Harmony House Read Online Free Page A

four-year-old me in her arms. In this photo, at least, she looks happy. And I do, too. We look happy together. I like to think of my mom like this—smiling, holding me, brushing my hair. I remember the smell of her—like floral soaps and laundry detergent. When Dad would go into his rages—or the opposite of rages, when he would brood quietly—my stomach would be twisted up and the pain would cut in and my mom would come and sit with me in my bed. She’d get me to straighten my body out—to straighten my legs and lie flat so my stomach would unclench. She’d tell me to breathe—deeply—in and out. She’d smooth back my hair from my forehead. I’d feel the warmth of her delicate hand.
    Then she’d read to me as I fell asleep. She’d read me that book Eloise at the Plaza . For some reason, as a kid, that book would always make me feel better. So my mom would read that to me. And she’d kiss me good night. And she’d try to protect me from my father. Though I guess she was the one who needed protection.
    There are tears in my eyes now. I wipe them away and go hide the picture beneath my pillow. I go over to the window, staring out at the lattice structure. But then there is a voice coming from the room behind me—a woman’s voice like my mother’s.
    â€œGood-bye,” it says.
    I turn and look.
    But I don’t know why.
    There can’t be anything there.
    I make my way slowly down the side of the house—the wooden structure shaking beneath my weight.
    It’s quiet outside except for the steady sound of the birds and crickets and the wind. I climb down into the tall grass and creep silently through the gray evening toward the stone garage.
    A small cat appears underneath a tree that has initials carved in it, AMJG .
    I crouch down and make a clicking noise and tap the ground with my hand, but the cat won’t come to me.
    Instead, a snap of a tree branch makes the cat dart off into the forest. I look up suddenly, and that’s when I realize—someone else is watching.

CHAPTER 2
    A figure, shadowed and dark but distinctly human,ducks behind the pitch pines grown close together at the edge of the clearing.
    â€œWho’s there?” I say, like an idiot.
    No one answers.
    My teeth start to chatter and I pull on my heavy jacket.
    From behind the trees I see a flash of red and white, like someone wearing a kind of rugby jersey, maybe—someone tall, well over six feet.
    â€œHey, wait!” I yell.
    There’s the sound of wet leaves and pine needles underfoot and more branches snapping as the figure runs off through the forest.
    â€œWait.”
    I start to run after whoever it is but stop short at the line of trees.
    The forest is very dark. The sky has turned gray and clouded overhead. The wind through the treetops scatters the leaves and strips bare the creaking branches. I hear the insane call of a woodpecker laughing, maniacal in the distance. There’s a feeling like my stomach dropping out—like jumping off a high bridge into water, the way my friends and I used to when we’d take trips down to the Passaic. A strange smell comes from the entrance to the forest—a smell like something dead maybe, an animal rotting. And the cold from out of the dark becomes almost unbearable.
    Even the cat, who’s followed along beside me, seems leery of continuing on. It stands poised at the edge of the forest, swaying slightly and staring off as though hypnotized by the music of a snake charmer. Its eyes are yellow and watchful.
    I force myself to laugh.
    I pick the small cat up in my arms.
    It begins to purr.
    I carry it in the opposite direction, away from the smell and the forest and whoever it was behind the trees there.
    â€œDo you have a home, or what?” I ask the cat.
    I put it down next to a neatly stacked woodpile on the side of the house and then make my way back down the winding gravel path to the front