JUNE
I understand this transaction.
I’m being moved about like an object, like furniture swapped from one house to the next. But I can’t say, Hey! I’m not a chair. I’m not some stupid knickknack. I don’t fit in a kitchen drawer or a closet or that dresser with the broken handle. I can barely feel, much less articulate the painfulness of their decision. This feels like abandonment. Like losing my mother and Aulus all over again. I read these legal papers signing the castle and me over to Warren, and disappointment covers my heart with a concrete crust.
“I . . .” What’s there to do except pick up the pen? This is happening whether I like it or not.
Gladys gathers the bottom of my T-shirt between us and squeezes the fabric into a wrinkled ball. Her fist presses my thigh: an unspoken Don’t do this. The glow-in-the-dark train circuits my brain.
“Knowing the castle is in good hands gives me a real peace of mind,” Dad says. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “And you too, honey.”
I click the end of the pen. Down and up. Down again. I’m so confused. One minute he’s willing to sell to the Markums, and the next . . . I’m back in second place. Dad sees me as a fiscal responsibility, a commodity to lend or trade, a tax deduction. Warren doesn’t. Griff agrees. Does it really matter which of my father figures is the Thief? I’m fatherless anyway.
I make up my mind. If I am the owner, I have more power. At least this way I can sell the stupid castle. Without making eye contact, I put the pen tip to the first signature line. The task is finished with the flipping of a few pages.
Castle owner. Check.
Parent legally changed. Check.
Scared to death. Check.
I simultaneously wish Nick had seen this transaction and am grateful he didn’t.
Dad’s relieved. Warren’s laughing nervously. Gladys’s hand stalls on my thigh. We’ve drawn a small audience. Constance and Ruby are following this strange deal from the hallway.
Constance says, “Sorry,” and I can tell she fought Dad on this decision. Ruby also looks like she lost a war. You can still stay with us too, she mouths.
The documents are being folded into a manila envelope when Leo, Ms. McClaghen, and Dana arrive, small gifts and food in tow. The Markums are right behind them, and I didn’t even know they were coming. Principal Markum hands me my diploma. “Thought you might want this.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Warren is the first to greet them. He explains to Dad, “I invited Kev and Gina. Thought we’d make it a real reunion. Plus, they’ve been drooling over the castle.”
Dad welcomes our new additions with ice cream cake and tacos. Regina Markum makes eye contact with Constance and smiles, but it’s not a pretty smile and she’s chewing her cross instead of food.
Head reeling, I shift attention to Leo. Aulus’s uncle doesn’t like Nick or me. Well, that’s my assumption after our visit. We were fishing for details about the $500 transfers from Dad and set our hooks in tender skin.
“What do you care?” Leo said, looking up from a beaten copy of The Stand. He kicked his front porch recliner into the upright position. “Playing Nancy Drew out of familial guilt?”
Back in the car, Nick had said, “Sometimes grief is anger shaped.” And I’d said, “He’s just as likely to be guilty.” And Nick said, “Thee,” the way he always does when I’m stretching toward the ridiculous.
Leo’s far more serene tonight. Puffy hands strain the seams of his jeans pockets. He keeps his chin down as his sister, my aunt, offers a half hug of congratulations. Puffy-faced and vacant-eyed, she waves placidly in my direction and says, “I brought some pizzas. I hope you all like pizza. Aulus loved pizza.” She’s clearly on something. “Your dad’s been good to us.” Her words are monotone, but I assume this is her Don’s not guilty vote.
Leo takes her arm and guides them toward the food table. They pass Dana on the way, and he can’t help himself. “Shouldn’t you be out looking for my boy, secret agent girl?”
He’s loud enough to make everyone stop eating midchew. Nick’s sister, who since she arrived has been basically trying to mortar herself to the wall, puts her melting ice cream cake on the table and attempts to defuse Leo without creating a bigger scene.
