They made a couple of trips up in April, then again in early May, to start cleaning out the trailer and meet with contractors to survey, design, and lay out the foundation for the twenty-four-by-thirty-six-foot saltbox house they’d designed, based on old plans Helen had found in a book on historical homes. One that closely matched that first house she’d fallen in love with in New Hampshire. The front would be full of windows, south facing to get all the passive solar heating they could.

Now here it was, day one of construction. Helen watched the concrete ooze down the chute and thought, This is it; we’re stuck here now, for better or worse. They’d assured their friends countless times they were making the right choice—“Weekends in the country for everyone once the house is up!” Helen promised—and they’d spent a large chunk of Helen’s inheritance on the land, truck, tools, and building materials. The money that was left was carefully budgeted for the remaining house materials and living expenses to get them through the next year at least.

They’d spent last night in a motel, but tonight, they’d start sleeping in the trailer. Their first night on the land. Tomorrow, the lumberyard would deliver the framing lumber and they’d spend the day stacking and arranging. They’d gather supplies and work on the garden while they waited a few days for the cement to cure.

It was a chilly morning, with a rawness in the air that made it feel more like March or April than the third week of May. Helen was amazed by the difference in climate just four hours north of their old home in Connecticut. Nate stood in his new work boots, his chin already scruffy. “I’m going to grow a big mountain man beard,” he’d promised whenever they discussed their new life in Vermont. She reached over, touched the stubble on his chin. He turned, smiled at her. “Happy?” he asked.

She paused, then gave him a warm smile. “Definitely,” she said. There was nothing definite about it, admittedly, but…Say the words and make them true, she told herself.

“I am happy,” she said.

She told herself that if she said it enough, then maybe this feeling of panic, of free-falling into the unknown, would go away.

“So happy.”

Shape your reality. Make it true because you say it is.

Nate kissed her. It was a long kiss, and the men raking cement watched but pretended not to. And Helen was sure she could feel other eyes on them, too. Silly, really, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She pulled away, glanced at the tree line, then over toward the bog.

She thought, for a half a second, that she saw movement. A shape disappearing into the mist.

“Okay?” Nate asked.

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just?”

“I thought I saw someone.”