Chapter 10
Ten
Around three in the afternoon, I finally have some time alone again. Valencia helped me pick out a new color for Nate’s room—something
she kept pressing me on until I realized maybe it was something she wanted more than Nate would. We finally went with “Juniper Fog”—a gray-green sage that isn’t too bright or too dark.
She decided to run out and pick up the paint, then go to the grocery store to grab a couple things for dinner. When I asked
to stay behind, she was anxious, as though I wouldn’t be here when she got back. But then she must have remembered the security
system.
And thank God she did. She downloaded the app for me and showed me all the features. It sends notifications to all our phones
whenever the doors or windows are opened. If the alarm goes off, it sends another notification.
That’s going to be an issue when I try to run away. She, Marcus, and even Easton—unless he turned the notifications off—will
get the alert that the front door opened. And of course they have a doorbell camera, too.
I have to assume all this was installed after Nate was abducted; Valencia would have been terrified someone was coming back for her other son.
I’ll have to figure out how to escape the house without setting off any alerts to the family.
The last thing I need is to break a leg trying to leave through one of the unmonitored windows on the second floor.
Valencia showed me how to set the alarm and asked that I keep it on while she’s gone.
But I have to figure out how to test the system. See what gets a reaction from them and whether they’ll notice me leaving
the house while they’re at work. So ten minutes after she leaves, I turn it off and go out the back door.
Two alerts pop up moments apart. The first saying the alarm has been turned off. The second that the back door has been opened.
I wait for another notification. Marcus or Valencia asking if that was me.
Of course Valencia is first.
Is that you going outside?
I respond with a picture of the backyard and the Chesapeake, telling her it’s too nice a day to stay inside and that I promise
not to go any farther than the backyard. Though I’m sure that does nothing to make her feel better, since that’s where Nate
was when he disappeared.
Okay, she responds. I don’t know how, but I can tell that’s a nervous “okay”—like she is very much not okay. Guilt mixes with
the food in my stomach. The longer I spend with Valencia, the more I realize how much Nate’s disappearance messed her up.
When I’m with her, I don’t feel the same anxiety and fear I get when Marcus is around.
Valencia is genuinely thrilled to have her “son” home. Marcus, on the other hand, is suspicious and guarded.
I put the phone away and take in the fresh air. It’s a warm May day, and the sun feels amazing on my skin. The Beaumonts have
a little deck with a long table and grill on it.
A willow tree sits in the far right corner of the yard, growing high over the white waist-height iron fence that separates
the Beaumonts’ yard from the neighbor next door. But just before it is a white boathouse and a dock that extends out into
the bay.
I walk down to the edge of the backyard, looking out at the bay. I’m not sure if this is the Chesapeake or an inlet, but it’s
beautiful. There’s a small island—maybe the size of a football field—thirty yards out.
The boathouse is about the same size as the two-car garage attached to the house. But it looks newer. The sides are painted
white, the roof the same asphalt tiles of the house. There’s a navy double door and a few double-hung windows.
I step onto the dock. Water sloshes against the wood pilings, but the dock itself is a mix of metal and some composite material.
I try opening the door a few times before giving up and peering into the windows. Inside I can see there’s a large door that
takes up most of the far wall facing the bay. But there’s no boat.
Marcus mentioned wanting a boat, but I thought that was a joke. Why build a boathouse if you don’t have a boat? And how rich
are these people that they could spend money on such a ridiculous thing?
I walk along the dock, looking in the windows of the boathouse. In the middle there’s what looks like a small workbench, almost like a kitchen island, but with no tools or boat materials on it. On the floor by the far wall is a large kerosene heater—probably for working on a boat in the winter.
I start walking back to the house. There are mulched plant beds along the deck that wrap around the house.
A dog barks and I turn, trying to find where it’s coming from.
“Hi!”
There’s a boy about my age in the yard next door. He has a friendly smile and curly strawberry-blond hair. He waves and starts
walking across his backyard toward the fence. A white-haired golden retriever trots alongside him. I wave as I approach him.
“Hi, I’m Nate Beaumont.” Might as well get used to introducing myself like that.
