The wordfriendcatches him off guard, a small spark of connection igniting in the midst of all his grief. “And you’re my first friend who’s a Karen,” he says, grinning at her.
“Watch it, buddy.” She waves a finger at him with mock seriousness. “That’s Caren with a ‘C,’ don’t ever forget that.”
His laughter comes easily, surprising him, relief in the moment of connection.
They round the corner, and the house appears before them—cold and gray. The Allards have not been keeping up with the lawn and it’s filled with weeds.
“There it is,” Caren says. “I remember regaining consciousness on the front lawn, but I don’t know how I got there.”
“You came from inside the house,” he says as they approach the front door. “I remember watching you stumble down those front steps.”
“So we’re actually going in?” Caren asks.
He shrugs. He’s always wanted to go inside, to see where Autumn was living, but now that the opportunity is here, he feels queasy.
“I can go in alone,” Caren says. “I don’t mind.”
“What? No. I want to.” He tries the handle, but it’s locked.
“We need the code. I don’t want to ask the Allards.” Caren makes a face.
“Hold on, let me try something.” Finn punches in Van’s birthday and smiles at the satisfying sound of the deadlock withdrawing. “Presto.”
“How did you know that?” Caren asks, following him inside.
“Jo told me she uses her son’s birthday for all her codes.”
“Typical boy mom,” Caren says.
They step inside, the musty air coating his mouth and nostrils. Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight that cut through the blinds. It’s obvious no one has lived here in a long time.
“I think I remember this.” Caren’s breath is coming in short rapid spurts.
“Yeah? You sure you want to do this?” he asks.
She nods, taking a few steps toward the kitchen. Finn follows close behind, his footsteps on the concrete floor making him hyperaware of every sound in the empty house.
Caren stops at a door that’s cracked open, her hand hesitating on the knob.
Finn walks to her side and gently opens the door, revealing a narrow set of carpeted steps leading to a lower floor.
“This must be the entrance to the basement apartment,” Finn says. “Where Autumn lived.”
The stairwell seems to swallow the light, a dark entry into the unknown. A waft of cool, damp air rises to meet them, carrying the familiar musty smell of dank basements.
“Maybe we should leave,” he says. This is starting to seem like a terrible idea. But Caren is already leading Kugel down the stairs.
Finn follows and when he gets to the bottom, he is relievedto see it is a normal suburban basement with a walk-out glass door to the backyard. He looks around the empty room, trying to re-create the few images he gleaned from FaceTiming Autumn when she lived down here. But without her posters on the wall, and all her crystals lined up by her bed, it’s just an empty soulless room.
A large camel cricket jumps past his leg, and Kugel barks, pulling at the leash, eager to chase the cricket. Finn flinches at the noise, his body tense as a bowstring. He walks to the glass door, which has a good view of the back patio and the edge, and even some of the Allard house beyond.
Caren pulls Kugel as she walks, almost transfixed, to the opposite corner of the room. Finn watches her move, unsettled by her certainty.
“Here,” she says, her voice sounding hollow. “I remember being here.”
She holds out her free hand and points, her finger trembling visibly even from where he stands.
“Is that mine?” she asks.
