Page 17 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction, even if he’s not here to witness it. I won’t give Uncle Mark and Aunt Ellen and Caleb the satisfaction of seeing me fail. I want to say I’m not including Ben Vandergriff in that, but I keep seeing the contempt on his face.
I already planned to help his family with that ten million. I will still do that, more than ever now that I know their situation. If Ben doesn’t want any, then it can all go to his parents.
It’s not just about showing everyone I can do this. It’s also about not being indebted to Gail. I’d always feel the guilt of knowing I took away part of an inheritance she deserved.
It’sonemonth. On a dream property. If I view it through Ben’s eyes, I really do seem like the sort of whiny rich girl who considers it torture if she’s forced to fly overseas in economy. I’m not physically being hurt. I’m not confined to the cottage. I’m not expected to subsist on stale bread and water. In fact, when I go into my old bedroom, I find an envelope with three thousand dollars in it, and a note that it’s for “expenses.” With that, I can pay the remainder of Mom’s August bill, and I’ll be eating better than I have in two years.
I will get through this, and when I come out the other side, my life will be changed forever.
By dinner, we’ve hit the awkward-truce stage. Gail insists on staying, despite me declaring I can handle this. I insist on staying, despite her declaring I shouldn’tneedto handle this. No one would ever know we were related, huh?
Mom always said I didn’t just look like my aunt—we also share similar personalities. Even before the disease dug its claws in deep, Mom would occasionally call one of us by the other’s name.
Sometimes I look at Gail, and I see a flattering reflection of myself, and other times, I see an uncomfortable one. Gail gives so much, and I admire that… but I also wish she’d think of herself more. I commend her strength in overcoming my dad’s betrayal and then her husband’s, leaving her for another woman. But I’d like to see her let down her guard more and admit how much she’s been hurt.
Pot, meet kettle.
Tonight, though, our shared stubborn streak means we don’t completely give up the fight. But our dislike of confrontation means we don’t keep arguing either.
We set the dispute aside and eat dinner and then find other things to focus on. For Gail, that’s work. For me, it’s meal planning. One thing we don’t have in common? Our cooking skills. Gail is all about takeout and ready-to-eat. Here I take after my mom. I want home-cooked meals, and I’m happy to make them myself.
I’d hoped for a bonfire to celebrate our first night. We’d unofficially planned on it, with Gail bringing beer and canned cocktails and me packing marshmallows and sticks. But darkness starts to fall and she’s on a call with a client, so I quietly head out by myself.
It turns out to be later than I thought. Darker, at least. I really should have found wood after dinner. Better yet, I should have had Gail stop to grab some from the dozen “firewood 4 sale” spots we’d passed along the back roads.
I scrounge up some dry sticks, which will make perfect kindling. But I want a fire that lasts more than five minutes. That requires logs.
I peer into the pitch-black woods. Yeah, I don’t want a campfirethatbadly. Even as a kid, I only went in the forest during the day. When I think of entering after dark, my heart picks up speed, and a memory flashes, someone grabbing my arm.
“Uh-uh, Samantha. Stay out of there at night. You know the rule.”
Samantha. My grandfather.
He was right, though. That was the rule. Always had been.
Past dark, we all had to stick to the bonfire area between the cottages. No going in the forest. No going for night swims.
I remember that moment, standing on the edge, peering into the shadows, Grandpa holding my arm.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
“The headless horseman.”
I turned, and… was he smiling? It wasn’t the smile I remember from later, the predatory one when he’d tell my mother he’d be happy to help with our bills—she just had to say she knew my father hadn’t murdered Austin.
That day, his smile glittered, along with his blue eyes, but it was a mischievous glitter.
“The Headless Horseman from Sleepy Hollow,” I say.
“PaynesHollow. The original. Our horseman.”
I tilt my head. “But if he’s ours, why can’t I go in the forest and see him? He won’t hurt us.”
“Mmm. Best not to take the chance. If you stay in the light, he’ll know you’re a Payne. In the forest?” He shrugs his wide shoulders. “We wouldn’t want him to make a mistake.”
“What would he do if he caught me?”
Grandpa leans down. “Have you forgotten the story?”