His face changes a little bit, his brow furrowing as he looks me up and down, but then he nods. “Yeah, I heard on the LISTSERV
you were back.” His dog plants its front feet on the top of the white fence and I put my hand out to it.
“LISTSERV?”
He chuckles and motions with his arm toward our houses. “The whole neighborhood has a Google group to gossip on. They used
to use the town Facebook group but decided to make their own little side chats. Probably to talk shit about the Facebook group.
My mom said Valencia sent out a blast last night telling everyone they found you.”
“Great.” Now the whole neighborhood can celebrate with Valencia that her missing son is back.
I wonder what they’ll say when I’m gone.
Maybe they’ll make a whole other offshoot of their Google group.
The “Not the Beaumonts” group, where they can talk shit about the family who got conned by a sixteen-year-old.
The neighbor shrugs. “It’s all everyone’s been talking about because nothing else exciting happens around here, especially
since the group didn’t exist when you got kidnapped. Sorry, by the way. I probably shouldn’t be saying any of this to you.”
But he doesn’t stop talking. In fact, his teasing tone is a little too flippant. It’s not offensive, though—maybe it would
be if I were really Nate, but right now it feels like a refreshing change of pace compared to the awkwardness with Nate’s
parents. “You’ve been through this trauma and now I’m here telling you you’re all over the neighborhood gossip group.”
“I think it might be more ridiculous that I didn’t realize I would be.” The dog, finished with my pets, hops down and starts
circling the yard with her nose to the grass.
The neighbor waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry. As soon as summer hits it will go back to arguments between the lawn folks
and the native-plant folks, and Mrs. Kenilworth body-shaming Mrs. Nowalk for sunbathing nude in her own fenced-in backyard.
Also, it’s an election year, so there’s bound to be plenty of competing misinformation flying around.”
“Oh great, I hope someone says I’m a Russian spy.”
“Actually, I heard you were a thirty-year-old Slovakian serial killer with a rare form of dwarfism masquerading as a teenager.”
“I’m that obvious, huh?”
“The accent gives it away. I’m shocked they even let you into the country.
” His smile grows and his eyes crinkle. There’s a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
He puts out a hand. “I’m Miles, by the way.
” He points vaguely to the dog. “And that is Chardonnay. Yes, my mother named her, and she says it with a straight face, if you can fucking believe it.”
I laugh and shake his hand. “Nate.”
“Yeah, you said that. And I told you about the LISTSERV; remember, this all happened less than three minutes ago. Wow! Your
old age must be catching up with you, Slovak.”
My face burns because I remembered as soon as I said it that I already introduced myself. I was a little distracted by Miles
being cute and how his dark brown eyes contrast sharply with his light hair.
I grin and blink at him a few times. “Well, this was a sufficiently embarrassing introduction. I think I should go back inside
and try not to replay this over and over tonight while lying awake in bed.”
Miles’s face changes again. This time it looks sad, like maybe he doesn’t want me to go yet. But then he nods. “It was nice
meeting you. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Slovak.”
I wave goodbye as my stomach does a little flip, but it’s not a good one like I want it to be. This is yet another person
I’m lying to. And lying to cute boys isn’t the best way to start any new relationship, friendly or not.
I shut the back door behind me and go to the alarm app to reset it. But the keypad beeps in the front hall and I get a notification.
Sensor issue: FRONT DOOR. Bypass?
What does that mean? I walk out to the front hall and see the front door is open. My stomach drops and I look around the room. Did someone come home? Maybe Valencia got too anxious about me being here alone. Or Easton and his friend came back early?
I open my mouth to call out but something in my gut stops me. What if it isn’t someone from the family? I peer into the dining room, but it’s empty. I listen for creaking upstairs. Easton or Valencia.
Nothing.
Then I remember the front doorbell camera app on my phone. I open it up and see there’s an error message there as well.
FRONT DOOR CAMERA OFFLINE
My hands are trembling. Something isn’t right here. If it was someone coming home early, the camera wouldn’t be offline. The
only reason to disable the camera is if you don’t want to be seen.
I walk to the front door, glancing back and forth between the dining room and living room, expecting some costumed psycho
slasher to pop out from the doorway with a knife. But the house remains still.
At the top of the front stairs is the doorbell camera. I reach down and pick it up to look. There’s space for six double-A