INTERLUDE  

WAL-MART SUPERCENTER—VERO BEACH, FLORIDA

“Just let me know if you need a different size,” said the salesgirl.

“I will,” said the older woman, slipping into the dressing room and closing the door behind her.

Emma Huppert had needed a new bathing suit for years but hadn’t wanted to shop for one until she’d lost a little weight. At her age, she found it harder than ever. Though finally this year, Emma had managed to stick with her resolution.

Emma adjusted the strap and examined herself in the mirror. The floral pattern was flattering, and the skirt that flirted out at the waist hid the parts that needed to be hidden. “Perfect,” Emma whispered to herself. She lived so close to the beach but hadn’t been in the water for at least a decade. This would be a nice change. Something to do other than play bingo all day with the rest of the white-haired ladies in the retirement community.

The doorknob rattled, and Emma jumped. “There’s someone in here!” she called over the door. She waited for an apology, but none came. “Rude,” she whispered.

She and Bill had left Massachusetts almost twenty years ago, but Florida never really felt like home. So many tourists always passing through. So many seasonal friends who came and went.

Emma often had to force herself to remember New Starkham. This bathing suit was her way of trying to get some of that feeling back, if only to swim in the same ocean she had when she’d been young. Not that all memories of her hometown were pleasant.

The doorknob rattled again, harder this time, as if someone was frantically trying to enter the dressing room. Emma nearly fell against the wall. “There is someone in here!” she called again, growing angry.

Probably just teenagers playing pranks, she imagined, catching her breath. Well, the bathing suit fit, so Emma decided to hurry up and let the pranksters tease someone else. When she bent down to pick up her blouse, someone slapped the door so hard that Emma yelped, leapt upright, and clutched her shirt to her chest. The slap came again and again and again. She could see under the door, but no one was standing outside.

Now Emma was frightened. She knew it wasn’t the salesgirl doing this to her. She was almost certain that whoever was assaulting the door was no prankster either. For the past few weeks, she’d been seeing things she should not have been seeing. She’d managed to dismiss the other incidents as exhaustion, but this was not something she could ignore. She was trapped in a tiny room, wearing a bathing suit that did not yet belong to her. And outside was … well … No, that was impossible. There was no such thing as ghosts.

Emma reached for the doorknob. Grasping it, she turned her wrist slowly, then pulled the door open. Peeking out, she saw no one, so she swung the door wide.

But then, standing in the opposite cubicle, Emma noticed the girl. Her wet black hair was plastered to her dirty face, her brown skin pulled taut over her cheekbones. She wore the same stars-and-stripes dress she’d been wearing the last time Emma had seen her … nearly sixty years ago. “Delia,” Emma croaked. Her sister.

The girl leapt across the aisle, arms raised, and Emma stumbled backward. “It was your fault!” screamed the girl. “You weren’t watching. You weren’t watching. You weren’t watching!”

Emma hit the mirror behind her and covered her face. “I’m sorry!” she cried, sliding down the wall until she’d managed to curl herself into a ball on the carpet. “I’m so sorry, Delia! Please!” She felt someone grab at her shoulder. Emma slapped the hand away, then glanced up, expecting Delia to lean in at her with a mouthful of broken teeth.

Instead, the salesgirl stood over her, wearing a shocked expression. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

Emma didn’t know what to do. Lifting her eyes, she peered at the aisle outside the dressing room. No one else was there. She shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Everything is fine,” Emma said, standing sturdily. She brushed herself off. “The bathing suit fits perfectly. I’ll take it.” The salesgirl nodded and stepped out of the cubicle.

Then a voice whispered from the adjacent dressing room, the same voice she’d been hearing for several weeks now, whenever she thought of her sister. It said, Your fault …

“Wait!” Emma grabbed the salesgirl’s arm. The girl looked worried. “Can you do me a favor?” Emma asked. “Just … stand outside the door? Make sure no one tries to come in?”

The salesgirl simply stared back, as if Emma had lost her mind.