“Maybe it wasn’t set right whenever you last changed the batteries?” I suggest.
She nods but still looks concerned. “Please don’t leave the door open again.”
“I won’t, sorry.”
Valencia attempts a smile, but it doesn’t feel genuine. “Can you help me bring in the groceries?”
“Of course, yeah.” I back up in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll go through the garage if you want to close the front door.”
She nods and closes it. I take out the knife and run back into the kitchen. I turn on the faucet and rinse it off—I mean, it wasonly against my underwear, which is clean, but the idea kind of skeeves me—then I put it back in the knife block and run to the garage door to help Valencia bring the groceries in. I try to put on a calm face, but my hands are still shaking, and it feels like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. This is all so damn overwhelming.
I thought I could do this; that it would be better than going to juvie. But instead this feels like a different kind of prison where I need to watch every single thing I say. And now I feel like someone is watching me.
As I reach for the garage door handle, my heart catches in my chest.
When I went outside, I used the back door that went to the deck. That door was unlocked the whole time.
But I know for a fact the front door was locked.
So whoever opened it had a key.
Eleven
As I help unpack the groceries, Valencia asks what I did while she was gone. I tell her about checking out the backyard and the boathouse and meeting Miles next door.
Her face lights up. “Oh, that’s wonderful that the two of you got to catch up! Do you want to invite him over for dinner tonight? I mean, JT is coming, so I guess you could invite a friend, too.”
Shit.
Of course Miles knew Nate. Which is why he looked at me that way.
Valencia catches the look on my face. “Oh.”
“I... I didn’t realize I had met him before.”
She sighs and sets down the zucchini she was about to put in the fridge, then walks around the kitchen island and pulls me into another hug. I let my body relax so she can squeeze me tighter. It feels wonderful. Everything in my mind is telling me not to get too close to this woman. Not to let her touch me, because what’s the point? I’m leaving soon. But the second she does, I can’t help but give in. It’s like when she hugs me, all those overwhelming feelings get obliterated into dust and released into the world, away from me. Is this what other kids get from real parents?
“I’ve decided I’m going to treat this whole thing like a traumaticbrain injury,” Valencia says. “At least until Dr. Zapata tells me it’s not healthy. Or maybe it will be your brother who does that. You and Miles were great friends. The two of you were together all the time and, honestly, I think he took your disappearance almost as hard as we did.”
That explains why he looked so hurt when I didn’t recognize him. She lets me go and puts the last few groceries in the refrigerator, then motions for me to follow her out of the kitchen.
“Come on,” she says.
I follow her up to my room and she opens the closet door. She pulls out one of the cardboard boxes and slides it over to the stegosaurus rug, then sits down beside it and rips away the tape keeping the box closed.
She pats the floor next to her and I sit cross-legged as she opens the box.
The first thing she pulls out is a framed picture of Nate and Easton. Nate is probably four years old and his hair is lighter. Easton’s hair is almost black-brown and wet. He looks to be seven or so. Nate is wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, while Easton has Ninja Turtles on his. Nate’s eyes are closed as someone pours water over his head from a souvenir cup of some kind.
“This was when we were visiting your grandmother in Florida,” Valencia says. “Marcus’s mother—not mine, who you’ll meet tonight. You probably don’t remember his mother, so I should tell you she died a year after this picture was taken. Your grandfather on your dad’s side died three years ago, and my dad died the year after you...” She tries to figure out what word she’s going for. “Disappeared.”
Why did she pause? Did she almost saydiedbut had to correct herself so she didn’t say it in front of me? Because shetoldherself Nate was dead for all those years?
“Sorry” is all I say.
“Don’t be; they lived a good life and were kind and wonderful people. But this day—oof! This was when we went to Disney World, and it was almost a hundred degrees and humid as hell. Easton wanted to get on the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train ride and there were no FastPasses, so we were stuck waiting in line for two hours. I thought you were going tokillEaston. This was when your father decided to start pouring water on the two of you so you’d stop bickering.”
She laughs at the memory, and I can’t help but smile with her. She puts the picture on the bedside table and reaches for another item from the Nate box.
