Simon and Mrs. MacLeod left for the mainland early to buy groceries and do errands, and Simon knocked on my door to invite me along, but I played sick. Trusting normal souls they were, they believed me and left me in bed. Mrs. MacLeod even told me I could use her laptop to watch a movie—she’d pulled out and hidden her mobile hotspot card, of course, though; couldn’t make it easy on me even once. She brought me a little silver packet of cold medicine and a bottle of water along with the laptop. I wasn’t used to anyone caring I was sick. Mom’s usual response was to sigh heavily, drop a bottle of cough syrup on the bed next to me, and then cover her nose and mouth whenever I so much as breathed in her direction.
After I heard the Jeep pull away from the gravel drive, I got up and got started on my real reason for staying home—for the first time, I knew where both Simon and Mrs. MacLeod were and when they’d be back. I had a good eight hours to explore the house on my own, with no interruptions. There might be something about my grandmother dying in Simon’s papers that would set my mind at ease.
Maybe even information about my father.
I ended up back in my mother’s room first. I went through her drawers again, the few winter coats hanging inside the wardrobe, a worn-out pair of combat boots with a hole over the big toe.
I got a lot of cobwebs in my hair and dust up my nose for my trouble, but nothing about my grandmother or my mother or who my father might be. I flopped back on her bed, the springs groaning under me, and stared up at the water-stained ceiling. The sun blinked on outside the window as a cloud blew away, and I tracked a void in the stains high on the wall next to the wardrobe. I sat up, looking at the massive, ugly piece of furniture. It was definitely big enough to lead to Narnia. There were gouges under the lion feet too—somebody had moved it from the spot where it had clearly rested since it was put in the room, judging by the condition of the wall.
I jumped up and grabbed a corner of the wardrobe. It was even heavier than it looked, and I braced myself and used my feet to shove it away from the wall. A trickle of plaster dust sifted to the floor, and I saw the edge of a crude hole hacked into the wall, wallpaper and horsehair fringing the edge. It was tucked between two wall beams, leading to a void about as deep as my forearm.
I could barely reach, and the wardrobe wasn’t budging any more, but I stuck my hand into the opening, praying I wasn’t going to touch anything gross. Something crinkled, and I yanked out a plastic bag taped around a small stack of papers. The tape was mummified, and I ripped the bag open.
The papers inside had mostly crumbled, their edges brown and burned. The whole thing smelled faintly of lighter fluid. I sifted through the ashes. Only two bits of paper had survived mostly intact—one a thick official-looking sheet stamped with the state of Maine seal and one a photograph, mostly bubbled away, one corner burned off entirely, but still clear enough to make out the image of a blond boy, six or seven years old, in horn-rimmed glasses, a tie and jacket. It was posed, the smile fake and awkward, but I’d recognize Simon’s pale eyes and widow’s peak anywhere.
I set the photo aside and looked at the other sheet, which was a birth certificate. The first name of the baby had BENJAMIN typed crookedly above the line, but the rest had been burned away.
I set the birth certificate next to the photo, wondering what they meant. If my mother had hidden these, it could be nothing—who knew what significance she’d given Simon’s old school picture and a random birth certificate? I would have thought it possibly meant I had a brother, except the certificate was clearly way older than my seventeen years—it was typed, rather than printed out, and the ink from the typewriter ribbon was faded.
I shoved the wardrobe back into place and took the photo and the birth certificate to my room, hiding them in my school bag, deep inside my econ textbook. Mrs. MacLeod had already searched my bags, and I felt reasonably sure she’d pass over my book bag if she snooped again. More secrets, more questions. I should have known nothing good would come from more snooping around. I needed to see my grandmother. Then maybe I could actually unravel the knot of secrets that had snarled me up when I’d come here, before it choked me for good.
Doyle avoided me all week, until Friday afternoon when I was waiting for the bus. His bruises had gone down, and just a faint purple crescent under his eye indicated he’d ever been hit. “I’m sorry about my dad,” he said, after standing beside me silently for a minute.
“Don’t apologize for him,” I said. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”
“If it wasn’t you, it’d be something else,” Doyle said. “He’s an angry bastard.” He surprised me by taking my cheek gently in his palm. “I’m sorry if he scared you.”
I shrugged. “I’ve seen scarier.” I moved away, feeling myself flush a bit. “You probably shouldn’t be petting my cheek where Valerie can see.”
“We broke up,” Doyle said.
