Fragmented

Chapter Five

I drove down a long gravel driveway, following the directions on my phone's navigation app. The turn-by-turn directions had steered me out of the city limits and into a neighboring suburb that looked more like a farm than a subdivision.

I reached my destination and turned off my car. A modest ranch-style house spread out in front of me, a far cry from the high-rise condos and multi-story walkups I was better used to. I checked the address I'd made note of in my phone again and, confirming I was in the right place, I got out of my car.

My boots crunched on loose gravel as I walked up to the front door. The windows were shuttered and only a dusty red van in the driveway suggested that anyone was home. I knocked, and a woman with stern features and hair pulled back into a severe bun answered the door. She wore a long denim skirt that reached her ankles and a white turtleneck. A large silver cross hung around her neck. "Yes?"

I was startled by the woman's appearance. I didn't know why I'd expected Raleigh herself to answer the door. "Oh, um, hello," I greeted, pulling myself together. "Is Raleigh here?"

The woman's eyes narrowed, and I thought I saw the door close just a little. "Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm Harper. Harper Dawkins. I go to school with Raleigh. She said I should stop by to pick up the psychology notes I missed today." She actually hadn't, but I wasn't about to tell this woman that I'd shown up on her doorstep, unannounced and uninvited.

"Harper." The way the woman said my name sounded like it left a sour taste in her mouth. "I'll never understand why parents give their children such strange names. Of course my own sister did the same thing when she allowed Anna to start going by her middle name."

I didn't know if I should defend my name or let the insult drop. "Who's Anna?" I asked instead.

The woman nearly rolled her eyes. "Raleigh. Anna Raleigh King."

My features scrunched together. "Raleigh's real name is Anna?"

"Yes." The door seemed to shut even more. "Why are you here again?"

I fished a notebook out of my messenger bag as if it were evidence that I was telling the truth. "I go to school with your niece?"

The woman, apparently Raleigh's aunt, finally let me in.

When I walked through the front door, I resisted the urge to duck my head. The low popcorn ceilings were high enough that slouching was unnecessary, but the décor was disorienting; the house looked like it had been built in the 1970s and hadn't ever been updated. I felt my anxiety spike at all the religious paraphernalia I found inside. I'd never seen so many crosses outside of a church.

Raleigh's aunt hadn't instructed me to take off my shoes, but I did so out of respect or reflex.

As I passed a formal dining room I saw one of those word paintings, only instead of something warm and encouraging, a somber message from the Old Testament was scrawled across the wall: The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.

"Third door on the right."

"Huh?" I tore my eyes away from the Bible verse.

I could tell Raleigh's aunt was rapidly losing patience with me. "Anna's bedroom is down the hallway, third door on the right. Didn't you say you came here for school notes?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." I mentally shook myself. I needed to keep it together or this woman was going to boot me from her home before I ever got to see Raleigh.

I walked down the corridor and passed two open doors—a bathroom and the laundry room. The third door on the right was open as well. Inside the small bedroom, I found Raleigh reclined on a twin-sized mattress with an afghan covering her legs. Sunshine shown into the room, scattered by a white, lace drapery that resembled an oversized doily. The natural light bounced off of Raleigh's hair, already the color of sunlight. It reminded me of a key scene from one of my favorite old movies—when Cary Grant finally tracks down Deborah Kerr after she fails to show up at the top of the Empire State Building.