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In the darkness, I see Da. He looks as he did when I was little. Handsome and young, dressed in white linen to combat the heat, his blue eyes lit with the same cheerful glow they always held. I’m on the swing in the pin oak, behind our town house on Troost Avenue, the moon shining overhead as brightly as the sun.

“Sadie, mavourneen,” Da says, and leans close, his hands above mine on the ropes. “How high do you want to fly?”

“High. As high as the stars and higher still.”

“Then that’s where you’ll go.” He pushes me, hard, and I swing through the air, the wind whistling in my ears. I laugh because it feels like flying. It feels like life and love and everything I’ve missed so very much. He laughs with me, pushing me again when I swing low to the ground. I pump my legs, pushing myself to go higher and higher, until the stars are so close I can almost touch them, until the moon is as big as a dinner plate.

If this is what dying feels like, it’s not so bad.

When the swing reaches the apex of its highest arc, I close my eyes, and jump, knowing Da is there. Knowing he’ll catch me. He’d always caught me.

But he doesn’t this time.

I fall back into my body—that leaden weight, that anchor of pain, with all the gravity of loss pulling me to earth. It hurts to open my eyes. There’s a roar in my head like the ocean. “No,” I murmur. “No ... I want to go back. Da ...”

“She’s severely concussed,” a man says, distantly. A bright light shines into my eyes. “She needs to go to the hospital. She may be hemorrhaging. Bring the car.”

I hear someone crying. Keening. Da always said when someone was the next to die in our family, the banshee would wail. I’d heard her myself, two nights before Da took his own life. I’d thought it was the wind.

“Take Marguerite out of here, Harriet,” the man says. I recognize his voice now. Dr. Gallagher. “Sedate her and put her to bed if you must.”

I try to focus my eyes, to look around me, but everything is blurry and doubled. Someone is holding my hand. Beckett. I can smell his distinctive scent—sun-warmed earth and the spice of his aftershave. “I’m going to get the car. I’ll be right back, darling. I promise.”

He kisses my forehead, and there’s a rush of air behind me as he leaves. I don’t know how I got back to Blackberry Grange. I can’t remember what happened. I only remember leaving the stone cottage, leaving the warmth of Beckett’s arms, then walking through the woods. Nothing after.

Minutes pass in silence, and then I’m lifted, gently, like a magician’s assistant levitating off a table. “Support her feet, Beckett. There. Just like that. I’ve got her head. Slowly, now. Is the top down on the car? Good. We’ll lower her into the back seat from above. I’ll ride with you.”

I blink in and out of consciousness. I hear the wind whistling overhead. The steady hum of tires on the road. Bright blades of sunlight pierce the thin skin of my eyelids. Children shout as we pass them. The smell of something delicious filters through an open window. When I went blind, after Da, all my other senses became heightened, just as they are now. There’s so much richness to the world, beyond sight. More than anyone could ever know. It’s the reason I’m not afraid of the dark.

Cool fingers press the inside of my wrist, checking my pulse. “You’re doing just fine, Miss Halloran. We’ll be there soon.”

The next few days go by in a blur, my consciousness coming in and out of focus, along with my vision. Even when I can’t hear him or see him, I know Beckett is at my bedside.

Through the fog, I’ve gathered that I’m at a hospital in Fayetteville, that I have what is called a “traumatic brain injury.” Despite the doctor’s best efforts to conceal his whisperings from me, I learn that I nearly died, and even though I’ll survive, I may never regain all my brain function. When my faculties do begin to return, after a week, and I’m able to sit up and stand without the room spinning, I’m allowed to go on short walks around the ward with the nurses. Being here reminds me of my time at Elm Ridge. I’m concerned that they’ll find some way to keep me or, given my confusion and amnesia, transfer me to an asylum, but my worries are unfounded. My progress is deemed exceptional. The next week, Dr. Gallagher comes for a visit. He reassures me that Marguerite is safe and well, and that he’s dispatched his own nurse to relieve Harriet, who has been staying round the clock since my incident.

