon says nothing.

“No,” she says at last. “Not Rachel.”

The kitchen door opens, and I turn immediately.

Rachel comes outside wearing different clothes. Dark pants. A blue shirt. Her hair is pulled back, and the softness I saw in her face this morning is gone. She looks ready to leave.

She stops when she sees me watching. “Hi.”

“Rachel.”

Her expression warms, but not as much as it did before. One hand tightens around the strap of a black bag hanging from her shoulder.