“Good to see she’s got her appetite back,” Will said.
“It’s not just her appetite,” I said. “Look at her, Will—she’s all better. The water has cured her.”
Will tightened his jaw and nodded. And for an instant, it wasn’t just wonder or disbelief that clouded his eyes, but the faint glimmer of fear. I was sure I saw it there, flickering like a tiny fire starting to catch hold.
chaptertwenty-five
June 20, 2019
Ryan dropped me off at nine thirty. Diane texted to say she was running late but would be by with pizza and wine soon.
I walked through the door to find my father cooking again. The air smelled spicy and sweet. “Ted?” I called, walking back toward the kitchen. All the lights in the house were out.
I heard him say something. He was talking to someone. Diane? But I hadn’t seen her car.
“Ted?” I said again as I stepped into the chaos of the kitchen, trying to make out what was happening. I flipped on the lights. The floor was littered with empty grocery bags. There were pots on every burner. The counters were covered with flour, sugar, canned goods, mixing bowls, measuring cups and spoons. The kitchen table held plates and bowls of chocolate chip pancakes, cheeseburgers, grilled cheese sandwiches. The door to the broom closet was open, and the cat was in there, cowered in the shadows, watching.
“What’s going on?” I asked my father, who stood in front of the stove flipping bacon. I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, tried to sound calm and matter-of-fact. But this was a Lexie-style mess. I’d never seen my father do anything like this.
He didn’t respond. I walked up to him slowly, put a hand on his shoulder. “Ted? You okay?”
“She’s hungry,” he said, still not looking me, poking frantically atthe bacon, then at a pot of creamed corn. “She’s hungry, but she won’t eat.”
“Who’s hungry, Ted?”
He turned, looked at me. “Lexie,” he said. His pupils looked huge, his face pale and sweaty. I turned off the burners, took his hand. It was cool and clammy.
“She was here,” he insisted. “She wanted food! I kept making her things, but she wouldn’t eat. She pushed them all away.” He looked so miserable, so agonized.
“Come sit down with me.” I led him over to the table. He shuffled forward in a daze, like a sleepwalker. We sat at the table, covered with all of Lexie’s favorites.
“She was here,” he said. “She sat right where you’re sitting. Look!” he said, scrambling through the mess, knocking a cheeseburger off the table, pulling a sketchbook out from underneath a plate. He flipped it open, shoved it at me. “Proof!” he said.
I held the sketchbook in my hands. It was a series of quick pencil sketches: Lexie in the kitchen. Lexie sitting in the chair I was sitting in right now. I struggled to keep my breathing even and level. In the drawings, my sister’s eyes were wild, and her hair looked wet.
“She said she could come back to stay. That we could help her do that,” he said.
“Ted,” I said in my calmest social worker voice, “I don’t think—”
The front door banged open, and I jumped. My father looked at me, eyes wide and excited. “She’s come back,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”
I dropped the sketchbook, tried to stand, but couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
I was underwater, holding my breath, playing the Dead Game with my sister.You move you lose, Jax.
“Honey, I’m home!” called Diane from the front hall.
I exhaled with relief; my father’s face fell in disappointment. “Youcan’t mention anything about Lexie’s visit today to Diane, okay?” I whispered, handing my father his sketchbook.
“But you believe me, right?” He looked so desperate.
Did I? Did I actually believe my sister had found a way back and come to sit in the kitchen?
Impossible.
“Let’s talk about it later, when it’s just the two of us,” I said. “It has to be our secret, okay?”
Mum’s the word.
