Chapter 20
Dodie
“Okay, so I’m not a CIA agent,” Ethan said on the phone. “I’ll tell you the truth this time.”
“Are you sure about that?” I was standing in the kitchen, using the annoying wall phone that didn’t feature anywhere to sit. Why had we never acquired another phone line? Oh, right, because we had no friends to call.
Before we left for the trip to the neighbors’ house, Vail had taken his Jeep to the FunTime Foto at the nearest strip mall to drop off the roll of film he’d taken.
He’d used the first half of the roll on some UFO investigation in California, and the second half taking pictures of Ben’s footprints in the upstairs hall.
He’d be gone for twenty minutes at most.
While I waited for him, I was alone in the house. I realized my mistake in not going with him the minute the door closed behind him. I didn’t want to be here in the silence—I needed to talk to someone. Ethan had come to mind.
You have my phone number, he’d said. Call me if you need me, Dodie.
Incredibly, he’d answered the phone, even though it was the middle of the day.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said now. His voice sounded more relaxed than it had on our date. “Here goes. I ran away to join the circus when I was ten. I’ve been with them ever since.”
“You must really like the circus,” I said, deadpan.
“Absolutely.” His reply was as serious as mine. “I’m not just a clown now, I’m the head clown. And you’d be surprised by the benefits package.”
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed out. “I’ve always wanted to meet a sugar daddy with a benefits package.”
We both laughed. His laugh was low and gentle—just as nice as I’d imagined. I was irrationally glad I got to hear it.
“Don’t you want to know where I am?” I asked him. “Why I left New York so suddenly?”
“If you want to tell me, yes.”
I did want to tell him. In all of my years living in New York, I had never talked to anyone about Ben.
Ethan was a good listener, and the fact that I didn’t know him very well—or at all, honestly—was a point in his favor.
If he thought I was crazy, he could hang up, be done with me with that simple motion, and I wouldn’t blame him. Much.
Besides, he’d guessed about Ben already. I was just giving him the details.
So I talked. I told him about Ben’s disappearance twenty years ago, about the house sitting empty, about Ben calling us back.
I told him about Ben’s footprints in the hall and his toys in the attic.
I told him how he’d crawled into my bed last night, as real as he’d ever been.
That particular memory should have scared me, but it didn’t.
In the light of day, it was the best memory I could imagine.
It felt less like a haunting and more like a gift.
Ethan listened quietly. I couldn’t see his face to catalog his expression, but he didn’t hang up. Maybe he just wanted to hear my crazy story to the end.
“It’s okay if you think I’m delusional,” I said when I’d finished. “I understand.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s surprising,” he admitted. “But if you’re delusional, then you’re sharing the delusion with your sister and your brother. That is, if you’re telling me the truth.”
“I’m waiting for my brother to get back from the photo place,” I said, deciding I may as well pile it all on. “Then we’re going to break into the neighbors’ house while they’re away. You can see why I only ever go on first dates.”
“Yes, I see.” He still didn’t hang up, though. “What do you expect to find at the neighbors’ house?”
“I don’t know. That’s the fun of it. Maybe there’s a scandalous secret to dig up over there. Maybe there’s nothing, and they simply went on vacation to Disneyland. I’ve always preferred to lose myself in other people’s lives, even without their permission.”
“You have strange hobbies,” he said, his voice flat. “I thought mine was bad, but I feel a little better now.”
“You have a hobby? Tell me.”
He paused briefly. “Ah,” he said, an embarrassed sound. “I play Dungeons and Dragons. I know, I know—I’m thirty. Feel free to tease me. But it’s a great game, I swear. You wouldn’t make fun of it if you tried it.”
I blinked, gripping the phone in my hand.
I had just told him about my quest to reunite with my dead little brother, my plan to break into the Thornhills’ house, and he was embarrassed—truly embarrassed—by his nerdy board game.
I felt a flutter behind my breastbone, somewhere in the region of where my withered, long-dead heart was rumored to be.
No. I refused to be charmed. At all.
“Dodie?” Ethan asked.
“I would love to try your game,” I said gently, “but I won’t be back in New York for a while. I really don’t know when.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean we should literally play it. Because you don’t do second dates.”
“Right,” I said as the front door opened and closed. Vail’s boots clomped their familiar beat down the front hall. “My brother is back.”
