Chapter 20 #2
“The bed is made, but there are clothes all over it,” he said. “The closet looks like it has clothes missing, and I didn’t see a suitcase. They packed and left on purpose, but they did it in a hurry.”
“Did the Thornhills have a son?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “They didn’t have kids.”
“There’s a photo of a boy, though.” I held it out to him.
Vail studied the photo for a long moment, like I had. “That’s strange,” he said. “I wonder where he went.”
There was a moment of weighted silence between us. Was Ben’s disappearance not the only one in the neighborhood? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned the Thornhill boy when all of those policemen were in our house? Why hadn’t Gus Pine said anything about it to Violet or added it to the police report?
“Well, the Thornhills haven’t moved out.” I motioned to the furniture around me. “So it must be a vacation.”
“A hasty vacation.” Still holding the photo, Vail headed for the kitchen. “They didn’t cancel their newspaper subscription.”
I followed him into the kitchen, which had a small farm-style table covered in a gingham tablecloth. “There are dishes in the sink,” I pointed out.
Vail opened a high cupboard and pondered the contents. Without a word, he grabbed a box of granola bars, took one, and handed me one.
I put it in my pocket for later. Old habits die hard.
Vail was frowning. He looked particularly off-putting when he did that, though I could grudgingly admit that he was good-looking. Women had always loved Vail, even from the time he was twelve or thirteen. Girls got cross-eyed and swoony when he was near. Violet and I got used to it early.
Vail never encouraged them. If a girl was persistent enough, he’d date her for a short while, then tell her that it was over. No matter how she cried, he never changed his mind. And those were the girls he liked. The rest, he fended off carelessly, like you fend off flies with a can of Raid.
“What?” he asked, looking at me and scowling harder.
Until I came back to Fell, I couldn’t recall when I’d spent this much time alone with my big brother. Possibly I never had. The little sister in me was thrilled about it, but it was a fate worse than death to let him know that. “Vail,” I asked in my most treacly, annoying voice, “are we bonding?”
“No,” he replied, turning to open the fridge. “Hey, there’s one can of Coke in here. I’m calling it.”
“I think we are,” I said. “I think we’ll be best friends now. Let’s pop popcorn and watch TV tonight. You can braid my hair.”
Vail had opened the Coke and took several long, deep swallows, his throat flexing in annoyance. I knew what was coming. I ducked as he aimed the belch at me.
“How old are you, you pig?” I shouted at him. “I can smell that in my hair.”
“Stay on topic, Dodie,” he said, unconcerned. “The Thornhills left in a rush, and I want to know why.”
“Who cares why?” I straightened and took a step back, out of the gaseous range. “Mrs. Thornhill was the one to tell the police that Violet was crazy. I hope she has food poisoning and a sunburn, wherever she is.”
“There are milk and eggs in the fridge,” Vail said. “It’s full of food. Who goes away on a long vacation with a full fridge?”
I wiped my palms on the hips of my pants. “You think something chased them out of here. You think they saw Ben.”
“The landscapers saw Ben,” my brother pointed out. “Maybe the Thornhills did, too. Or maybe they saw something else. Like those lights I saw last night.”
I rubbed my palms again and thought it over. If you started seeing eerie lights and ghost children at the neighbors’ long-empty house, you might pack your bags and decide that a trip to Bermuda was urgent.
Then again, maybe they had seen their dead son.
“It’s possible that they had a different reason,” I insisted, mostly to myself. “A family member needed them for something. An emergency.”
Vail shrugged. “It’s possible. But we know they weren’t abducted, and they aren’t dead.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You thought there were dead people in here? And you still brought me into this house?”
“I thought it was unlikely since their car is gone, but you never know.”
“You are such a jerk. Can we leave? I don’t like it here, even without dead bodies. Something about this doesn’t feel right.”
Vail put down his can of Coke and looked thoughtful for the first time, the scowl and annoyance leaving his expression. “You’re right. This is weird. There are neighbors on the other side of us—a family with a kid.”
“A kid?” I said in surprise. “How old?” There had never been other children in this neighborhood when we were young.
There were children elsewhere in Fell, children we went to school with, but when we came home from school, there was only ever us, with the childless Thornhills on one side, the old lady on the other, and the empty house across the street.
I sometimes thought wistfully that if I’d had even one friend as a child other than my siblings, I might have grown up slightly normal. I’d at least have had a chance at it.
“About ten, I think,” Vail said, answering my question. “Their name is Chatham. We should talk to them, ask if they know where the Thornhills went.”
“If you want.” I shrugged. Anything to get out of this house. “I’ll do the talking. People like me more than they like you.”
“That isn’t saying much.” Vail swigged the last of his Coke.
I picked up the photo from where Vail had left it on the counter. It seemed wrong to move it, to take it, even though the Thornhills had left it behind. I walked back to the living room to put it where I’d found it.
The photo had shifted in the cheap frame, and I poked at it to put it back. I noticed something placed behind the photo and tugged it out.
It was a postcard. The front showed an expanse of beach and blue water, with the words Sydney, Australia. I turned it over and read:
December 18, 1968
Mom and Dad,
I am in Australia now. The navy has stationed me here, for the next six months at least. I will not be home for Christmas or for a visit.
I’m sorry I left all those years ago, but like I keep saying, I couldn’t live in our home any longer.
I had to go. I know you don’t understand, but maybe someday you will.
In the meantime, have a merry Christmas.
Your son,
Alfie
“He isn’t dead,” I said to Vail when I returned to the kitchen.
“Who isn’t?” Vail asked.
“The Thornhills’ son. There’s a postcard from him. He ran away and joined the navy. He never came home. That’s why we never saw him.”
My brother scratched his jaw, and neither of us mentioned our relief at the idea that there wasn’t another dead child to think about.
“Maybe they went to visit him,” Vail said.
My gaze caught on the kitchen trash can.
There was a photo in it, tossed on top of the garbage.
I didn’t have to pick it up to see that it was a recent portrait of the Thornhills, one they’d had professionally taken.
Their son still sat in the good sitting room, but their couples’ portrait was in the trash.
It crossed my mind for the first time that the Thornhills might not have been very happy all those years with their son gone.
I pictured fights, stony silences. Weeping, some of it loud, some of it suppressed into silence or covered by the running water in the bathroom, like mine.
Hissed insults. Plates banged loudly on countertops.
A woman’s scathing voice. A man’s angry roar.
Maybe one or the other had left, then come back.
Over and over, in a miserable cycle. Until this house was unbearable for both of them, and they had left for good.
There was no Bermuda vacation. Just a son long gone to the other side of the world, more tears, and phone calls to lawyers.
The back of my neck went cold, and my stomach roiled.
“Dodie?” Vail said.
Without answering my brother, I turned and left the house.