Saint/Sinner

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She knew something was wrong before Walter opened the door and Lucy rushed past the two of them. It was in the air — a strange electricity she hadn’t felt in a long time. That, she told herself, was why it had taken her so long to understand what she was sensing; two years ago she would have acted without hesitation.

Before she could put feelings into words, the fifteen-year-old girl was gone in a blur of jeans and a T-shirt and squeaking tennis shoes.

Walter looked back at her with one of those apologetic smiles that seemed to appear (too) often where his daughter was involved. “I guess she’s excited. We haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Walter, there’s something—” she started to say, when Lucy’s scream froze both of them in place, and she thought, Too late. Too late!

Walter dropped their bags and disappeared through the door before she could grab him. She ran after him instead, pushing the door open before it could close on her. She skidded for a half-second against the polished foyer floor, caked in the fresh dirt Walter and his daughter had tracked inside as they’d gone through the same spots seconds earlier.

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