say.”
“Don’t get cocky. The last thing in the world we want is for you to attract their attention for any reason.” The word “we” seemed to hang in the air, emphasizing our complicity. He’d finished with the desk and was gazing in my direction, but I had the sense that what he was seeing was in his head.
“Look, I’m tired. Can I go to bed?”
“Oh, sure, of course.” He didn’t move. He just sat there staring at me.
“What?” I demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head slowly. His expression was the same one he’d had at Starbucks three weeks earlier, before this started. “It’s just seeing you here, in her room—it’s so
real
. So possible.” He got up, but instead of going to the door he took a step toward me.
“Good. That’s the point, isn’t it?” I asked. I felt the cool metal of the flashlight handle against my thigh beneath the comforter, and I let my fingertips rest on it.
“Yes. Ro home again. Home, alive, in the flesh,” he said. His fingers flexed, then straightened. “Irrefutable.”
Something was going on inside him, something I didn’t—and didn’t want to—understand. He took another step toward me. My uninjured hand wrapped around the bottom of the flashlight beneath my comforter.
I wanted to snap him out of it. My eye fell on the photo strip on my night table, and I pulled the flashlight out and turned it on, pointing to the row of pictures. “Do you know who that is? Or why Ro would have scratched out his face?”
It worked. The faraway expression left his face. He took another step in my direction but this time focused on the photostrip. Thebeam of the flashlight was on the photo strip, not him as he bent to look at it, so I couldn’t see his face. But I thought his forehead might have wrinkled in a frown. “Where did you find this?”
“In her sock drawer.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Socks?” I said. “Why? Does it mean something?”
He stood up, shaking his head. “Beats me. I have no idea why Aurora would have scratched this guy’s face out.” The way he said it I believed him.
“She kept the photo though. So he must have been someone important to her. Any idea who it is?”
“I already said I didn’t know,” he told me, even though he hadn’t. He seemed agitated and suddenly in a hurry to go. Glancing through my window in the direction of his house, he said, “I’d better get back. I don’t want to ruin everything by getting caught in your room.”
He made the door in two easy strides, paused, and turned back to face me. “I’d keep that picture you found out of sight. Somewhere safe where no one can get to it.”
“Why?”
“People might ask who the guy is. It would blow the whole thing if you couldn’t tell them, right?”
“Sure,” I agreed. It was a good point. But I had the sense it wasn’t the real reason.
As I moved to lock the door behind him, I replayed Bain’s reaction to the photo strip. He’d been genuinely surprised by it, but not by the guy
in
it. I could have sworn that despite the face being scratched out, he knew exactly who that was.
Which meant something happened to Aurora the week before she disappeared that made her go from adoring the guy in the phototo hating him. Something Bain didn’t want me asking questions about.
I decided I’d take his advice and keep the photo safe, but I doubted that his idea of safe and mine were the same.
CHAPTER 16
SATURDAY
T he lights are long silver dashes in the wet pavement, and the tires of the cars make squelching noises. Across the road a payphone is ring-a-linging. Every time I try to reach it, a car goes by, splashing me with more mud.
I have to answer it,
I think.
It’s a matter of life and death.
When I finally get there, I see the numbers have been scratched out and the receiver is missing. I stand there, staring at it, while it goes on ring-a-linging. There’s nothing I can do; I’m helpless. I must answer
“Don’t get cocky. The last thing in the world we want is for you to attract their attention for any reason.” The word “we” seemed to hang in the air, emphasizing our complicity. He’d finished with the desk and was gazing in my direction, but I had the sense that what he was seeing was in his head.
“Look, I’m tired. Can I go to bed?”
“Oh, sure, of course.” He didn’t move. He just sat there staring at me.
“What?” I demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head slowly. His expression was the same one he’d had at Starbucks three weeks earlier, before this started. “It’s just seeing you here, in her room—it’s so
real
. So possible.” He got up, but instead of going to the door he took a step toward me.
“Good. That’s the point, isn’t it?” I asked. I felt the cool metal of the flashlight handle against my thigh beneath the comforter, and I let my fingertips rest on it.
“Yes. Ro home again. Home, alive, in the flesh,” he said. His fingers flexed, then straightened. “Irrefutable.”
Something was going on inside him, something I didn’t—and didn’t want to—understand. He took another step toward me. My uninjured hand wrapped around the bottom of the flashlight beneath my comforter.
I wanted to snap him out of it. My eye fell on the photo strip on my night table, and I pulled the flashlight out and turned it on, pointing to the row of pictures. “Do you know who that is? Or why Ro would have scratched out his face?”
It worked. The faraway expression left his face. He took another step in my direction but this time focused on the photostrip. Thebeam of the flashlight was on the photo strip, not him as he bent to look at it, so I couldn’t see his face. But I thought his forehead might have wrinkled in a frown. “Where did you find this?”
“In her sock drawer.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Socks?” I said. “Why? Does it mean something?”
He stood up, shaking his head. “Beats me. I have no idea why Aurora would have scratched this guy’s face out.” The way he said it I believed him.
“She kept the photo though. So he must have been someone important to her. Any idea who it is?”
“I already said I didn’t know,” he told me, even though he hadn’t. He seemed agitated and suddenly in a hurry to go. Glancing through my window in the direction of his house, he said, “I’d better get back. I don’t want to ruin everything by getting caught in your room.”
He made the door in two easy strides, paused, and turned back to face me. “I’d keep that picture you found out of sight. Somewhere safe where no one can get to it.”
“Why?”
“People might ask who the guy is. It would blow the whole thing if you couldn’t tell them, right?”
“Sure,” I agreed. It was a good point. But I had the sense it wasn’t the real reason.
As I moved to lock the door behind him, I replayed Bain’s reaction to the photo strip. He’d been genuinely surprised by it, but not by the guy
in
it. I could have sworn that despite the face being scratched out, he knew exactly who that was.
Which meant something happened to Aurora the week before she disappeared that made her go from adoring the guy in the phototo hating him. Something Bain didn’t want me asking questions about.
I decided I’d take his advice and keep the photo safe, but I doubted that his idea of safe and mine were the same.
CHAPTER 16
SATURDAY
T he lights are long silver dashes in the wet pavement, and the tires of the cars make squelching noises. Across the road a payphone is ring-a-linging. Every time I try to reach it, a car goes by, splashing me with more mud.
I have to answer it,
I think.
It’s a matter of life and death.
When I finally get there, I see the numbers have been scratched out and the receiver is missing. I stand there, staring at it, while it goes on ring-a-linging. There’s nothing I can do; I’m helpless. I must answer
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