“So you’re off to do some breaking and entering?”
“Just a little bit.” I made my tone light, refusing to acknowledge that I had to force it this time. “No one gets hurt.”
“Okay. Have fun, Dodie. Call me again if you want to.”
What did that mean? Did he want me to call him or not? I frowned. So far in life, I had spent exactly zero seconds wondering what a man wanted from me. I wasn’t going to start now.
“Maybe I will,” I said to him cryptically. “Goodbye.”
Vail was in the kitchen now, his big bulk seeming to take up half the room. His frown mirrored mine. “Who was that? A boyfriend?”
I tossed my hair back over my shoulders, much as I would have in the shampoo ad I’d bailed on to come to Fell. “I told you, Vail. Nightly ecstasy. Someone has to provide it. I’m interviewing candidates.”
Vail made a convincing gagging sound, and I pushed down the feeling that I wanted to take the words back.
“Fine, I’m never asking again,” my brother said. “Let’s go.”
—
There was mail and a single newspaper on the Thornhills’ front step because Vail had taken the others when he lifted the key.
The grass was overgrown by a week or two, and the planter on the front porch was black and dead. I had been excited to go on this little expedition, but now I wasn’t so sure, and it wasn’t just because I could hear Ethan’s perplexed voice in my head.
Vail didn’t seem to have any hesitation as he unlocked the front door and swung it open. He stepped inside, making his usual clatter of noise. I followed behind.
“Oi!” I called out, using the English accent I’d learned in a long-ago acting class, back when I thought I might act in something. The accent came out when I was nervous. “Anyone ’ome?”
Vail gave me an annoyed look, and I wedged the toe of my sneaker hard into the back of his jean-clad knee. He swatted me away.
“No one’s home,” he said, as if I was slow in comprehension. “Let’s look around.”
“What are we looking for?” I asked.
“Anything interesting,” was his laconic reply.
I walked into the Thornhills’ living room, which was packed with fussy furniture. An overstuffed sofa in a gaudy floral pattern. An overwrought side table. A glass-top coffee table that was probably a nightmare to keep clean. A floral throw rug under it all.
The room was pristine—it was obviously the “good” room, kept for company that never came. There was no way Mrs. Thornhill ever sat with her feet up on that sofa, reading a racy novel and eating bonbons. No way Mr. Thornhill spilled chip crumbs there while he drank beer.
My siblings and I had done this kind of break-in plenty of times.
If one lived nearby and was stupid enough to go away for a period of time, leaving one’s door unlocked or an easily opened window in reach, then an Esmie child might find their way into one’s home.
At first, we did it for the usual reasons—to search for money or food, neither of which was given out often at our house.
Then it was simply a habit. I liked being in other people’s houses.
I liked looking at people’s photographs, the snapshots and children’s drawings they pinned to their fridge with magnets.
Like I had at the birthday party, I occasionally stole a snapshot.
A picture of a picnic, maybe, or a beach trip.
You could keep your wedding and baby photos. Those weren’t my style.
It was the forbidden thrill that drew us to it, even more than money or food. There was no one to stop us, no one to say no. Our parents didn’t know or care where we were. Our teachers noticed even less. Why grow morals when no one cares whether you have them or not?
I looked around the Thornhills’ living room, thinking, That isn’t entirely true, is it? That we don’t have morals. Because we never brought Ben with us when we snuck into an empty house. We never taught him that. We taught him songs and letters and stories and games, but not that.
My gaze snagged on a photo in a frame on a side table. I picked it up and studied it, thinking at first that I might add it to my collection. Then I realized what I was looking at.
The photo was old—it was black-and-white.
The Thornhills were younger in it than they were in my memory.
They stood in their front yard, Mrs. Thornhill in a simple dress with her hair in a perm, Mr. Thornhill in his Saturday pants and white shirt.
Between them stood a boy of ten or eleven, gangly and tall.
His hair was clipped in a buzz cut and he stood awkwardly, his smile for the camera rather shy.
Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill each had a proud hand on his shoulder.
The Thornhills hadn’t had any children. Was the boy a nephew? It didn’t seem like it. They stood too close to him, their hands on his shoulders too possessive. They’d kept this photo in their formal living room for decades.
I was still pondering as Vail’s steps came down from upstairs. I met Vail in the hall.