Winnie opened the door like a woman preparing to be mugged. Had she imagined it? She’d been thinking about those dark clouds moments before and then…looking around, she tapped the alarm code into the keypad, jumping when the fridge started to hum its tune. The alarm beeped once to tell her it was off, and she took a cautious step deeper into the kitchen listening for any sound. The house was old; it had its noises and she heard those as she strained to hear the intruder. When nothing unusual sounded, she crept toward the hallway, seeing it as empty as the kitchen. She walked toward the stairs, convinced she’d made it all up. She’d been in a horrible frame of mind this morning; she wouldn’t be surprised at all if she’d seen something frightening in a shadow. Her heartbeat calmer, Winnie went upstairs.

In her bedroom, she spun in a slow circle, her eyes darting carefully and impatiently over the familiar objects. Nothing was…wrong, but something was off. She couldn’t place her finger on it. It felt like someone had been here, even if they weren’t there now. Skirting the window, she made sure not to turn her back to the doors. This was ridiculous, she felt ridiculous, but fear was a compelling argument. She’d look more ridiculous if she ended up dead. You don’t really think there was someone in the house, she thought. The alarm was on. So what did that leave…?

Shoving the curtains aside, she stood in the same place she’d seen the figure. Something had looked at her from this window; she was certain she’d seen it. “No,” she laughed, turning away. The only thing haunting her was her past decisions. She was more afraid of that than ghosts.

17

JUNO

The grass was wet and spongy under Juno’s tennis shoes; she turned her face toward the light drizzle and breathed all that good Washington air into her lungs. The outside was now a special treat to her; if only life could balance out its problems. She saw Joe down the way a little, working his cardboard sign, a bottle of orange juice at his feet.

“Orange juice, Joe?”