All Kathy ever heard is what Bill wanted. What was missing. Who was screwing him over. What he didn’t have that he deserved. It didn’t matter to Bill what Kathy wanted. It didn’t matter what was best for the kids. It didn’t matter what was right. It was what Bill wanted, period, end of story.

Bill glanced sideways at Kathy. The car picked up speed as they settled into a stretch of straight road.

“What am I supposed to do? Live in misery because you don’t want me to leave?” Bill asked.

He was way off on the mind reading, but Kathy appreciated that he was trying. All she’d ever wanted was a little effort. She tried to explain better.

“No, I’m not saying stay and be miserable. I’m saying don’t leave because things aren’t great. We can make it better. We’ve been together for too long to throw it all away.”

“Too long is the problem. Trash doesn’t start to smell better the longer you let it rot.”

Kathy nodded slowly, slightly. She turned in her seat to face forward. He was right that garbage doesn’t smell better the longer it rots. But her heart raced as she processed this metaphor.

Did he call me trash? In that analogy, our marriage is the trash. Though there’s no way he thinks he’s part of the garbage, so it really means I am trash.

Kathy felt dizzy. She tried to focus on the horizon ahead. The trees had helped her breathe earlier, but nature zoomed by too fast. She saw nothing but a blur of green. She couldn’t get ahold of anything.

He called me rotting trash.

And now he’s not saying anything else. He’s not backtracking. He’s not adding new words for me to focus on.

All she could think about was the fact that she was trash. The thought consumed her with such force that she could smell it on her. Rotting trash.

Kathy’s scalp started to itch, but her arms were paralyzed, glued to her sides. She couldn’t scratch her hair, and it became more intense. She tried to casually rub her head on the window, but all it did was slide back and forth. She lengthened her neck to try getting the top of the seat belt mechanism to scratch the itch. That worked a bit. Why wouldn’t her arms move? Kathy looked down to see her hands curled into small, hard fists.

I am trash.

Kathy turned her whole body to face Bill, staring at this stranger of a man until he became something else. An animal that would ravage trash. A raccoon or an opossum with beady eyes. She pressed her back up against the window and wanted to scream at him to get away. But she knew nothing she said would matter. So she pulled her knees up to her chest and kicked out.

Before she knew what she was doing, Kathy heard Bill’s head slam against the window. Then she did it again.

AIMEE

After the initial burst of adrenaline during our wine-tasting fun, the vibe petered out. Adam, Eden and I played in the arcade while we drank whatever we could get our hands on, but eventually that got boring and annoying. I took a breather to scroll through social media while Adam napped. Dishes and glasses piled up. The Weather Channel was constantly on in the background, giving me a dull headache. I took two ibuprofen and summoned my second wind.

If the past was going to haunt me on this trip, I decided to make it the good past. Before I became a mother and learned to tolerate mess, I loved to have a good time. I wasn’t a literal mess yet, but a different kind. A drunk mess. Always in the center of a crowd, shouting too loud, laughing too hard, willing to do anything for a dropped-jaw gasp.

Now, stuck inside this massive Victorian home with a storm raging outside, I invite out the old wild child in me. And she knows how to transform a group of idle people into a party.

I bring down my Bluetooth shower speaker and put on my wedding-dance-floor mix: the Killers, Neil Diamond, Walk the Moon, and Beyoncé. I shout for Rini while I play “September,” thinking she’d appreciate the astrological nod in Earth, Wind & Fire. But she’s nowhere to be found.

Margot reappears from her room to set up beer pong on the fancy dining room table, and the only time Adam, Eden, Farah, Joe, or I stop dancing is to take a turn competing against each other. Rick and Ted sit on the sidelines with a wad of cash in each of their hands, tossing off hundos to anyone who would eat the cheese that had been sitting out for hours, or chug the wine spittoon, or kiss with tongue in front of them for sixty seconds. I almost convince Margot to do it, but she’s allegedly not drunk enough. Instead, we crash onto the couch next to each other.

“I haven’t posted one picture today,” I say.

“What are you talking about? You’ve been snapping shots constantly.”

She’s right—I’m never without my phone raised in the air, capturing the moment a thousand different ways for that one perfect shot.

“But nothing on social media.”

“Because this isn’t on-brand?” Margot asks.

I shrug, realizing I’m kinda feeling off-brand myself.

“Do you think this place is weird?” I ask. “Weird stuff has been happening to me here.”

“That’s so crazy that you ask because when I passed out as we spun in the car, I had a vision.”

“A vision?”

“It was the end of the world, raining blood, and I was a deer. My brother was a deer. You were a deer. We all were deer.”

I’m surprisingly touched that I featured in Margot’s end-of-world vision. For a moment, sitting arm to arm, it feels like the old days.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Did you ever have something like that happen before coming here?”

Margot shakes her head.

“Do you think it’s this place?” I ask.

“Why? Is something happening to you?” She answers my question with a question.

I take a sip of my wine and get to the point. “This morning when I went for a run, I thought I saw someone in the top turret. I tried to take a picture but when I looked at my camera no one was there. Was it a ghost?”

I show her the picture.

“It was probably the fog, I can barely see the house,” Margot says.

“You think there’s a rational explanation, I’m not surprised.”

“Listen, the first night, I heard strange sounds in the walls like the house was haunted, but I discovered they have a whole dumbwaiter system. It was probably just housekeeping. Or the chefs. If you want to get weird, maybe it was a stray animal who got lost in the passageways.”

I try to imagine a whole maze of passageways in the walls, not like our Southampton laundry chutes, but something complex enough to deliver food, flowers, sheets, and towels to rooms without disturbing us.

“Okay, I’ll give you something woo-woo. I found a tarot card in my dumbwaiter. Two, actually. When I told Rini she said she doesn’t use tarot cards,” Margot adds.

“Really? Eden said she found a tarot card on her bedroom floor.”

“She did?” Margot sounds disappointed, as if she wanted to be the only one receiving magical messages. “Did you?”

“No, no cards for me.”

“Do you want to see the dumbwaiters?” Margot asks.

“Now?”

“Let’s go hunt for ghosts.” Margot pulls me by the hand and we sneak into the pantry off the kitchen. We wait, listening to “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer and pretending to look for snacks in case anyone followed us. When the coast is clear, Margot places her palm flat on the wall and presses down firmly. A rectangle pops open.