Page 2 of Beneath the Poet's House

Saoirse shook her head fiercely. “No. I don’t want—”

“That’s definitely enough,” her mother said. “How dare you bring that terrible night up at Jonathan’s funeral?”

Saoirse held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mom. Let’s just go.” She maneuvered forward enough to open the limo door and helped her mother back inside. Saoirse had placed a foot on the running board and was reaching for the handle when Aidan shot out one black-gloved hand, stopping the door from closing with a grunt.

“Youwilllisten to what I have to say,” Aidan said, his voice so low, it was almost a growl. “And you will look at the text message Jonathan sent me that night, right beforeyou—”

Saoirse lurched forward, knocking Aidan’s hand off the door. She dove into the limo beside her mother, pulled the door shut, and shouted to the driver, “Get us out of here, please. Now!”

The driver stared at Saoirse in the rearview mirror.

“Go!” Saoirse shouted, and he hit the gas. The limo lurched forward, sending dirt and stones spraying up, where they clanked against the hubcaps. Aidan brought one arm to his face against the exhaust.

The last thing Saoirse saw as they pulled out of the cemetery and onto the main road was the black-garbed figure of Aidan Vesper walking toward Jonathan’s still-open grave. She sat in silence, breathing hard, until her mother said, “What the hell was that about?”

Saoirse closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“He said something about a text from Jonathan. You don’t think—”

“I don’t know.” Saoirse placed both hands on her knees and tried again to catch her breath. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But I do know that I don’t want to talk about this. Not ever again.”

She raised her eyes to meet her mother’s but was distracted by the sudden buzzing of a fly. She swatted at it, then felt another crawlingacross the nape of her neck, inching toward her hairline. Shuddering, Saoirse smacked the skin there, but her palm came back empty. A quick scan of the cab turned up nothing.Had the flies been there at all?

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Sersh, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Listen, I’m serious, you and I are not going to speak about what happened to Jonathan. Not even to each other. Do you understand?”

Her mother nodded.

“It’s the only way.” Saoirse looked out the window, but caught her own reflection and turned away. She didn’t want to see the haunted look in her eyes or the hollowness of her cheeks. She needed a change. She wasworkingtoward a change. And it was time to tell her mother.

“I’m moving,” Saoirse said.

Her mother’s head jerked up. “Back to Connecticut? You can stay with me if you need to—”

“Not to Connecticut. Rhode Island. Providence, to be exact. I haven’t found a place yet, but I’m looking. It will take a few months to get everything together. But I think it’s for the best.”

To her surprise, her mother nodded again and said, “I understand.”

Saoirse closed her eyes and exhaled, grateful her mother had refrained from asking additional questions. She hadn’t actually started looking for places in Providence yet, but she would, as soon as she had the energy. As soon as she had convinced herself that Jonathan was gone. That the creak of wood as he crept up the stairs to where she slept would no longer pierce the gauzy fabric of her dreams.

She swallowed down something between a whimper and a sob. She would rebuild her life in Providence. Maybe somewhere near Brown’s campus, in the northern part of the city. She just had to hope it was far enough away from her and Jonathan’s home in New Jersey to quiet the voices in her head.

And far enough away to keep Aidan Vesper from finding her.

Chapter 1

Benefit Street

Providence, Rhode Island

October

The house smells strongly of honey-tinged beeswax and bergamot, the warm notes as distinct as a long-steeped cup of Earl Grey. Saoirse stumbles into the shadowy foyer with a sigh and a crinkle of bags. When she closes the door behind her, the lingering warmth of twilight disappears with the finality of a stone slab sliding over a crypt. She inspects the space—feathery fern on a cherrywood stand, peach settee, marble table, gold-framed paintings of an idyllic countryside—and allows herself a moment of relief as small as it is earned.

The sound of voices comes from somewhere deep within the house. Saoirse freezes, mind stuttering, then lets out a small bark of laughter and shakes her head. She’s in the city now, not the suburbs. There will be noises beyond the trills of whip-poor-wills and the white-noise hum of a neighbor’s lawn mower. Her nights will be backdropped by teenagers hooting on street corners, students singing on their way to parties, spouses teasing one another as they hustle to dinner reservations at fancy restaurants.

She drops her computer bag, purse, and shopping totes to the floor and pats her pockets. Empty. Her cell phone must still be in the car. Why did she time the three-hour drive to arrive in Providence so late?She could run out again, find a Starbucks, guzzle a shot of—or maybe a double—espresso. Another perk of the city: things stay open later than 7:00 p.m. But the thought of delaying the inevitable makes her want to collapse to the floor with her bags. And she’s not supposed to have too much caffeine; her doctors tell her this constantly. Saoirse pulls her hair into a ponytail and heads back outside to begin the painful process of unloading her car.

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