"A long time ago, I think. You'll have to take me up there sometime."

"Yeah, sure," I say. "If you want to help me do some work."

"One other thing I'm worried about."

"What?"

He pauses for a moment. "Your mother."

"Why?"

"Because of some of the people she's been hanging out with. Some of the things she's been doing when she's gone."

"She's always working."

"Not always."

I ask him what that means.

"Don't get defensive. I'm telling you what I'm seeing. I have the luxury of being able to find out things. You don't. That's okay."

"What's she doing, then?"

"There are many ways of getting involved with the wrong people around here."

I still don't get it. And maybe I don't want to.

"I have a feeling things will only get worse."

"Like how?"

For a while we drive, and Jared doesn't say anything.

"I think they know. I think that they know that things are unraveling."

"How?"

"Because of you, Chris. Because you're different in some way."

I recall Mr. Meiners getting angry at me after the fight with Gus and saying the same thing.

Different how? Different why?

"I'm not doing anything." Besides sneaking into the pastor's house and finding some little weird cabin.

"You gotta tell me everything."

"I am."

Of course I'm not.

He gets to my house and leaves the car running as if he's waiting.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You have to start telling me everything, because I'm the only person around here who can help you, you got that? Nobody else can do that. Nobody. Not even those who used to know Jocelyn."

He knows about Poe.

Of course he knows about Poe.

"She's harmless, but also stupid. Chris, you just gotta start using your head. And start trusting me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'll be around again. Soon. Maybe I can give you a lift to your job sometime."

"Okay."

"Stay safe."

He drives off while I head inside, not sure if Mom is working or not, not sure if and when she's ever working now.

Doubt really sucks.

73. Harold Martin The more I work on the history of the Crag's Inn, the more random notes get added to the assorted piles.

The earliest I can find anything mentioned is a little after the Civil War. In the 1870s there was talk of the railroad being built and passing through the town of Solitary. This was meant to be an alternative to another steep railroad pass called Pace's Gap, which ended up being completed first around the end of the 1870s. For a while trains ran through Solitary, in the 1880s and 1890s, but they increasingly weren't used because of the trains used on Pace's Gap not too far away.

While Solitary itself isn't mentioned a lot in the notes I'm reading, the railroad is mentioned frequently. It seems that was how the first owner/builder of the inn found the town and the area. He got off the train and ended up buying the plot of land where the inn stands. His name was Harold Martin. At first it seemed he just wanted a place to build a business. But there's quite a bit more to Harold's story.

Something happened to his family-some tragedy. It's referred to repeatedly but never really named. His wife and maybe children? All I learn is that Harold Martin came to Solitary alone and decided to buy property and build an inn there.

One letter repeatedly says that the inn will not be in Solitary, but nearby.

It cannot be in the town, that will not work.

It seems that this Harold Martin was a religious man. He mentions following God's path and God's will over and over. He refers to whatever happened to his family as "the darkness" and the inn being a light.

I need to do something to squelch the darkness and combat the fatigue of my weary soul.

Initially he got resistance from people about buying the property, then about building. But every good thing he says is an answer to prayer-"fervent prayer" as he calls it, "prayer with petition." Despite the resistance, he was able to build the inn sometime before the turn of the century.

It's hard to know which details I need and which ones are worthless. There are lots of notes on the building process and the costs of labor. The details of running the inn seem endless and boring. But there are little details and notes that I discover while wading through notes and letters that seem to stand out.

One of these is a note going to Maude, who may or may not be his mother, which includes the details on their first guests- We had our first guests last night. To say I was surprised and anxious is quite the overstatement. They stayed only one night and did not talk very much. The dinner I set out was ignored. They left early in the morning without much sound. But it was the start. My hope is that it is the start of something bigger and better.

For some time it seems that running this inn and getting visitors was difficult. Some of Harold's concerns were with various townspeople who didn't want him there (why, I can't see). Other concerns were with attracting guests.

I leave these things in God's hands because I know this is where He wants me to be.

Then I come across a letter that startles me.

I have started a church with three others. We meet by the falls in the woods. It's a beautiful place, tranquil and peaceful, perfect for seeing God's hand and God's will in these dark times.

I think back to the people meeting in the woods, the ones Jocelyn showed me.

I need to find out who they are and where they're meeting now.

Just like the previous Saturdays, I have pages of notes but nothing started. Iris doesn't press me, just pays me and asks if everything is going well. She's busy today-there is a group coming in this evening, and she needs to get things ready. My mom arrives, and Iris says good night.

I wonder how long this project will last.

Holding the cash in my hand, I hope it lasts a long time.

74. Normal and Messy On my way over to Kelsey's house for Sunday lunch, I realize what a skeptic I've become. Cynic, skeptic, critic, something with ic on the end of it that looks and feels like a big "ick."

I'm driving Mom's car. She came home late last night and was still sleeping when I asked her around, oh, eleven, if I could take it.

Eleven. That's one hour away from noon. One hour away from the middle of the day.

When you're at the bottom, the middle's a little harder to get to.

I get in the car, and I'm angry. I'm angry at Mom for being all wasted and wrecked. I'm angry that I don't have a license and a car of my own. That I have to ask someone who shouldn't be asked anything for permission to drive. Of course she said yes to get rid of the guilt on her back. Sleep isn't going to make it go away.

But as I drive and start thinking of things, I realize that I'm not the same kid who moved here what feels like a few decades ago.

It's true that I can't stand my father. Hate? Yeah, probably. But I'm slowly or quickly growing the same feelings toward Mom.

And toward this town.

And toward my life.

And now as I crank up the radio and can't find a decent song whatsoever, I begin to think about Kelsey and her family.

Are they trying to save my soul?

Are they going to suck me into some deep, dark secret?

Are they weird like half the town, or evil like the other half?

Why can't you think normal thoughts?

But I can't think normal thoughts because there's nothing normal about this. When you're in a prison you can't go on believing you're in the real world.

She's just a cute and harmless girl who likes you, and that's it.

But then what am I doing?

I think of Jocelyn and wonder if this is cheating.

You're whacked in the head.

I know.

That's the problem.

I'm wondering if I'm cheating on a girl I was never with, a girl taken away from me, with a girl I don't really know, a girl I don't really like anyway.

Idiotic.

Moronic.

Pathetic.

I used to drive and listen to songs and not think about any of these things. I thought about NBA players and the brands of shoes they wore. I thought about the girls on the Maxim website and I thought about Celeste the senior at our school. I thought of going away to college and going crazy and getting away from responsibilities.

You've already reached crazy without responsibilities.

I flip the station, but there's nothing to combat these thoughts.

They keep coming.

And coming.

And coming.

Thank God for something normal.

Nice people who don't smell like sickly sweet alcohol from the night before, who are awake and dressed in nice clothes for church.

A mother and a father who are unbelievably still together and still able to touch each other. Not in a weird, freaky way, but in a nice way. Kinda sweet and at the same time, normal.

A house that looks like any other suburban house. Two-story and inviting with no signs of underground tunnels or mannequins or dead animals.

An older brother named Keith who goes to University of South Carolina and who actually seems ...

normal Unbelievable.

Keith is the one who answers the door. He gives me a casual hello. Next I see Jack, Kelsey's dad, who shakes my hand and says how good it is to see me again.

Then I see something not exactly normal.

Kelsey walks in, wearing a blue dress that seems to poke at this cloudy bubble I have going on in my head and my heart.

"Did you find our house okay?"

I didn't realize that I was driving to a field full of beautiful blue lilies.