Chapter 22 Chloe
CHLOE
Iwake up the next morning to the scent of frying meat, my back aching from sleeping on the ground. I’ve never liked camping, although this experience has certainly been better than my last one.
When I crawl out of my tent, Oliver is already up, watching Theo cook something in a black cast-iron skillet over the fire. I blink out at the early-morning sunlight, and Theo’s the first to see me, lifting his gaze from the pan. He waves and gives me a sly, dark smile that makes my breath catch.
Oliver, of course, doesn’t register any of that. He whirls around to face me, his hands flying. “Theo’s making us breakfast, like he promised. It’s—” He hesitates, then looks back at Theo questionably.
“Venison,” Theo spells out. “And coffee, if you want some.”
“Ah.” I stumble forward and slump down on the log to watch the steaks cook and sizzle in the pan. My mouth waters at the scent of them. I didn’t have much dinner the night before. “Coffee would be great.”
Fortunately, it doesn’t take much longer for Theo to get breakfast together.
He lays the venison stakes out on old, chipped plates, along with the oranges Theo brought from my house.
The coffee he prepares over the fire, too, in some ancient-looking metal canister.
He pours that into matching ceramic coffee mugs, and although we have to drink it black, the caffeine does help me feel more awake after a night of outdoor sleep.
“Did you have fun?” Oliver signs at me between bites of his steak, which he doesn’t bother cutting into pieces—he just stabs the whole thing with his fork and gnaws into it.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I had fun.”
I can feel Theo staring at me from across the low, warm fire, and when I glance over at him, he’s smiling.
“My favorite part was roasting marshmallows,” I add.
Oliver nods at that and keeps tearing into his breakfast. I eat mine, too, although not quite enthusiastically. I’m actually not super looking forward to going back over the lake and explaining to his parents why I kidnapped their child for an impromptu camping trip with his imaginary ghost friend.
Maybe they didn’t notice he was missing, I think, squinting up at the sky. It’s definitely still early, the horizon limned with grey.
Theo watches me, his brow furrowed a little with concern. I guess he can sense it, my worry. I flash him a smile, wondering if he thinks the worry is because of him. Because of what we did last night.
I take a deep breath and look over at Oliver, who’s just finishing up his last orange slice. “We should probably get back,” I say. “We don’t want your parents to be worried.”
Oliver freezes, the orange slice still in his hands. When he looks up at me, something snags in my throat. There’s a real sadness in his expression. The kind of sadness you don’t ever want to see on a kid.
He drops the orange slice onto his plate. “I want to stay.”
That tight feeling in my throat pulls even tighter, and I glance over at Theo, who watches us guardedly. “I’m sure Theo has things to do,” I say carefully.
Oliver immediately looks over at him. “He has to do his hauntings,” Oliver says. “I can help.”
I don’t know what Oliver means by hauntings, and, in fact, I think I might have misunderstood. But Theo says, “Chloe’s right. You should check in with your parents. And hauntings will be boring for you.”
Oliver stares forlornly down at his uneaten orange slice. Then he throws it into the fire, hard enough to make sparks fly up.
“I want to stay here,” he signs.
I sigh. “Let’s just check in, okay? Maybe you can come visit this afternoon?”
Oliver doesn’t answer.
He also doesn’t protest again, though, not even when he tries to help put the tents away and Theo tells him not to worry about it. I suspect Theo has had the same basic thought I had: namely, that the sooner I can get Oliver back to his parents, the less likely they are to call the police.
Still, Oliver is sullen as we hike across the peninsula, his arms crossed over his chest. They stay firmly in place as I throw my backpack in the rowboat and pull it out into the water. Clearly, I’m the one who has to row us back home.
“I had fun,” I tell him as we push across the calm, warm waters. “Thanks for having Theo invite me.”
Oliver blinks, then looks away from me, out at the lake. I slap the oars into the water and wish I knew what to say. This is part of why I gave up on working as a translator; at the end of the day, I’m just not that good with people.
Same as Theo, I think wryly.
I row the boat over to Oliver’s pier, and I’m relieved that the house still looks closed up, like it did last night. I half expect Blaire or his sullen father to burst out of the back door, screaming at us, but nothing happens. I tie the boat off.
“Are you gonna have to sneak in?” I ask, knowing that I’m being a terrible role model.
Oliver looks up at me with that heartbreakingly sad expression. He climbs out of the boat without answering, and the worry in my throat tightens again.
Something’s wrong. Even I can tell that.
I jog after him, put my hand on his shoulder. “I can take the blame,” I say, “If you’re worried you’re going to get in trouble.”
He stops and looks up at me, the wind blowing his hair into his eyes. Then, finally, he says something.
“I’m not going to get in trouble.”
He doesn’t exactly seem happy about it, though.
He turns from me and keeps walking up the pier. My worry deepens, and I keep looking to the back door of his house, to the white vertical blinds blocking the view of the living room. I dig out my phone and check the time: almost eight-thirty. Surely someone would be awake by now?
Oliver jumps off the pier and walks around the side of the house. I follow after him—
And that’s when I see it. His parents’ big Range Rover is still gone.
The worry turns into a dark, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, especially as I watch Oliver flip over a rock in the flower bed—a rock that I see quickly enough is one of those decorative key hiders. He pulls the key out and squeezes it in his little palm.
“Your parents left you alone?” I cry out. “Overnight?”
Oliver looks over at me, his eyes shadowed.
“You can tell me.” I rush over to him and kneel so we’re eye level. He keeps staring at me. “They shouldn’t have done that.”
He breathes out. “They’ll be back on Sunday night,” he says.
I gape at him. “That’s tomorrow!”
“I wanted to say with Theo.” He turns away from me, moving toward the front door.
“But they didn’t know that,” I say. “Your parents.”
He shrugs.
“Oliver!” I follow after him, and he stops and looks up at me, as weary as an adult. “Your parents expected you to be by yourself for the whole weekend,” I whisper. I don’t know much about kids, but I know that you shouldn’t do that. Not with a ten-year-old.
“They always do that,” he says. “When they get tired of me.”
My heart cracks. I don’t know what to do. If I should call someone. If I should leave him alone.
No, I can’t do that. And I can’t send him to stay with Theo. Not for two days.
“Stay with me,” I say. “Okay? I know that’s not as good as staying with Theo, but Theo—” I search around for the right words. “Theo’s not really equipped to handle a, uh, a living boy, you know? Because he’s a ghost.”
It feels absurd, saying the word ghost out here in the bright summer sunlight. Especially when I know the truth of what Theo is.
But it seems to work. Oliver squints at me.
“I wish I were a ghost,” he says.
I bite down on my lip. Kids shouldn’t say things like. And it especially hurts hearing it from Oliver, who had been so happy the night before, as we toasted marshmallows together.
“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s get you settled.”