I stared at him, waiting for more, but he just kicked at the ground with one toe. I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I pretended to be really interested in the flagpole until the bus pulled up. I did want to take things further with Doyle, but not like this, as his rebound after Valerie. If we dated and broke up, we couldn’t be friends anymore, at least not in the same way, and I really needed a friend in this place, more and more every day.
“Ivy!”
I felt like I jumped a foot when Betty grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t do that!” I said, brushing her off. “I hate being touched without any warning.”
“So they changed the schedule and the movie this week is Harold and Maude,” she burbled. “It’s a little weird but it was one of my mom’s favorites, and if you wanted to go you could spend the night. My dad said it was okay, and it’s obviously okay with me because I’m asking. We could make popcorn and watch TV if you stayed over. We don’t have HBO or anything because there’s too much explicit content—that’s what my dad calls anything that’s R-rated, but we could watch old comedies. Like Bewitched. I love Samantha, I was her for Halloween four years in a row—”
“I’d like that,” I cut her off. I didn’t know how spending a weekend with Betty and her family would turn out, but it had to be better than being alone in the manor house. And whatever the food situation, I bet it wouldn’t include stew.
“Really?” Betty’s face lit up. I felt like a real jerk—Betty was weird and socially stunted, but she was genuine, and that was a pretty rare trait in people in general, and high school girls in particular. I didn’t get the feeling around Betty I needed to lie and trick her to make myself seem acceptable.
I wasn’t forgetting about my mission to find and meet my grandmother, just putting it on hold for a weekend, I reasoned. Besides, I’d need an excuse that let me leave Darkhaven alone for a day or two. I didn’t want Simon to know what I was doing. Not yet.
“Really,” I said. “If you can pick me up at the dock tomorrow, I think going to a movie would be fun.” Even if it was a movie about creepy age-difference romances and assisted suicide.
“I’ll be there!” she promised. “Well, me and my dad. He only has the one truck, so he’ll have to take us around, but usually he doesn’t mind as long as you don’t mess with the radio or get mud on stuff.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said as the bus pulled up and I climbed on. I waved to Doyle as we drove away, but he pretended he didn’t see me. I sighed and shut my eyes. I was going to have a lot of damage control to do there. I needed Doyle, I admitted. He was the only other person on Darkhaven I trusted.
“Are you sure?” Simon frowned at me over his glasses when I went into his office to tell him I’d be gone overnight. He had a laptop I hadn’t seen before open on his desk, and was doing something with a bunch of financial spreadsheets. I saw one of the little hotspot antennas sitting on his desk next to a taxidermy rabbit, and pointed at it.
“Can I get one of those?”
Simon blinked at the subject change but then nodded. “Of course. You probably need a computer for school. I’ll order you one, and a smartphone.”
Wow, that was easy. I should have started asking for stuff the second I stepped off the boat. I probably could have worked my way up to a car by now.
“Ivy,” Simon said. “Are you really certain you want to spend time with this Betty person?”
“I spend time with her at school every day,” I said. I was surprised Simon was pushing back at this. I’d figured anyone I hung out with who wasn’t Doyle would get an automatic pass from my uncle.
“Some residents of Darkhaven, the town—especially those who are, shall we say, socioeconomically disadvantaged—harbor resentment toward the Bloodgoods,” he said. “They feel the town’s fortunes waned with ours, starting when my grandfather committed mass murder.”
“So Doyle isn’t okay because we’re in some weird feud with his family, and Betty isn’t okay because she’s too poor?” I said sharply. “Who exactly would you approve of as my friend, Simon?”
Simon sucked in a breath, and at least had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “That is not what I meant. I don’t appreciate having my words twisted.”
I spread my hands. “Then what?”
“I’m trying to protect you,” he said. “From how nasty people in a small town can be.”
“I’ve done a pretty good job of protecting myself so far,” I said. “So, thank you, but I’m fine.” My real thought was that Simon, who stayed in his manor house and only ever socialized with his equally reclusive housekeeper, hadn’t exactly taken up the mantle on improving my family’s bad reputation with the townies.
“Very well,” Simon grumped. “But you be home by noon on Sunday. I don’t want you exhausted and missing school.”
I waved to show him I’d heard as I walked out. He was starting to get better at sounding like a parent, which sucked. I kind of liked the whole easygoing, confused-nerd thing we’d started with.
But I could go, and that was what mattered. I actually felt kind of light for the first time in months. It had been a week since I’d hallucinated or had a blackout, I was going to do something normal with a friend—it was almost like I was normal. Or could at least fake it for a weekend.