“Brilliant?” Agatha supplies.
“Misguided,” Lily replies.
I can’t help the laugh that rolls out of my chest. I hold it in as much as possible, trying not to make a sound, but in the process, I knock something over in the closet. It’s small—a picture frame, I think.
“What was that?” Agatha asks.
“Uh, nothing!” Lily says, her voice now high-pitched and squeaky.
“Did something fall?” Agatha says, her voice now closer.
“Maybe it’s a cat!” Lily says.
“A cat? How would a cat get up here?”
“You’re the one who insisted on opening the balcony doors!”
I can hear their footsteps rushing over to the closet. Crap. They’re going to open the door, and Agatha will see me hiding here. It’s even worse than if I were just in the middle of the room when she got here. Now she’ll suspect me of being here and…I don’t even know what.
Considering how afraid Lily is, they’re keeping her fromsomething that they consider a serious threat. And I don’t want to add anything to her anxiety.
Thankfully, I’m a stuntman. And I live for these moments. I size up the closet I’m in, realizing that the far end is enclosed by two walls about two feet apart. I can scale this, no problem. With my back up against one wall, I put my feet on the opposite wall and quickly shimmy up to the top. I hold my position and my breath as the closet door slides open.
If Agatha looks up and to the right, she’ll see me right there. But instead, she looks down at the ground for whatever fell, and finds the answer—the picture frame. “Oh, no,” she murmurs, picking it up off the ground. “The glass is cracked.”
“It was already cracked,” Lily says. “Adam brought it that way.”
“You’re sure?” Agatha sighs, wistful.
My thighs begin to shake. I’m not used to this much physical activity after a year off from work, which is a problem. First scaling the tower, now shimmying up this closet. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.
“Your mother was so beautiful,” Agatha says.
“I think so, too,” Lily says, but I hear a little shake in her voice.
“But why did this fall?” Agatha says, stepping into the closet, but Lily pushes her out before she can get in too far.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Lily says quickly, and she sets the picture back down on the ground, then slides the closet door shut. I finally exhale, but I don’t completely relax. I can’t just jump down from my perch, giving Agatha another reason to check up here. Despite the shake in my legs, I slowly inch my way down the wall as Agatha and Lily move to the kitchen, Lily loudly describing their search for Agatha’s wallet.
Back on the ground, I breathe a sigh of relief and glance at the floor, seeing the picture frame that started this whole debacle.I pick it up. Sure enough, the glass is cracked. It’s a picture of a family—Peter and Lily’s family. Dad, mom, three boys, and a little girl with long blonde hair and a bright grin.
This is the Lily I remember. She’s pretty small here, maybe four years old? Which would make Peter…twelve? And that’s the age he was when we first met. The first summer we hung out, I was nine years old, angry and mischievous, and he was happy to take me under his wing. While he was protective of his baby sister, he wasn’t above messing with her things. Looking at the picture, I can almost hear her high-pitched, “Peee-TERRR!!!” when she’d find a Barbie hanging in the kitchen cabinet, or when he’d make up fake rules for the house, like that she had to hop on one leg before she could go to the bathroom.
But she’s not a baby anymore. I can clearly see that.
I didn’t think anything of her back then. Peter’s family would leave after the summer and come back the next year. As Lily got older, she made her own friends and didn’t try to hang around us anymore, and she was only a preteen at the time. Since I left Brookhaven when I was eighteen, I’ve only visited a few times and must not have overlapped with her visits, because I would have noticed her. It would be impossible not to notice her.
“I can’t find your wallet anywhere,” I hear Lily say. “Are you sure you left it up here? Maybe it’s down in your room.”
“No, no, it’s not there.” A moment’s pause, and then Agatha cries, “Aha! Here it is!”
“In your purse?” Lily asks. “You had it this whole time?”
Agatha just laughs. “I suppose so. Silly me. Well, I’ll be going now. See you this afternoon! Don’t forget, chicken couscous soup tonight!” I hear her steps, a heavy door opening and closing, and then the pitter-patter of light feet in my direction.
The closet door flies open, and Lily’s eyes are wide as she looks down at me. “Where did you go?”
I point up at the corner of the closet. “Shimmied up there.”
