Misplaced (105 page)

Th
e
tri
p
bac
k
t
o
th
e
hous
e
w
a
s
a
lonel
y
one
.
Still
,
there
w
a
s
somethin
g
spr
y
i
n
Celeste’
s
step
s
a
s
sh
e
hummed
absentmindedl
y
an
d
stoppe
d
a
t
a
fe
w
flo
w
e
r
beds
,
though
man
y
o
f
th
e
bloom
s
w
er
e
closed
.
Som
e
o
f
th
e
bes
t
time
s
in
her
life
had
taken
place
at
this
time
of
the
night,
so
she
felt
no
need
to
hurry—except
that
there
it
w
as
again,
that
intoxicating
leathery smell.

Bac
k
a
t
th
e
mai
n
house
,
sh
e
mad
e
he
r
w
a
y
t
o
th
e
living
roo
m
an
d
he
r
favorit
e
chai
r
i
n
th
e
darkness
.
Afte
r
th
e
long
w
alk,
she
felt
the
need
of
a
fire.
Lila
and
Chris
al
w
ays
kept
the
fireplace
ready;
all
she
had
to
do
w
as
strike
a
match
and
light
the
bunched-up
newspaper.
When
she
w
as
certain
that
the
logs
had
caught
fire,
she
eased
herself
into
the
chair
to
w
atch.
Fire
w
a
s
a
grea
t
mystery
,
an
d
sh
e
ne
v
e
r
tire
d
o
f
studyin
g
th
e
chaotic
w
ay
the
flames
came
to
life.
It
ne
v
er
happened
the
same
w
ay
twice and, just like life, you could ne
v
er be sure what direction
it might take.

Sh
e
reste
d
he
r
e
y
e
s
fo
r
a
moment
,
picturin
g
wha
t
Carl
mus
t
loo
k
lik
e
now
.
W
ell
,
o
f
cours
e
he
’
d
b
e
muc
h
older
,
but
h
e
wouldn’
t
loo
k
i
t
a
t
all
.
Sh
e
ha
d
t
o
admi
t
i
t
w
a
s
unfai
r
to
tell
people
he
’
d
left
her
for
another
woman,
but
what
a
benign
stor
y
compare
d
t
o
th
e
truth
!
On
e
summe
r
day
,
th
e
piec
e
of
w
atermelo
n
he
’
d
bee
n
eatin
g
sli
d
ou
t
o
f
hi
s
hand—th
e
only
signa
l
tha
t
anythin
g
w
a
s
wrong
.
Th
e
od
d
w
a
y
h
e
slumpe
d
i
n
the
patio
chair,
the
lack
of
w
arning,
still
haunted
her.
Concocting
a
racy story now and then helped ease the pain.

Sh
e
didn’
t
immediatel
y
notic
e
th
e
ma
n
wh
o
steppe
d
fro
m
th
e
shadows
;
hi
s
w
er
e
no
t
th
e
w
ar
y
step
s
tha
t
might
ha
v
e
belonge
d
t
o
a
burglar
.
H
e
stoppe
d
fa
r
enoug
h
a
w
a
y
to
regard
her
with
a
detached,
sarcastic
look
“Celeste
Szabó?”
he
inquired, his voice decisi
v
e and arrogant.

Although
she
felt
she
w
as
prepared,
he
startled
her
badly.
Hasn’t
your
grief
been
w
aiting
for
this
day?
she
asked
herself.
Her
voice
shook
slightly.
“I
am
Mrs.
Szabó.
I
don’t
know
who
you
are, but you ha
v
e no right to be here. Get out of my house.”

“W
e
’
re
not
strangers
at
all.
May
I
call
you
Celeste?
Such
a
distincti
v
e
name—Szabó.
Luckily,
there’s
only
a
handful
in
this
part
of
the
country.
I
pictured
you
v
ery
much
as
you
are
from
our phone con
v
ersation.”

Sh
e
studie
d
hi
m
intently
.
“S
o
it’
s
you
.
Y
o
u
migh
t
a
s
w
ell
ceas
e
wit
h
th
e
niceties
.
The
y
don’
t
com
e
easil
y
any
w
ay
,
do
they?”

“I
w
a
s
charmin
g
enoug
h
t
o
ge
t
mos
t
o
f
wha
t
I
neede
d
ou
t
of
you
in
a
single
phone
call;
now
I’m
here
for
that
one
last
piece
of information.
Y
ou
’
re going to tell me where Khara is.”

Celest
e
smile
d
w
eakly
,
notin
g
tha
t
hi
s
e
y
e
s
di
d
no
t
reflec
t
the
fire’s
growing
light.
Her
hand,
resting
on
the
arm
of
the
chair,
began
to
tremble.
“
Y
ou
’
re
in
for
a
terrible
disappointment,”
she
w
arned him, “but that’s rather the story of your life, isn’t it?”