Funny, I can’t think of a single fast-paced job Hannah didn’t fantasize about at least once when we were kids.
“Where’d you lose it?” Otty asks.
“What part oflostdon’t you understand?”
“I got mine, Otty. Remember?” I hold up my key chain. “Besides, there’s always the Boyfriend Window.”
Hannah snorts. “Have you seen that branch recently? It doesn’t look strong enough to hold one of my kids, much less me. I’m a lot bigger than I was back then. Nobody wants me in the hospital.”
“Amen,” says Otty.
The car slows as Hannah turns into the quiet, wooded street we grew up on, past the sedate brick Colonials. Our split-level is in dire need of renovation, but I love it the way you love something you can’t imagine ever living without.
This is home. As far as I’m concerned, Dad will always live here. He and this house are symbiotic, or whatever the word is that means they need each other to survive.
Hannah starts quietly singing “Home” fromThe Wizunder her breath, and unlike when I sing, her voice sounds amazing.
Otty joins her from the back seat, her harmony pitch-perfect despite the edibles.
I get goose bumps.
“Lights are out now,” Hannah says as she shuts off the engine.
Worry washes over me, so familiar I barely notice it. “No porch light, no bed light, no TV. That car’s still there.”
Tension fizzles through my body as we topple outside. I’ve never seen it this dark. Not once. At the top of the short flight of stairs, I look at both my sisters, insert my key in the lock, turn it once, twice, shove at the door, and—
“Ooof.”
It won’t budge. I turn the knob and try again. Nothing. Ifiddle with my key, rattle the knob, pull the key out, and do it all again, and then I’m banging at the door with both hands. It’s the dead bolt. And we all know that key was lost years ago.
“Dad? Are you in there?” Hannah screams. Our fists barely make a sound on the thick wood. “Dad!”
No response. No movement. He has to be home if his car’s here. Maybe, maybe he’s at rehearsal or something, but Hannah says the lights were on earlier. This is a nightmare.
“Let’s go around back.”
Shaking, I put my phone on flashlight mode and start down the steps, picturing Dad on the bathroom floor, unable to move. If we can’t get in the basement door, I’m calling 911.
We’re halfway across the yard when the front porch light comes on. The door swings open. As one, we fly back to the porch.
“Hannah? That you?”
“Dad? What’s going on?” Relief pours through me as we retrace our steps around the house to the front. “Are you okay?”
“Rae? What are you girls doing here?”
“What’s going on, Dad?” I hear that I’m yelling. I just can’t seem to rein it in.
“What? You’re all here?”
Our steps slow as we near the front stoop. Even in the crappy light of the single bulb, I can tell there’s something off about the way he’s standing, half inside, half out, and he’s wearing the holiday robe. Again.
“Holiday robe?” mumbles Otty, too low for Dad to hear.
“Yeah. It’s weird.”
Hannah sniffs. “Is he burning a fire in there?”
