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Nell coaxed the Chrysler into a too-sharp turn onto an even narrower road, spinning the steering wheel to the left and inching backward, to the right and inching forward, accelerating with a light touch until the tires gained purchase on the sparsely graveled quarter-mile incline that led to Hazel's house.

It had been longer than usual between visits, Nell's circumstances having changed recently, about which—both her absence and the new circumstances—Hazel was certain to put forth at least an implied, if distant, disapproval. Nell's mother had been emotionally remote as far back as Nell could remember. Even before she withdrew more decidedly when the girls were teenagers and able to fend for themselves, putting in her hours at one low-paying job or another and spending the rest of her time in snap-front housecoats and white cotton socks, working crossword puzzles and reading mysteries in her bedroom. Preferring puzzles to people. Avoiding questions. Holding the world at arm's length.

But according to Evie, something new was going on with Hazel. An awakening, of sorts. Evie had called Nell in the big house on the coast—Nell's new circumstances—with the news from Clay Mountain.

"Mama drove down here yesterday, out of the blue, and took me out to lunch. Then we went over to West Jefferson and saw a movie—her idea. Can you believe it?"

As far as Nell knew, their mother had not been in a movie theater in decades. And she was notorious for avoiding outings, offering thin excuses or agreeing to join in, then not showing up, as often as not. So this had indeed been unlikely news.

 

The next few days had brought a flurry of updates from Evie: Hazel had gotten her hair cut short and frosted. She had asked Evie to go shopping with her. She was singing in a church choir.

"Mom? In a church?"

"I know! One of my neighbors saw her there. I haven't asked her about it. Come home soon, Nell. You need to see this."

"I'll try. You know how it is with my new job. And I'm so much farther away than I was in Charlotte. But the first chance I get..."

"Her birthday's next month."

"Maybe then."

When Nell hung up the phone after that last call, her noncommittal replies to Evie lingered in her head, reminding her of Hazel's excuses. It wasn't that she was averse to visiting. She missed Evie. Missed Hazel, too, on occasion. She missed the way she felt more like a daughter and a sister when she was there. But even before Evie's rash of phone calls, Nell had found herself plagued with thoughts about the past, had been ruminating on those early, troubling years in Mississippi—she and Evie shuttled from one odd living arrangement to another, the sense of secrecy that had never been acknowledged among the three of them, Hazel dodging any questions Nell asked and Evie meeting those questions with a stricken look until Nell stopped asking, for Evie's sake.

She remembered having determined, when she was quite young, to give up trying to make sense of it all, to let go of the need to know about that shadowy past. She had trained herself to shove aside any questions that crept in, to shut them up behind what she had thought of then as a locked door in the back of her mind, a door she never toyed with opening. But lately, that old locked door seemed to open of its own accord day after day, and there she was. Back in Mississippi. Needing to know.

It had crept up on her, this recent preoccupation with what she did not know about herself and about Evie and their mother, hardly noticed as Nell acclimated herself to her new job—housesitting for homeowners with luxury properties for sale, homes they or the bankers holding their mortgages preferred not to leave unattended. The opportunity had come via a former coworker, Sheila Adams, at the insurance agency where Nell had worked for fifteen years. Fifteen years at the same desk doing the same clerical work for a man who would never see her in any other role, who praised her for being so reliable. And though Sheila's new business was still a start-up and much of Nell's pay would be in room and board, Nell had surprised everyone by agreeing to give it a try, thinking of it as an adventure, a chance to cultivate a persona more spontaneous than reliable.

Ten months into the job now, she had lived in three extravagant homes in three states, and with that had come some measure of adventure. But the downside was having to erase all traces of herself from a house whenever a real estate agent needed to show it, and to move out within two weeks if it sold. As it turned out, the short notice, the uncertainty of her next destination, the abrupt and frantic packing up and moving on were all startlingly reminiscent of what she and Evie had experienced before Clay Mountain. The past had begun seeping into Nell's present like water breaching a carefully constructed dam.

Nights were the worst. Often, she lay awake until well after the low moan of a distant train whistle signaled half past two or thereabouts, old questions swimming in her head. And foremost among them was the one she had promised her sister long ago that she would never pursue an answer to: Where had Evie come from?

Now, as the sun flirted with the distant ridgeline that would eventually steal the last of its light, Nell rounded a curve that straightened out just short of the house on Clay Mountain. And there was Evie on the porch, her arms already open wide.