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branch twitched in his hands. I stopped so suddenly he chuckled.
    “Did you do that?” I asked.
    “No, that’s what dowsing is. The branch points to the ground where there’s water.” It twitched again. He took another step. The branch dipped down sharply. “There,” he said triumphantly.
    “Really?” It didn’t look like much, just another patch of dusty earth near a small pumpkin struggling to get fat. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.” He crouched down and piled a few stones in a mini cairn to mark the spot. He looked up at me through his hair. “You’re supposed to leave an offering to the spirit of the well,” he drawled. “A piece of your clothing is best.”
    I turned my head. “Oh, is that so?”
    “It’s tradition.”
    I was wearing as little clothing as possible. If I took off my tank top I’d be standing there in my bra.
    He sighed dramatically. “I suppose a coin would work as well.” He took one out of his pocket and tossed it to me.
    I caught it and set it on top of the cairn. “Thank you for this.”
    He rose to his feet and held out his hand. I took it, feeling shy. I never felt shy around guys. “Now what?” I whispered.
    “Now we circle three times,” he reminded me. We walked slowly, his fingers woven through mine, the sun hot on our heads. When we finished we just stood there, looking at each other. He looked sad for some reason, and frustrated. Before I could say anything, his gaze moved over my shoulder and a shutter closed over his expression. “Your grandfather?”
    I swallowed, turning to look over my shoulder. Granddad cut across the field toward us, his tractor belching dust. “Yes.”
    “I should go.” His hand slipped from mine.
    “You don’t have to. He’ll want to thank you.”
    He just shook his head. The tractor closed the distance between us.
    “You really shouldn’t be so trusting, little Jo,” he said softly before turning and walking away, the yellowed corn swallowing him.
    “Who’s that?” Granddad asked, shouting over the tractor engine.
    I watched the corn sway as he walked toward the road and realized I still didn’t know his name.

Chapter 3

Eloise
    Monday
    Wondering about Lucas and Aunt Antonia and why my mother was being so weird was giving me headaches. And I couldn’t help but feel as if I was missing the big picture, whatever that might be. It was like water trickling in a dry river bed, slowly at first, then with greater momentum until mud pushed its way into every crevice, dislodging rocks that seemed solid and heavy. I was full of dislodged stones.
    I was remembering things. Little things that didn’t seem important at first glance, but
felt
important nonetheless. It was disorienting. And usually I’d talk to Mom about it, but she was the one trying to keep all the stones in place with the sheer force of her stubborn will. I didn’t know what was going on; I just knew there were secrets shaking loose.
    Like why my aunt lived in her van, why she didn’t show up to my grandmother’s funeral three summers ago, why pretty much the only photos we had of her were taken in our apartment. Why she insisted on washing all the windows with lavender water and always, always wore her shirts inside out. That one always made me curious, but she just laughed and said she was the scatterbrain in the family.
    I was so focused on my thoughts, which felt like a dog chasing its tail inside my head, that I didn’t hear the door squeak open. A hand grabbed me suddenly and yanked me into a narrow supply closet.
    “What the—Devin?” The bare bulb above us swung on a metal chain. He was holding a book and eating a bag of chips. Light barely seeped under the door. All I could see were broom handles near my head and his white teeth when he smiled.
    “You’re welcome,” he said smugly, barely glancing up.
    “Um … thank you?” When he didn’t move his hand off the doorknob to let me out, I tilted my head. “What’s going on?”
    “Bianca’s coming