style="font-size:15px;"> She began unpacking the boxes, setting the ornaments on the drop-leaf table near the tree. They were an odd mix—some spare, sophisticated glass balls that Annabel had bought, but lots of delicate, old-fashioned ornaments that had been in the family for generations.
One tissue-wrapped orb felt heavy in her hand, and an odd sense of recognition went through her. She knew what it was even before she unwrapped it—an old, green glass fisherman’s weight that she’d found in an antique shop on King Street and given to Annabel for Christmas the year before she died.
For a moment she held the glass globe in her hand. The lamplight, falling on it, reflected a distorted image of her own face, and the glass felt warm against her palm. She was smiling, she realized, but there were tears in her eyes.
She set the ball carefully on the table. She’d tell Court about the ornaments, including that one. That kind of history was what he needed from this Christmas in Charleston.
She’d been working in silence, with only an occasional crackle from a log in the fireplace for company, when she heard a thud somewhere in the house. She paused, her hand tightening on a delicate shell ornament. They hadn’t come back already, had they?
A few quiet steps took her to the hallway. Only one light burned there, and the shadows had crept in, unnoticed. She stood still, hearing nothing but the beat of her own heart.
Then it came again, a faint, distant creaking this time. She’d lived in old houses all her life. They had their own language of creaks and groans as they settled. That had to be what she’d heard.
She listened another moment. Nothing. She was letting her nerves get the better of her at being alone in the house.
A shrill sound broke the silence, and she started, heart hammering. Then, realizing what it was, she shook her head at her own foolishness and went in search of her cell phone, its ring drowning out any other noise. Marc hadn’t had the phone service started. She’d given him her cell-phone number in case he needed to reach her.
The phone was in the bottom of her bag, which she finally found behind the sofa in the family room. She snatched it up and pressed the button.
“Hello?” Her voice came out oddly breathless.
“Dinah? You sound as if you’ve been running. Listen, do you think a string of a hundred white lights is enough? Court put two strings in the cart when I wasn’t looking.”
Her laugh was a little shaky. “You may as well get two. If you don’t use the second one, you can always take it back.”
“I guess you’re right.” She heard him say something distantly, apparently to the cashier. Then his voice came back, warm and strong in her ear. “Is everything all right? You don’t sound quite yourself.”
“It’s nothing. Really. I was just scaring myself, thinking I heard someone in the house.” When she said the words, she realized that was what she’d been thinking at some deep level. Someone in the house.
“Get out. Now.” The demand was sharp and fast as the crack of a whip.
“I’m sure I just imagined—”
“Dinah, don’t argue. Just get out. And don’t hang up. Keep talking to me.”
Logic told her he was panicking unnecessarily, probably visited by the terrible memory of coming into the house and finding Annabel. But even if he was, his panic was contagious.
Holding the phone clutched tightly against her ear, she raced across the room, through the hallway and plunged out the door.
Four
Dinah slid back on the leather couch in the family room, cradling a mug of hot chocolate between her palms, and looked at Court. He’d collapsed on the couch next to her into that oddly boneless slouch achieved only, as far as she could tell, by adolescent boys. His mug was balanced precariously on his stomach.
“More cocoa?”
He shook his head, the mug wavering at the movement. “I’m okay.” He watched her from under lowered lids. “How about you? You feeling okay? Anything you want?”
He was attempting to take care of her, obviously. The thought sent a rush of tenderness through her. She tried to keep the feeling from showing in her face. He wouldn’t appreciate that when he was trying so hard to be nonchalant about the prospect of an intruder in the house.
Marc’s footsteps sounded, far above them. He was searching the attic, probably. She was convinced he wouldn’t find anything. She’d simply overreacted to being in the house alone, and, in turn, he’d overreacted. There’d been no one in the house.
It was probably best not to talk to Court about that. She nodded toward the bare tree, propped in its stand in the corner. “Do you always have a big tree at home?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, making him look very like his father. “Not big enough. We have a town house. It’s plenty big enough for the two of us, but Dad always says there’s not room for a big tree.” He sent a satisfied glance toward the tree. “This is more like it.”
“Aunt Kate—well, I guess she’s actually your great-grand-aunt—hasn’t had a real tree since I grew up. She’s content with a little artificial one on a table.”
Court’s great-grand-aunt. Aunt Kate had to be made to see that she must talk with Court about his ancestors. She didn’t have to discuss his mother, if she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t deny a relationship with the boy.
“Yeah, that’s what my grandma and granddad do, too. They say real trees are too expensive in Arizona, anyway.”
“Do you see them much?” Marc’s parents had left Charleston within a year of Annabel’s death, moving to Arizona supposedly for his mother’s health. It might have been that, of course, but she doubted it. Did they feel they were living in exile?
“We were out for Thanksgiving.” Court maneuvered himself upright, letting the mug tip nearly to the point of no return before grasping it. “Maybe I should go see if Dad needs any help.”
“I don’t think—”
“Dad doesn’t.” Marc came in on the words. “Everything’s fine.”
Dinah sensed some reservation behind the words, and her stomach tightened. There was something he didn’t want to say in front of Court.
“You sure? I could check the cellar.” Court obviously considered that he should have been included in the search.
“Already done.” Marc glanced at his watch. “If you want to e-mail your buddies before we call it a night, you’d better go do it.”
“How about the tree? I thought we were going to decorate.”
“Tomorrow’s time enough for that. Dinah has to go home.”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, but went toward the door. “You’ll help tomorrow, won’t you, Dinah?”
She was absurdly pleased that he wanted her. “I have to go into work in the morning,
