Sunlight melted into Hadley’s room, forming puddles of gold on the ground.
She was sprawled across her bed, knotted up in her duvet. She unraveled herself, yawned, and stretched. Her body was as stiff as an old piece of licorice.
She’d had the strangest dream. It was gone now, snuffed out by the morning light, the last scraps fading fast into the soupy darkness of her mind. All that lingered was a slightly uneasy feeling. She sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
The door creaked open.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” whispered her mother. “Rise and shine.” She stood in the doorway, swathed in a hazy glow. Her voice was fuzzy-slipper soft.
Hadley rubbed her eyes to get a clearer look, but her mother had already left the room.
“Breakfast is ready,” she called cheerfully over her shoulder. “I’ve made your favorite.”
Hadley’s heart ballooned. Her mother must have felt awful about the previous night’s argument. She must have thought things over and, instead of a plate of warm cookies, she’d made Hadley’s favorite breakfast—caramel-peach French toast with whipped cream. Hadley could already taste the warm peaches. Even made with rice bread, fake eggs, and whipped topping, it would still be a treat.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her legs were wobbly, like she was walking on them for the first time. She made it halfway down the stairs when her thoughts were snatched by the delicious scent of cinnamon and brown sugar. She was dragged down the rest of the steps and into the kitchen.
Her mother stood near the stove. She carried a dish of sugary awesomeness toward the table. She wore her best pants, a white blouse, and a necklace with little dangling pearls.
“You’re the best,” said Hadley, plunking herself into a seat. The table was set with two plates, and there was a can of whipped cream already waiting. “I’m really sorry about last night.”
“Last night?” said her mother vaguely. She placed three pieces of French toast onto Hadley’s plate. She dug up extra peaches and caramel sauce from the casserole dish and piled them on top.
“You know,” said Hadley, with downcast eyes. She really did feel awful about their argument.
Her mother shook the can of whipped cream vigorously and sprayed an enormous tower of white fluff onto Hadley’s already full plate. “No. I don’t.”
Hadley picked up the can and examined it. Real whipped cream. “I didn’t mean to behave so badly,” she said. “It’s just—”
“You never behave badly,” interrupted her mother.
Hadley chuckled, certain her mother was being sarcastic. But then she saw the blank look on her face.
Her mother reached over and stroked Hadley’s hair. “You’re the best child a parent could ever hope for. You mean everything to me.”
Ever since Ed and Isaac had come into the picture, Hadley had felt cast aside—like an outgrown pair of shoes. She had longed to hear her mother tell her how much she loved her. How much she meant to her. But as Hadley sat there listening to these very words, they seemed somehow strange. Unnatural.
“Is this peanut-free, wheat-free, and egg-free?” she asked, placing a forkful into her mouth. “Because it sure doesn’t seem like it. And what’s the deal with the real whipped cream? It’s not dairy-free.”
“You’re such a character,” said her mother. She grinned, as though Hadley had just said something funny. “Oh, and I thought we’d do each other’s nails after breakfast. Would you like that?”
“Sure!” said Hadley. She could hardly believe it. First, her favorite breakfast. And now a girls’ spa day. She decided her mother must really have been feeling terrible about their argument as well.
“With tiny jewels. Just like you like it.”
Hadley smiled and nodded. She ate a few more bites of the tasty breakfast. Then suddenly her mother began stomping her feet. It startled Hadley and she jumped.
“Go on,” said her mother. “Guess!”
“What?”
“The song. Guess the song.”
The game. Her mother was playing their game. Only this time Hadley had to guess. They hadn’t played in so long, Hadley had nearly forgotten how much fun it was. She tried hard to figure out the tune. She guessed several times unsuccessfully. The song had an awkward rhythm, one she was almost certain she’d never heard before.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, gulping her last few bites. “What is it?”
“It’s the ‘I Love Hadley’ song. I just made it up this very instant!” Her mother grabbed the can of whipped cream, shook it hard, and poured another huge cloud of creamy white onto Hadley’s plate, still stomping her feet loudly.
