Chapter 1

I turned the corner onto the gravel driveway feeling tired and hungry, but accomplished after finishing the Christmas shopping and weekly errands so quickly. My best friend, Cybil, usually went with me, but this week she refused. At least the kids stayed with her. That’s probably why I got done in record time. Having the kids in tow always slowed progress.

As soon as I approached our building, I understood why she didn’t want to come. Well, not the reason behind why, but what she had been doing while I’d been gone was immediately obvious. She, Rae, Gabe, and Vanda all stood in the cold next to our craft trailer, our meager belongings in a disorganized pile next to it. The kids were shivering and seemed a little shell-shocked over whatever had happened.

“What on earth is going on?” I asked. “It’s freezing today. Why are you all out here?”

All Cybil would say was, “We have to leave. Now.”

“Leave? Why?”

She shook her head, opened the back door of our station wagon that I’d just filled with gasoline, and started loading the boxes and bags.

“Cybil, please, tell me what’s—”

“Effie! Divinò!”

I’d been so surprised to hear our codeword, I didn’t question her further. Just helped her load our things. An hour later, when the shock had mostly worn off, memories from ten years ago tried to push their way to the front of my mind. Cybil had been only sixteen, me seventeen, and—

No. I couldn’t think about that. What mattered was Cybil stood by my side then, so I had to now. Divinò was her grandmother’s Creole word for seer, fortune teller, or mind reader. To us, the word also signaled the agreement we made that day in 1958 when we fled Jamaica. It meant, please just do as I ask without insisting I tell my secret. I had used it first and promised Cybil I would do the same for her if the time ever came. Today, it was my turn to repay the debt.

After three hours on the road, I decided while it would be nice to know why we left, I wasn’t too upset about it. That place hadn’t been right for us. It didn’t accurately reflect who we were.

Although, Cybil seemed to be doing fine there. I, on the other hand, had been slowly dying for months.

Now, another couple of hours had passed. The kids had fallen asleep forty miles back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cybil’s head bob forward and then snap back. Maybe now, when she was half asleep, was a good time to try again.

“We’ve been driving for more than six hours,” I began, cracking open the topic. “Where are we going?”

“Why ask me?” She flung a hand across the car’s bench seat. “You’re driving. You can stop any time you want to.”

She always made it sound like I insisted on doing the driving. It’s not like I had a choice; she refused to get a license. As for stopping for the night, I feared this pine forest might never end. And who knew how safe we’d be out here. It was 1968, after all. The world was a bit chaotic.

Staring straight ahead, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, my eyes itchy and vision blurring, I continued down the two-lane highway. After another five minutes of silence from her and soft snoring sounds from the backseat, I said, “The sun is setting.”

“I see that.”

“And we’re nearly out of gas.”

This set her off. “How could you let that happen? Why didn’t you stop before? Do you even know where we are?”

“Have you seen anyplace to turn off in the last hour?” I shot back. “We’re in northern Wisconsin. That’s all I know. And it’s late December, so we’re lucky there isn’t snow and ice on the ground or that there’s a raging blizzard blowing.”

Cybil crossed her arms. “You chose the direction.”

Except I didn’t. Not consciously at least. She was adamant to go, go, go, so I just started driving. I headed north out of Kenosha toward Milwaukee in a sort of trance. Not that I wasn’t paying attention, I’m a very good driver, but I had no destination in mind. It was almost like some strange force had taken over and my job was to keep the car and trailer between the lines on the road. Before I knew it, we were passing Wisconsin Dells, then Black River Falls, then Chippewa Falls. The last sign I saw was for Hayward, but that was at least an hour ago.

I blew out a breath, steeling myself for the blowback, and cautiously said, “I have no idea where we are.”

Thankfully, she didn’t yell. Maybe she could tell how stressed and scared I was. The lives of my best friend, her son, my daughter, and the teenager who had basically adopted us were in my hands. We hadn’t seen a single car in nearly an hour. If we ran out of gas, we’d have to sit alongside the road until someone came by, because walking anywhere in the dark and cold was a fool’s errand. At least we had blankets. If I pulled over with a couple of gallons left in the tank, I’d be able to run the heater for a few minutes at a time throughout the night to keep us warm. We didn’t have any food or water, though, and hadn’t eaten since lunch. I’d be fine, but my daughter, Rae, would complain that she was hungry soon. She’d barely eaten her burger. I knew we should have picked up some snacks the last time we stopped for gas.

“Effie.” Cybil’s voice was soft. “You’re doing a great job. I’m sorry I didn’t at least help you figure out which way to go. It’s cold but not subzero. We’ll be okay.”

I nodded. “Let’s give it ten more minutes. Then we should find someplace to pull over for the night.” I told her my thoughts about leaving enough gas for the heater. She agreed.

We both stared ahead into the waning light, looking for a turnoff or house. Anything. The constant blur of trees along the sides of the road was really getting to me, and I’d need to stop soon regardless of sunlight or our remaining fuel level.

With our self-imposed deadline ticking down, Cybil pointed ahead. “Up there on the right. It looks like a road or maybe a driveway.”

Praying it was a driveway, I slowed and switched on the right-turn indicator. Not that there was anyone around to see it.

The dirt road looked like it got used often, which made my dying hope gasp another breath. After about half a mile, according to the odometer, my hope dimmed again. We were off the main highway now, so I’d need to turn around. Somehow. That would be a challenge. Not only was the station wagon long and the dirt road narrow, we were towing our craft trailer. I’d never be able to back up all the way to the highway without running into a tree.

“What is that?” Cybil pointed ahead. “Cars? Is that a lake? Or a river? Can’t tell from here.”

I saw it too. Vehicles and a body of water of some kind lay about a hundred yards dead ahead.

“Where are we?” Gabe asked from the back, waking Rae and Vanda.

“We’re not exactly sure,” his mother answered. “Hopefully someplace where we can stay for the night. Or get directions to where we can.”

The forest ended abruptly, and I entered a clearing that looked a bit like a small parking lot. There were four vehicles parked in a neat row next to a garage big enough for two more. A wide strip of lawn browned from the cold butted up against a beautiful tree-lined lake. Maybe we were on the outskirts of a town. One that had a restaurant and gas station. Maybe a hotel.

Looking to our right, I gaped at the house standing there, a simple rectangular structure with windows everywhere—to take in the view, I imagined. It was painted gray, the color of the sky when it was planning to storm, with bright white trim. And it was big. Three stories tall and very long.

“That can’t possibly be a family’s home,” I murmured. “Unless it’s a really big family.”

“Maybe it’s an inn,” Cybil said, “or a bed-and-breakfast.”

“With this many cars, you might be right.” I shifted the station wagon into park. “Let’s go see if they have a room for the night. Or directions to the nearest town.”

“Can we get out?” Rae asked as Vanda slipped out of the back driver’s side door.

“Yes,” I replied, “but don’t go wandering off. Stay nearby and away from the lake.”

As Cybil and I approached the front door, we noticed carefully tended shrubs along the house and sidewalk. The ground was currently covered with a thick layer of pine branches, protecting whatever grew there in the spring and summer.

I rang the bell, then took a couple of steps back to stand next to Cybil. After maybe ten seconds, the door opened, revealing a woman about our age—late twenties—with short, dark-brown hair cut in a bob, bangs hanging just past her eyebrows.

Her brilliant smile faded as her head tilted with confusion. “Sorry, only two people ever ring our bell, and you are neither of them.” She opened the door wider and leaned against the jamb. “I’m Lucy O’Shea. How can I help you?”