The incident.

My memory is still fuzzy, but bits and pieces are coming back to me. I remember running through the woods, being chased. Someone choking me. My throat still bears faint marks and bruises. The rest is lost to me. A symptom of concussion, the doctor tells me.

On the day I’m due to be released, Beckett comes in, his hat in his hands. He sits next to my bed, his eyes full of sadness.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Did something happen to Marguerite?”

“No, Sadie. Marguerite is fine.”

“I can’t wait to be home, Beck. To see her. Harriet, too.”

“Sadie ... I can’t take you back there.”

“What?” I sit up, ignoring the persistent ringing in my ears. “Why not?”

He presses his lips together. “He almost killed you. I saw it happen. I won’t ever get that out of my head. The doctors here think I did it. That I hurt you. Doc Gallagher doesn’t think that, but the others ... They wouldn’t believe the truth, even if I told them.”

“The truth?”

“Do you remember what happened that day? Any of it?”

“Not really. I remember a man chasing me through the woods. But I don’t know who ...”

Beckett’s eyes grow cloudy. “Not a man. A spirit. Do you remember the painting? In Marguerite’s studio? The one you asked me to hide.”

“I ... I think so.” I scrape the corners of my mind, trying to recall what he’s talking about. I come up with only vague shadows.

“He tried to kill you.” He chokes on his words, squeezing my hand. “I can’t let that happen again.”

“But . . . what about us?”

He pinches his eyes shut. “Perhaps, after Marguerite has passed, I can come to you, in Kansas City. Until then we can call. Write. But it’s not worth the risk. You can’t go back to Blackberry Grange, Sadie. Your life is more important than us being together right now.”

“Beckett, no! I won’t give you up. Not for a week or a day. And I won’t leave Marguerite. I won’t.” My voice grows frantic. “I’ll be all right. Take me home. Please.”

“I can’t, Sadie.” He stands, suddenly stern. Unyielding. “Now, get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the hall. I’ve packed your things. Your suitcase is in the car. I called Louise. She said you could stay with her until you find your feet again.”

Hot tears spill from my eyes. “So, you’ll give up? Just like that.”

“Sadie ... I’m not giving up. But it’s best for us to be apart. For now. Even if you weren’t in danger, I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and you need to think about where this is going, too. You deserve someone who can give you everything you want. You’re used to the sort of life I could never give you.”

“That’s not true, Beckett. No. You’re exactly what I want. What I need!”

One of the nurses comes in, her brow wrinkled with concern. “You mustn’t become distressed, Miss Halloran. Sir, if you could please leave the room.” She glares at Beckett. His head drops as he leaves.

“Is that your husband, miss?” the nurse asks as she helps me dress.

“No.”

“He didn’t do this to you, did he?”

“No,” I snap. “He would never.”

“I’m sorry to ask. We just see these types of injuries when homes are unhappy. You’re certain you’re safe with him?” She looks at me with soft, kind eyes. I regret snapping at her. My emotions are untethered by Beckett’s tacit rejection. Raw.

“Yes. I’ll be fine.”

Beckett is stony and silent on the drive back to Eureka Springs. It’s almost October—my favorite month of the year. The leaves are stunning, the air crisp with the scent of fall, but all I can think about is how I might be losing the purest, truest thing I’ve ever known. What if his promises to write and call are empty? I see his assurances for what they are—a way to let me down easy. When we get to the depot, Beckett turns away from my attempts to kiss him, and hands my suitcase to me. His coldness breaks me in half. Steals my grace. “You’re being a coward, Beckett Hill,” I say to his back as he turns to go. “If you really cared about me, you’d fight for me. For us. We’d find a way through this, together.”

His shoulders stiffen. “I love you, Sadie. I do. But it’s better to lose you for now than to lose you forever.”

I wait until he drives away, and then I begin walking.

There’s no way in hell I’m going back to Kansas City.