Autumn lay in the guest room and could not sleep.
It was past midnight and the house had gone completely still around her. She knew its sounds by now—every single one of them. The way the heating system ticked when it kicked on. The quiet knock of the pipes somewhere in the walls. The faint hum that came up through the floor from somewhere below, a sound she'd stopped trying to explain away two weeks ago.
She knew all of it. And none of it was what was keeping her up.
Her brain just wouldn't stop.
She thought about her grandmother. Clara Calloway was seventy-one years old, and she lived alone in a small white house in upstate New York, checking her email every Sunday on the old laptop Autumn had set up for her two years ago.
She was patient about how emailing worked. She didn't unde
