“Can I talk to you?” James asks.
His mom’s teary-eyed pride transforms into a skeptical, furrowed brow.
Last December, in the sterile hallway of the science building, a brochure gave James an idea. It has stuck with him since, a thought cultivated into a dream, then into a plan. He already talked to his advisor and secured himself a spot in all the classes he will need. He has done everything to prepare for this change, save ask the people who will be paying for it.
Wincing, he drops the bomb. “I want to add a second major.”
“What do you have in mind?” Her arms cross. “Political science?”
“What? No.”
“Oh God.” She pinches her forehead. “Please tell me it’s not psychology.”
“What do you have against psychology? Yougoto therapy.”
“It’s not a lucrative career path, James. Right now, if you don’t get into any med schools, you can have a reliable job, like a nurse, but employers are not seeking out recent graduates from the Department of Psychology.”
He laughs at his mom’s odd prejudices. “It’s not psychology. I want to addjournalism. I love to write, you know I do, and this way, I can maybe make a living doing it.”
“James—”
By her tone alone, he can tell it’s a no, so he interrupts. “Please, Mom. I know it’s impractical to you, but nothing else will make me happy. Journalism will at least ... give me a purpose.”
His voice cracks, and for a second he forgets about the letter.
“Don’t you realize I’m settling here, too?” he continues. “Majoring in two degrees will add at least a year until graduation. It’ll double my courseworkthisyear, and though it’s not writing novels in an English country house, being a journalist is a hell of a lot better than putting catheters into old men.”
She sighs and flips on the light switch. The garage floods with stale LED.
“Keep dreaming. Money’s tight right now, hon. With your sister about to graduate, we can’t afford you to add a year. Trust me, it’s smarter to focus on medical school. A journalism degree, there’s no future in that, and the extra coursework would only distract you from making good grades in the classes that matter. Eyes on the prize, remember?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Her words fall through his head like air. All but two.
Keep dreaming.
Now that he has met the man inside the house, the driveway of 23 Blackwood Road becomes the same terrifying mouth to the underworldthat it seemed to James as a kid. Even as, through the rustling trees, sunlight flickers like a jewel off the tin roof.
He parks at the top of the drive, before the trees part to reveal the house. The July heat slicks up his back as soon as his shoes hit gravel. With every crunching step, the letter in his pocket grows heavier. He considers heeding Jessie’s advice and remaining uninvolved. Turning around. It would be smart, but in his mind he sees Nelle staring at her oatmeal, so paper white she looked sick.
He circles the right side of the house, avoiding the front porch and Quill’s Jeep.
Knowing that Quill is only a few walls away dries out James’s mouth.
I’m here for Nelle,he reminds himself as he stands on tiptoes in patches of weeds and dandelions, peering through the windows. He first sees the kitchen, with its small round table and ceramic countertops. The next window is covered by tasseled velvet curtains. The last window reveals a room with rose-printed walls, an iron bed, empty canvases, and a shelf of books.Little Women.Jane Eyre.Anna Karenina.Around the World in Eighty Days.
James prays this is Nelle’s room and taps the window.
Flattening himself against the siding, he waits. Sweat clings to his shirt and hair. He reaches up to knock again, but his knuckles don’t hit the windowpane.
They hit air.
He spins around, fearing Quill’s black glower, but instead he finds Nelle, the window budged open, her hair hanging in wispy strands. Arms folded. She wears an expression that suggests she has been waiting around for him all day.
Her mouth twists even as she hisses, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you again,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”
“Did you call the police?” A creak echoes inside the house, and Nelle flinches.
