Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

Hope you’re having fun in Portland with G

FYI you’re not the only one staying in luxurious accommodations. (House-sitting at the jobsite this week. Sent you a photo!)

A sudden metallic bang makes me jump and turn around, searching for the source; I exhale and take a steadying breath when I remember Carol mentioning the old radiator pipes can get noisy as the heat of the day fades.

A dresser and desk sit in the far corner of the bedroom, opposite the bed. I dig out my laptop from one of my bags and place it on the desk. Maybe I’ll be able to get some work done here in the peace and quiet, I think to myself, remembering the spreadsheet of expenses I need to finalize.

* * *

After taking myself on a leisurely tour of the house, I realize that, without Wyatt, I’ll need to make myself dinner. Snooping in the fridge, I find a plastic container of something that looks like stew and another of rice, both labeled with my name. The stew has a note attached that reads: “Olena: Thank you for taking care of our home. Enjoy the stew! – Carol & Charles.”

How did they know I can’t cook?

I sigh, relieved at not having to prepare something for myself. Smiling at their generosity, I pull out the containers and close the fridge, opening the lid of the stew. My stomach rumbles when I breathe in the smell; even cold, the aroma is incredible. I know it will be delicious. Thinking about the bag of trail mix I brought for emergency food, I’m even more thankful that I get to eat this instead.

Waiting for the stew and rice to heat up, I turn to look out the kitchen window. Dense gray clouds are gathering over the mountains across the river. I frown. It’s been cold lately and the wind is already picking up, the branches of the trees outside bending in the erratic gusts. I hope the rain holds off; I was looking forward to turning on the new garden lighting after dark.

I eat in silence, scrolling social media on my phone. My news feed shows a sweet selfie of Wyatt and Sam snuggling on our couch and I smile; I’m glad they’re having a great date night together. Scrolling further, I see Nat has posted a photo of a beaming Graham holding up an enormous zucchini at the Portland Farmers Market. I sigh. My friends look so happy.

Setting my phone down, my eyes drift to the window again. Outside, the light is fading. I can no longer see the river; only my reflection in the glass stares back at me. Deciding to treat myself to a luxurious shower, I put my bowls in the sink and switch off the kitchen light, heading back up to my room. I stand for a long time, letting the hot water rain down on my skin. I try to relax, but my brain is still puzzling over the problem with Sean—and the solution I don’t yet have.

After my shower, I sit down at the desk in a towel and open my laptop with one hand as I comb out my wet hair with the other. I go through my social media and email accounts, setting up restrictions and blocking Sean any way I can. Taking this step feels like something is finally within my control.

But it also feels so inadequate. With my business here, my website has to have my name and phone number posted so clients can reach me. I purse my lips, knowing I can’t erase all the ways Sean can get to me.

A whooshing howl drones through the house and I spin around in my seat, eyes wide, my fingers gripping tightly to the comb. What the hell was that?

Sitting very still, I wait to hear if the sound will happen again, my eyes shifting left and right as I hone in on what I can hear around me. The wind is blowing hard outside and a distant tapping sound is coming from somewhere downstairs. I put down the comb and gather my towel around me tightly, pulling my knees up to my chest in the chair. A crack sounds at the bedroom window, jolting me once again. What are all these sounds?

My phone lights up with a text from Carol.

Just saw on the news about the windstorm. Hope all is well. Just wanted you to know the chimney howls like an old wolf when it’s stormy. Lots of popping and cracking noises too. Don’t be alarmed. x

Too late.

I try to shake off the anxiety. It’s just an old house.

Warily, I push up from the desk. Getting dressed in clean leggings and a sweater, I grab my phone and walk downstairs. I find the den with the TV and, luckily, Charles and Carol have a bunch of old movies on the shelf nearby. I pick Dirty Dancing because I’ve seen the movie enough times to have memorized every line between Johnny and Baby; it’s perfect for background noise. Maybe it’ll help me feel less alone in this weird house.

I watch the movie with semi-detached interest for a while, getting as far as the part where Baby puts her foot in her mouth, nervously declaring she carried a watermelon. I’ve always loved that scene. Fidgety and restless, I leave the movie playing and get up to explore more of the house again. I nervously rake my hands through my damp hair; I don’t know what to do with myself.

Another howl rips through the house as I walk down the hall and my breath catches in my throat, my heart racing despite myself. More howling and, then, a repetitive banging noise seems to come from the ceiling. I close my eyes. I don’t know if I can do this. I try to relax and breathe.

When another sudden bang sounds from the pipes, I’ve got my phone in my hand, about to text Nat to come stay with me—that is, until I remember she can’t rescue me right now.

Scrolling to Wyatt’s name, I pause again and chew on my lower lip. Fuck. I can’t interrupt his night with Sam. The whole point of me coming here was to leave them alone. I squeeze my free hand into a fist. The thought of calling my parents crosses my mind, but I need to show them I can land on my own two feet like a grown-up. Calling them because of scary noises in a house doesn’t exactly scream capable adult.

Rolling my shoulders, I go to the front door and check it’s locked. Looking behind me to reassure myself there’s no one else here, I head back to the den and park my butt on the couch—determined to distract myself by watching the movie—but I can’t seem to relax my rigid limbs into the soft cushions.

The sound of shattering glass from down the hall a few minutes later is what sends my shoulders into my neck and my pulse threatening at the edge of full-blown panic. I can’t do this. I can’t be alone here.

My breaths shallow and rapid, I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for my phone. Heart hammering, I press the call button beside his name and squeeze my eyes shut as it rings.

“Olena?”

“Jude. I need you.”

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