It was a beautiful day, warm but not hot. Most of the paths we took were sheltered under the dappled shade of the gorgeous old trees scattered generously around the property. Off in the distance, a riding lawn mower growled in slow laps across the gentle hills. A breeze meandered around us, carrying with it the pleasantly tart green scent of mown grass (screaming in protest of its grisly fate).

For the first few minutes, Barrett was in a state of quiet contemplation, while Agatha kept her chin slightly raised into the breeze. When we passed through small patches of sun, she closed her eyes and seemed to be trying to memorize the feeling of the sunlight on her cheeks.

Their tranquility eluded me; I felt like I was walking on a precipice, about to fall off.

Just before we reached the main driveway gate, another brick path appeared in a break of the high decorative grasses. This one was slightly overgrown, and the bricks looked older, worn into roundness with age. Some of them had settled, and the whole thing seemed to undulate slightly. But if that made it harder to push the wheelchair, Barrett didn’t complain. And Agatha didn’t seem to mind the bumpy ride.

This part of the yard was lovely, but its isolation made me uneasy. We came to a fence made of white boards that were peeling and falling down. On the other side of the fence were lush, tangled green woods. Shoots of the plants reached into our path like the bony arms of hungry witches looking for lost children to eat.

I was starting to think I preferred the garden.

“What are you thinking about?” Barrett asked. “You’re so quiet.”

I couldn’t very well tell him that I was imagining his family’s property as fairy-tale villainy brought to life. And I wanted to spill the beans about Laura’s disturbing midnight jaunt to the graveyard, but I couldn’t figure out how to begin. “Just things,” I said. “Um . . . your mom.”

He sighed.

“So last night, Agatha woke me up and—”

“She did? How?”

“She . . .” Well, hmm. Did she wake me up? “She just did. And we went out to the garden—”

“You took her to the garden in the middle of the night?”

“No,” I said. “She took me.”

He looked doubtful.

“I swear!” I said, more offended than I’d expected. “I had no desire to go. She led me out there. And we went into the graveyard, and that’s where we saw . . . your mom.”

I explained what she’d been doing.

“You hid and watched her?” he asked.

“I didn’t want Agatha to get in trouble.”

“Agatha doesn’t get in trouble,” Barrett said. “Mom knows Aggie is . . . isn’t all there.”

I didn’t answer.

“I mean, you might have gotten in trouble,” he said uncertainly.