“Whatcha doing?”
Isaac thumped toward Hadley’s bed like a puppy whose feet had outgrown him. He stuck his face an inch from hers and grinned. Morning sunlight sparkled through the sheers, setting his rust-colored freckles on fire.
“Sleeping,” she grumbled.
Between searching for the rat and imagining that her hand had somehow evaporated, she’d gotten little rest. Such a strange thing—one moment, she could have sworn her hand was gone. And then, just like that, it was back again.
His eyebrows stitched together. “If you’re sleeping, how come you’re talking? And how come your eyes are open?”
Hadley sat up, forcing Isaac back.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her nightstand.
“Nothing,” she said, snatching the eye and closing her fingers tightly around it. “Quit being so nosy.”
“What does fear smell like?”
Hadley flopped back onto her bed. “What?”
“People say dogs can smell fear, so I was wondering what fear smelled like.”
“I don’t know,” said Hadley. “I guess it smells sour. Like sweat.”
“Hey! Cool!” he shouted, diving for the dollhouse. “Where’d you get this?”
Hadley scrambled out of bed. “In the attic. Leave it alone.”
Before she could stop him, Isaac grabbed the man doll. “Let’s play!” He made the doll fly through the air like a superhero. Hadley snatched it out of his hands.
“I. Don’t. Play. With. Dolls.” She pronounced each word slowly and clearly so there was no confusion. She set the man back in the family room on the sofa across from the mother.
Isaac shrugged. “I do. I wanna play with it.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times not to come in here and mess with my stuff.” She was about to usher him out of her room when Mom called.
“Breakfast!” she hollered. She didn’t need to call twice.
Isaac raced down the stairs, practically tripping over himself to get there first. Hadley took her time, throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She pocketed her eye, and arrived in the kitchen with Isaac already elbow-deep in a bowl of cereal.
“Flaxy O’s!” he shouted, like they were the greatest things ever invented.
Hadley dropped into a chair in front of a bowl overflowing with dirt-colored rings covered in flax seeds.
While Isaac munched loudly, Hadley contemplated whether or not she should tell her mother about the rat infestation. She decided without evidence her mother would think she was making it up. The Flaxy O’s stared at her, looking annoyingly superior.
“Weren’t you going to make egg-free rice-flour pancakes?” Hadley asked. Her mother had taken a few weeks off work to move and get settled. Hadley was hoping the free time would translate into some fancy breakfasts.
“Not today,” said her mother. “I promised Ed I’d get a start on clearing out the garage. You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a question.
Hadley shrugged. She could think of a thousand things she’d like to do with her mother—cleaning the garage was not one of them.
She pulled her bowl toward her and poured cold milk over the muddy-looking O’s. Each spoonful tasted like sawdust. She had to stop several times to pick seeds out of her teeth.
“Can I help, too?” asked Isaac, sputtering bits of cereal and milk over the table.
Hadley cast her mother a frantic look. Can’t it be the two of us? Just this once? Please.
Her mother turned toward Isaac and smiled. “Of course. We can use all the help we can get, can’t we?”
We. Hadley used to like that word. Only we no longer meant her and her mother. We now meant Hadley, her mother, Ed, and Isaac. Hadley was developing a we aversion.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Hadley, happy to escape we for the moment.
The dark wooden door was swollen with August humidity. Hadley gave it a hard tug and it flew open. She narrowed her eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
It was Gabe. He held out a cinnamon-scented slab on a purple plastic plate. “My grandma made an extra date-and-nut loaf.”
He swiped at his floppy hair. It drooped back over his eyes. He’d come by a few times, and already he’d decided he was Hadley’s new best friend. She was going to have to set him straight.
“Isaac’s really allergic to nuts. We can’t even have any in the house.” She eyed the lopsided lump of a loaf, desperate for a taste of something flax-free.
“Sorry,” said Mom, appearing in the hallway. “Tell your grandmother thanks anyway.”
“We’re going to clean the garage,” said Isaac, pushing past Hadley. “Wanna help?”
Hadley sighed. Apparently we now included Gabe. We might as well include the entire northern hemisphere.
“Can’t right now,” said Gabe. “I’m breeding Amphimallon solstitialis.”
Hadley frowned.
“That’s European June beetle to you laymen,” he added.
Hadley would have reminded Gabe it was August, but she already knew better than to encourage him. Long-legged, slimy, and slithering things were all he talked about. No wonder he spent a lot of time in the woods—alone. He wanted to be an entomologist. Or anthropologist. Or archaeologist. Some kind of ologist.
“Well, have fun then…” Hadley was about to close the door when he held out his hand.
“I’ll come by later,” he announced, as though he were doing her a huge favor.
Before Hadley could protest, Mom and Isaac accepted his offer. Gabe nodded and left with his loaf, practically bouncing down the porch steps.
Hadley shut the door and stomped back to the kitchen. She’d barely had time to sit down to her now-soggy bowl of Flaxy O’s when the doorbell rang a second time.
“I’ll get it,” she huffed.
Hadley yanked at the sticky wooden door again. “What now…?” she began, but her voice shriveled and slid back down her throat. It wasn’t Gabe.
A woman with dark glasses and silver-white hair stood on the porch. She wore a white blouse and a faded lavender skirt. She had a round face and rosy cheeks.
“Hadley,” she said. “I’m glad we finally meet.” She smiled a broad, satisfied smile.
“Hello, Ms. de Mone,” said Hadley’s mother, who had come to the door. “Won’t you come in?”
“No, no,” said the old woman. “I just stopped by to bring you this. I nearly stumbled on it while doing my morning walk.” She held out a newspaper rolled up with a rubber band.
“Sorry about that,” said Hadley’s mother. “The driveway’s long and the paperboy’s lazy. I’ll tell him he’s got to bring it to the front door from now on.”
As she took the newspaper, Hadley’s eyes snagged briefly on the headline. Bold black letters announced: MISSING
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a bit?” asked Hadley’s mother. “The house is a disaster, but you’re more than welcome to join us for breakfast.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “But I’ve already eaten.” She extended a hand toward Hadley. “I live in the room above the garage. I’m Althea S. de Mone. But you can call me Granny.”