“Caleb would never install wifi up at the house. And anyway, he wouldn’t like it. I don’t do things Caleb doesn’t like.”
“You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” she says, smiling.
“Itrynot to do things Caleb doesn’t like.” He looks down at his dirty fingernails. “But it’s hard.”
Sarah wants so much to give him a hug. First under the thumb of his father, and now Caleb. She identifies with him more than he knows. She’ll regret leaving him here, this sad boy raised by men in a house of old, dead things. “You probably don’t need art classes anyway. Have you shown your work anywhere besides the motel?”
“A gallery in Bracebridge wanted to put on a show a couple years ago, but Caleb wouldn’t let me.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re what—in your mid-twenties? You’re not a kid.”
Elijah’s mouth droops. “No, he’s right. I’m better off at home.”
“Do you want me to talk to him? I know I’m leaving, but I could call when I get to my brother’s place. He might need an outsider’s point of view.”
“Well, you don’t have to go right away. You could show your brother around. Does he like fishing or hiking? He might like to stay at the motel when it opens again.”
She laughs. “Free advertising, huh? Caleb said he was planning to renovate the house and put it on Airbnb.”
“Did he?” Elijah purses his lips. “That’s strange. He’s not good with visitors.”
Sarah blinks, bewildered. “Really? He’s been a very good host. Both of you have.”
“You don’t know him like I do. He’s not as good with people as he seems.”
Maybe Elijah’s right. In the morning, Caleb was masked again and didn’t mention her nightmare, only dropped off her breakfast and hastily excused himself to run errands. If he’d noticed her backpack zipped up and ready to go, he said nothing.
Sarah leans back, the sofa squeaking beneath her thighs. Elijah continues to pace. She wishes her phone worked so she could check the time. This ridiculous granny hunting lodge makes her feel like she’s stuck in the past. Any minute, Grandma Sweet will totter into the room and tell her to sit up straight. Or worse, Jacob Vass will storm in with his hunting rifle and order her to get out. Who’s to say it wasn’t Jacob who crept out of the woods and painted that slur across her motel room? Anything to get the intruder to leave Sweetside. Or at least disappear from the Suicide Motel.
She can see why Caleb never took off the floor runners, the way Elijah skitters back and forth. He would’ve worn the varnish off the hardwood by now. Every movement Caleb makes is decisive, but Elijah is a coiled spring anxious to bounce. It’s in his walk, and the frenetic power of his paintings. She can almost understand why his father hurt him. To control him, or maybe to try to harness that energy to his advantage.
Tires crunch on the driveway outside. Sarah jumps up. Elijah peeks out the window and freezes. “Oh no!”
Sarah’s knees wobble. It’s the police, finally. Or worse. “What is it?”
“Caleb’s back. Go, before he sees you!”
Sarah whips up the stairs and into the main bedroom. She grabs the note and the cash she’d left that morning on the vanity and scrunches them into her pocket. Seizing a random book, she flops onto the recliner, her heartbeat scurrying at an unhappy pace. Why did Caleb have to come back early?He’s not good with visitors, Elijah had said. She doesn’t want to imagine what will happen when Graham shows up.
“Hi, Caleb!” Elijah calls out from downstairs, a little too loudly. He’s letting her know Caleb’s in the house. As if she doesn’t recognize the whine of the front door and the strong, confident footfalls.
She doesn’t hear Caleb’s answer, remembering she forgot to lock the door, and he’ll surely be up soon with her lunch. She scoots off the recliner and twists the lock, just as the stairs announce his movement.
The knock sounds on the door. Sarah counts to five, unlocks it, and flings it open. “Hi!” she says, a little too brightly. Her breath catches. He’s not wearing a mask, and she’d never expected to see those cheekbones again.
His brow furrows. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Jumping jacks. I was feeling restless.”
“Want to go out for a quick walk before lunch?”
“Sure.”
Downstairs, she and Caleb pass Elijah as he slips into the kitchen. “Oh, hi Sarah,” he says casually, as if they’d never spent the morning together. “I’m about to make sandwiches. Smoked turkey, okay?”
She nods. Caleb helps her into the parka, and then she laces up the borrowed boots and follows him out the door.
Outside, the air is clear and sharp as glass, cooling her heated cheeks. Her breath puffs into a white cloud, and she’s suddenly very tired. Tired of having to wear a mask for people all the time. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted Graham to show up, not just to take her away, but so she can be with someone with whom she doesn’t have to pretend. As infuriating as he can be, she doesn’t have to beniceto him. She can be herself, whoever that is. She’s worn a mask for so long she doesn’t know herself anymore.
