SLAM.

I stand there, then bring my hands up and realize they’re shaking. Quivering as if I’ve had a hundred cups of coffee.

My heart, inside my chest, pounding.

I tiptoe to the back door, peeking out, hoping he won’t see me. But he is now just with the men, back to barking orders.

I quickly lock the back door.

And then the side door.

And then the front door.

And then all the windows.

And then I double-check all the doors and windows.

A rush of terror in me, catapulting me all around the house. Suddenly, it seems there are so many ways to get in. Too many ways. Maybe he could climb up the trellis and open the second-story windows. Oh, yes, that could be. Lock them. Make sure to lock them. Are they locked? Best to check again.

And what about the third-story windows? Well, if it’s possible to use the trellis as a sort of ladder, it stands to reason that the third-story windows are barely more difficult than the second. Best to lock them. Are they locked? All of them? Yes, I think so. Best to check again. Best to double-check that check.

And this spasm of activity lasts for the next thirty minutes. A litany of possible entrance points and defenses for each one. I am prepared. I will not let him in.

I check my cell phone. Yes, I must always have the battery charged. Just in case. And, yes, it is spotty service, but there is that landline.

And 911 is just one call away. But, oh God, there is the issue of timing. I mean, how long would it take for anyone to get out here? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Twenty?

A lot can happen in twenty minutes.

I begin searching everywhere in the house for a possible weapon. The kitchen, the pantry, the coat closet.

But then, as if magically appearing, almost a gleam in it. Like there should be a little BING! as I see it . . .

There, on the entryway table, right in the middle. I hadn’t noticed it before but there it is just right there maybe I didn’t see it but how could I not have seen it—

I scoop it up and march up the stairs. Yes, it’s a part of me now. Yes, it was there to serve me. Now I have it. It was for me all along. There, in my hand, to protect me. Mine.

The hammer.

Chapter 39

There can be good storms and there can be bad storms.

And that’s what this was.

Back home.

There was the fun, silly, sweet storm . . . the one where it snowed three feet of snow overnight and the next day school was out. Which is usually a cause for celebration.

Except Zander and I were in love. Crazily in love. The kind of love where it actually hurt to be away from each other, even for a day.

So Zander—foolishly, oh so foolishly!—drove his Jeep over, in the middle of the blizzard, with his older brother, just to see me. Just to spend a moment with me.