Steph and I rushed through Dad and Mom’s room and the guest room and my bathroom and theirs, and the guest bathroom. Dad and I kept house pretty well, so stuff seemed clean to me, and nothing looked hazardous, in my opinion. Steph said she liked Mom’s taste in decorating and the way Mom used light greens and golds and mirrors to brighten even the dark corners.
I hadn’t ever thought about that. Who knew my mom was a good decorator? All I knew was, there was stuff I could touch and stuff I was supposed to leave alone. For the most part, I kept to my bedroom and my parents’ room, my bathroom, and the kitchen. Other than that, I went outside, but I didn’t say that to Steph. What if she thought outside without grown-ups was too dangerous?
When I took her to the basement, she poked her head in the little bedroom with no windows but didn’t turn on the light. After that, she looked at Dad’s weights and then the pool table. I winced when I saw brownie wrappers poking out of one of the pool table pockets. A half-eaten peanut-butter sandwich rested on a napkin on the table under the wall rack, and the trash can beside the table was stuffed with juice cartons.
My face went from flush to burn as Steph hunted around the basement, revealing two more of our little trash cans crammed with food wrappers, like Dad and I never took out the garbage. Why had I brought the food down here to eat it in my sleep? My hands went to my stomach. I expected it to be double-size, but it wasn’t.
My fingers twitched because I wanted to start cleaning up, but then I might have had to explain why the mess was there, and I couldn’t, and I didn’t want to say anything about sleepwalking and sleep-eating, because then I might say something about brain tumors and hallucinating and going crazy. I felt dizzy and realized I was breathing shallow and fast, way high in my throat. I relaxed, like the YouTube video had taught me.
Steph didn’t mention the mess. She went to the back door instead, unlocked it, opened it, and looked out through the glass storm door. “There’s a snake on the pond. Yuck.”
“The muddy water draws them,” I said, a little squeaky, like an overstuffed mouse. “Snakes love it when you can’t see them coming.” I walked over and stood beside her long enough to be sure I wasn’t lying when I said, “Yep, it’s a copperhead. Sorry you took the guns yet?”
“No.” She stepped back from the storm door and pushed the main door closed, so we couldn’t see the snake. “Do you still have my card?”
“Yes.” Whoops. I just added a lie to my list.
“Let me see your phone.”
Guilty, I took my phone out of my pocket and handed it to her.
She punched buttons, then handed it back. “There. Now I’m on your contact list. You can call me if you need me, just like Captain Armstrong.”
“Thank you,” I said, and felt surprised, because I actually meant that.
Upstairs, Peavine and Angel and Ms. Jones started clattering around in the kitchen. I wanted to go upstairs with them, but Steph stopped me by holding up one finger.
“Just a sec. I have one more question, Footer. Please try to be honest, and please try not to get mad, okay?”
I didn’t say anything, because every time in my life that a grown-up had told me not to get mad, I hadn’t gotten mad. I’d gotten furious. All my muscles tensed before she said a word, and I couldn’t stop myself from already feeling a little ticked off.
Steph’s expression stayed neutral, and she kept her voice low as she asked, “Do you think your mother had anything to do with the fire at the Abrams farm?”
Panic flooded me so fast, I almost whimpered. I don’t know how I managed to stand still with my heart thundering and my guts twitching, but I did. I even kept looking Steph in the eyes without blinking. I focused on her fake hair and worked hard to remember how much I hadn’t liked her when I met her at school. I definitely didn’t hate her now, not as much, so that made lying to her more of a problem. But she didn’t know anything. She couldn’t know anything about the barrette or my hallucinations, because I hadn’t told her, and Peavine wouldn’t tell my secrets, and nobody else knew, except maybe Angel, and Angel didn’t speak to strangers at all, except to quote the Constitution and books about alien mutant rock eaters.
Stay steady. Sound calm. “No. I don’t think my mom had anything to do with that fire.”
I thought about throwing a fit about how people always assumed Mom did bad stuff because she was mentally ill, but that would have been pushing it.
Because she might have done something.
No.
But . . .
Stop.
I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t start talking to myself out loud in front of Steph, even though I really wanted to.
She studied me without moving while I counted. One, two, three, four.
Her brown eyes narrowed.
Five, six, seven, eight, nine.
“Footer, would you tell me if you thought your mother did have something to do with the fire?”
No. “Sure.” I didn’t even breathe after I told that whopper, and I absolutely wouldn’t let myself think about how much bad luck I had piled on my head since Steph walked through the front door today.
“Okay,” she said at last, but her sad expression said something completely different.
Bless your heart, Footer Davis. I don’t believe you for a minute.