I quickly exit, shut the door, and advance to the next two rooms. One with bookcases built into the wall that would most likely be used as a home office. Then another bedroom, this one on the smaller side.

And then I’m at the last door, and even before I turn the knob, the animal in me knows something’s different, senses a shift in the air, an almost imperceptible movement of light streaming through the cracks in the door.

But I open it anyway. And there’s Anneliese, sitting in a chair by a bed, primly watching me, over a steaming mug of tea.

39

For a glimmer of a moment, I think I’m hallucinating.

I had imagined this meeting. I had imagined the rage I would feel, that my entire body would tremble with it, anger so inescapable that it would make me lash out, punch through another wall.

But instead, I feel diminished, that her presence is inevitable. Like I knew, in the deepest, most visceral part of myself, that she would be here. Waiting.

I stop by the door, blink. “What are you doing here?”

Anneliese gives me a small smile. “I should be asking you that question. I’m from around here, you know. I grew up five miles away.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You know what I mean. What are you doing here?” I’m about to say she’s trespassing, that I’ll call the real estate agent on her. But I realize how silly that sounds before it leaves my mouth. I’m doing exactly the same thing she is.

I feel myself deflate against the door. How the hell did she know I would be here? “What do you want, Anneliese?” She eyes me over the rim of the mug, her chin flushing from the heat, and I realize she must have been brewing it in the kitchen, watching me from the window as I wandered the grounds.

“Sit down. I can go downstairs if you’d like and make you a cup of tea. The house is cold now, but don’t worry. The heat should start working any minute now.”

I slide my phone out of my pocket. Still no bars. I stay where I am, folding my arms. “I’m not coming near you. Just tell me what you want and then leave me alone.” But even as I say it, I feel myself wavering. Anneliese looks so small, so fragile behind her mug of tea. She doesn’t even have a sweater on. I’m the one who sounds crazed, neurotic. What could this small, thin woman do to me now anyway? I could easily overpower her.