To divert attention from the pair, the room reshuffles into odd social configurations. Ruby and Tank. Gladys and Aulus’s mom. Griff and Constance. Dad and Warren, who stand in the kitchen hallway, locked in an unfriendly huddle. Warren carefully uncoils Dad’s fingers and leans toward his ear.
“What do you make of that?” Nick asks.
A thoughtless answer slips out. “Maybe they’re fighting over who pays my bills when Dad goes back to jail.”
“Why would they do that?”
I might as well get this over with. “Because I am now the proud owner of this castle with my new papa bear Warren Burton.”
Nick’s cup slips from his grasp. Everyone turns as the plastic clatters on the floor. Without missing a beat, Nick says, “Sorry, folks. Gladys. Tank. Can I borrow y’all?” He waves the three of us toward the tower after tossing the cup.
The narrow chamber, which Dad and Constance have finished constructing over the past two days, smells like a lumberyard. When we reach the roof’s open air, hot wind stirs construction dust into tiny tornados that cling to the bare skin below my knees.
Nick circles the stairwell opening. “Care to explain to them what you said to me?” He stops beside Tank, a natural ally in this fight.
Gladys, anticipating what this is about, steps in front of me. “Nick, Thea didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You know about this too?”
“I was a witness,” Gladys admits.
Tank’s lost. “A witness to what?”
“Oh, let me see.” Nick doesn’t spare an ounce of his indignation. “To Thea’s dad turning over Thea and the castle to Warren. Yep, same Warren I’ve been cutting class to follow for the last two days because we think he’s who? The Gemini Thief.”
He cusses and Nick never cusses.
“Shhh,” I say, hoping no one is on the lower balconies.
“Wait, what?” Tank demands.
Nick laces his arms over his chest. “Exactly.”
“Guys, berating me is super unhelpful.”
Tank digs at the concrete floor with his dress shoe and shakes a cigarette loose from the package. “Her dad signed over the two most important things in his life to Warren Burton. Call me crazy, but that sounds like he knows something we don’t know. Why else would he take legal action? It makes me think long and hard about burying that backpack.”
“What backpack?” Nick asks.
“Lower your voices,” Gladys hisses.
Tank doesn’t. If anything, he’s louder. “Thea, Chris died with a key to this castle in his mouth.”
“That was planted,” I argue.
He presses on, building his case. “Your dad was in Baxter within hours of the body drop on I-40.”
“Also planned. For the bell.”
“And did the Gemini Thief also plan for your dad to hide Aul’s backpack?” I try to interrupt but Tank barrels on.
“What backpack? Someone explain!” Nick says.
Gladys draws the short stick and she’s kinder than either of the boys would have been about this alliance with my dad. Nick has a million questions, but he swallows them.
Tank’s still going. “You won’t convince me your dad hid that backpack for unselfish reasons. Maybe it was to cover his assets or someone else’s. Family? Scottie McClaghen, maybe. Like . . . haven’t you thought about the prescription bottle? Why’d Aul have it?”
“Because he always carries around something of his dad’s. You know that.”
“Yeah, except it wasn’t old like all the other stuff. The issue date was new. Isn’t there a chance his dad showed up, dangled a carrot to be in Aulus’s life again, and when Aul said no, he snatched him? Now your dad’s helping his cousin continue a mandatory father-son reunion.” I start to protest. “Don’t, Thea. I’m getting the backpack and handing it over to Dana.” He starts toward the staircase.
That is such a bad idea.
“Yes,” says Nick. “I agree.”
“You’re leaving right now?” Gladys is the one raising her voice this time. “During our graduation party?”
“Hardly a party,” Tank works the cigarette between his fingers. “It’s the right thing to do.”
I say, “You’re digging that thing up at Moose Lodge? In your dress clothes? In the dark? Great idea.”
Tank points toward the moon. “You bet I am.”
“What will that prove?”
Tank plows toward the doorway. He lifts his arms up in absolute surrender. “I guess we’ll leave that up to Dana.”
“Leave what up to me?” Dana asks from the shadows of the top step.