Silent Fall

letting her imagination get away from her, but the shiver that raised the hairs on the back of her neck was almost never wrong. Something bad was going to happen. She just didn’t know when.
    Once they were inside the house, Dylan flipped on a small lamp on a table next to the door. "We’ll eat in the kitchen," he said. "It’s at the back of the house, and it won’t be as obvious that anyone is here, although the neighbors are elderly and probably wouldn’t notice if there was a party going on."
    Dylan’s grandmother’s house smelled like potpourri, a little bit sweet and kind of sad, Catherine thought as she entered the kitchen. She set the bags of food they’d picked up from Antonio’s on a rectangular oak table in the middle of the room. The kitchen was dated, the white cabinets scratched and yellowed, the tile worn, the appliances from a decade ago. The house seemed a little lonely without its owner. "How long has it been since your grandmother lived here?"
    "Almost a year. I don’t think she’ll ever be back. Alzheimer’s has her in its grip."
    "I’m surprised you’ve kept the house going, the electricity, the water, the gardener. That must take some money."
    "Not that much. My father has power of attorney, and quite frankly, I think he’s too busy to care about this place. He’s just going to leave things as they are until she dies. He rarely even visits her anymore." Dylan paused. "If you want to eat, go ahead. I’m going to put your car in the garage and move my grandmother’s car out to the street."
    "Do you want me to help?"
    "No, I’ll take care of it."
    After Dylan left, Catherine set the two foil containers on the table, as well as the bread and butter and packets of Parmesan cheese and hot peppers, but she didn’t bother to open them. She felt an intense desire to explore the house. Not sure where the need came from, she decided not to question her instincts but to just follow them.
    Moving quietly through the first floor, she peeked into the living and dining rooms. Both were small but impeccably neat, with antique furniture, and lacy doilies on the end tables. A den on the first floor was filled with books and dark furniture: probably a room that had once belonged to the man of the house.
    Heading upstairs she discovered two bedrooms and a bath. She entered the master bedroom and turned on the small lamp by the bed, inhaling the lingering scent of lavender that still hung in the air. Across the foot of the bed a floral quilt paid tribute to his grandmother’s obvious love of flowers, which were featured in many of the wall hangings as well as the wallpaper trim.
    Catherine paused by the bedside table, perusing the family photographs on display. The one that made her heart skip a beat was of two boys and a man. It was Dylan, Jake, and their father, she realized. Dylan was thin and gangly, not really a boy, not yet a man. He was probably about thirteen in the photo. The man standing in the middle was dressed in a navy blue suit, his face austere, his hand on Jake’s shoulder. Dylan stood a foot apart from Jake and his father, as if he didn’t think he belonged in the photograph. His expression was somber, almost pleading.
    Something inside of her wanted to touch that lonely little boy, take him into her arms, tell him he’d never stand alone again. But she couldn’t go back in time, and the man Dylan had become would never admit to being that vulnerable child. She understood his need to be strong now, to take back his life from the bully who had stolen too many years already. But she suspected that his emotional barriers also prevented him from letting anyone in, even someone who might care about him. He wasn’t a man who could trust anyone or anything. He certainly didn’t trust her -- another reason she should not open up her body or her heart to him. Unlike Dylan she’d never been able to lock the emotions away, and they still tormented her.
    It had been four years since she’d let herself care about a man, and that man had left her -- just like all the others. She was too different, too crazy, too hot, too cold. She’d heard her flaws recited over and over again, until she’d almost started to believe her bad press. But once he’d left she’d realized that she was happier without him. She had her animals for company, and it wasn’t the worst thing to live alone in a