Emily walked back up to the lodgehouse. She saw Doran and stopped. She couldn’t deal with him right now. She couldn’t have another Morse code conversation.
“Emily!” he called, as she walked to the stairs.
She wanted to walk right past him, pretend she hadn’t heard. He’d probably want to talk, and he went about everything like Michelangelo staring up at the Sistine Chapel, waiting to start to paint.
“You found him,” he said. And that did it. Emily stopped walking.
“What?” she said. “Found who?”
“The man on your door. He’s the man who brought me home from Russia.”
“That’s Harpo Marx.”
“Imagine that,” said Doran.
“Wait,” said Emily.
“I guess I did know him.”
“Are you serious?”
But Doran was already walking into the woods. He was probably making fun.
Emily slunk into the lodgehouse
