“Yeah. It looks smaller from the outside.”
He didn’t move once he’d shut off the engine, so I took my time looking at the house. There was a cement pathway that ledall the way to the sidewalk. On each side was a strip of dirt that I imagined had flowers in the spring and summer. The tiny porch was barely big enough for two people to stand on. There was a white storm door hiding the front door, and on the large glass window beside it was some kind of window cling in the shape of a sun. Everything was painted a cheery yellow with white trim. It was simple but clearly well taken care of.
“Do you want to go in?” I asked after we’d been parked for almost ten minutes.
“I probably should,” he replied, reaching for the keys still sitting on the dash. “Come with me?”
“Of course.”
I followed him to the house silently, trying to imagine him running up the walkway as a child, backpack bouncing and shoes untied. This was his family home, the place where he’d felt safe and welcome—until, for whatever reason, he no longer had.
I followed him as he slowly stepped inside the house. Beneath the big window that faced the street was a small sofa. Next to it was a floral recliner. A TV sat opposite on a short hutch. The air was stale, and there were dust motes floating in the light, but everything was tidy and clean.
“The couch is new,” Bas said as he moved further into the house.
There were photos on the wall, but I didn’t have a chance to pause and look at them as I followed the man in front of me.
“Same kitchen table. Same planter in the window. Same fuckin’ microwave,” he listed off, his tone growing harder with each word. “Same mail holder.” He pointed to the wall. “Same clock. All of it is the same.”
“That pisses you off?” I asked tentatively.
“She left me all this fuckin’ money, and she was still usin’ the same goddamn microwave as when I was a kid?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Maybe she liked that microwave,” I replied.
I’d never seen Bas like this before. He was easygoing. Hard to rattle. Even when he was angry, it had always been a quiet anger.
Turning, he strode down the short hallway, shoving doors wide as he passed them.
“New shower curtain,” he said sharply. “At least that’s somethin’.”
He passed the door on the left but opened the next one. Inside was an old-fashioned queen bedframe with no mattress and a short, wide dresser with dark purple bedding folded on top.
In the next room, he shoved the door even harder, making it bang against the wall, but he was silent as he paused in the doorway. Inside the room was a set of bunk beds and another twin bed across from them. The comforters were all the same but different colors: one gray, one blue, one green. The dresser between them beneath the window held a lamp and three empty mason jars with something written on the sides of them. There was a football set against the pillow on the bottom bunk. I couldn’t see much of the top bunk from where I was standing, but the twin bed had a faded gray teddy bear tucked into the corner near the headboard.
“What the fuck,”Bas whispered.
He lifted his arm like he was going to hit the side of his fist against the door, but my hand on his back stopped him mid-movement.
“Was this your room?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he choked out, pointing to the twin bed.
“You wanna go in?”
“Fuck, no,” he said quickly.
“All right.” I rubbed his back, slipping my hand under his cut.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, spinning toward me.
Ushering me backward, he crowded me into the hallway and then back toward the kitchen. When we got there, he moved to the back door and checked the lock while I wandered toward the counter.
On top, beneath a little dish, was a note.
My heart started to pound as I read it.
Sebastian,