Hadley stared at the oozing mound and frowned. “I think I’ve had enough.”
Her mother stopped stomping. “Okay. We’ll save the rest of the can for tomorrow. I’m going to make your favorite again.”
Again? thought Hadley. Her mother never made sugary breakfasts more than once a month. And what with all Isaac’s allergies, it was more like never.
“Where’s Isaac?” she asked. The smell of the breakfast should have brought him running.
“Isaac?”
“Isaac. My stepbrother. Ed’s son. The kid who lives with us. That Isaac.” She chuckled.
Her mother wasn’t laughing. Or even smiling. She just stared at Hadley with a glazed expression. A deep chill settled into Hadley’s bones, and her mouth went dry.
“Where’s Isaac?” she said, more urgently.
“Stop teasing, Hadley,” said her mother. “You know we live alone. Just the two of us. Exactly the way you like it.”
Hadley’s last bite of food threatened to rise back up her throat. “W-what did you say? What’s going on? Where are Ed and Isaac?”
“I don’t know any Ed. Or Isaac for that matter,” said her mother. “Am I supposed to?”
Hadley gripped her mother’s hand. She searched her eyes long and hard, hoping to find a shred of something—anything—that might tell Hadley she was playing a cruel trick. Her eyes remained steady, vacant. Her smile, unwavering.
Reality was like a thin piece of paper folding in around Hadley. She kept hoping her mother would shout “Gotcha!” Or maybe Ed and Isaac would pop out from somewhere and yell “Surprise!”
Her gaze darted nervously from her mother to the puddle of melting whipped cream, around the kitchen, and into the hallway. She must be dreaming. There was no other explanation. She remembered waking in the middle of the night. She recalled her door opening and closing and then …
Hadley leaped to her feet. She charged out of the kitchen and raced up the steps, practically diving headfirst across the landing and into Isaac’s room. She crashed into its emptiness.
Isaac was gone. Nothing of him remained. Hadley’s heart exploded in her chest. She stepped backward, shaking her head, and then darted out into the hall and to her mother’s room.
She searched everywhere for any sign of Ed, but there was nothing. No sign of him whatsoever. Not one single shred that indicated he had ever been there. Desperate, she yanked at the drawers one after another, but all his sweatshirts and jeans and sports jerseys were gone. Every stitch of his clothing. Everything. Gone.
Hadley took a deep breath. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. She raced into her bedroom.
The dollhouse glowed in the morning light. Hadley’s mother’s doll stood in the kitchen. Granny de Mone’s doll lay peaceful and still in the room above the garage. But the Ed and Isaac dolls had vanished.
Hadley barely made it to her bed before her knees gave out. She lay for the longest time, thinking, rubbing her numb hands. It was as though someone had wrinkled the fabric of reality, changing the pattern of its threads. She closed her eyes. Perhaps if she dozed off, she’d wake from the nightmare and things would be back to normal.
Her mother came to check on her. She asked if Hadley wanted anything more to eat. Or if she wanted to go shopping for brand-new clothes. Her mother said Hadley could buy whatever she wanted. Then she located a brush and began brushing Hadley’s hair.
“I’m going to get dressed and go outside,” said Hadley, nudging her mother. She had to get away to think.
“Fresh air is good for you. I want you to be healthy, of course. Your health and happiness are all that matter.” She began picking strands of Hadley’s hair out of the brush. “Shall I come with you?”
“No,” said Hadley, pushing her gently away. “I’d rather go alone.”
“Of course. Whatever you say. I’ve got to finish painting your room anyway.” She pointed to the half-puce walls. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it done for you yesterday.”
Hadley watched as her mother laid out the strands of her hair in a neat row on the bed. “What are you doing?”
Her mother smiled. “You know, silly. My special hobby.” She held up her arm.
Hadley took a closer look at the bracelet around her mother’s wrist. It was a tight coil of braided human hair. Her gaze then traveled to the necklace her mother wore. It was also made from braided hair. And dangling from it weren’t pearls. They were Hadley’s baby teeth.