10

ALORA

APRIL 9, 2013

I sit on the dock and pull my legs close, rocking back and forth as I stare at the river. The night air is unusually warm, like a blanket wrapped around me, but I still shiver. I’m trapped in a nightmare, one that’s starting to repeat itself. Why am I having these blackouts? Why?

I swat at the mosquitoes buzzing around my head as I stand. There’s no telling how much time I’ve lost or if Aunt Grace is looking for me. I need to get back to the house.

My skin prickles once I’m in the forest. Usually I love being in the woods, but not at night. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows. A deer. A coyote. A serial killer.

I’m gasping for air by the time I reach the house. Aunt Grace is sitting on the back porch in one of the rocking chairs. She’s giving me the stink eye.

“Where have you been and why haven’t you answered your phone?”

She probably thinks I ran off to have a tantrum, or that I’m morphing into one of those emo kids who like to quote weird poetry and moan about how life is so unfair. But I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t give her any reason to consider selling the house to Celeste.

“I left it in my room,” I say. “I decided to go running for a while. I’m sorry.”

Aunt Grace crosses her arms. “That’s all you can say for yourself? I told you earlier that our guest was joining us for supper. I kept him waiting while I looked all over the house for you, and then I had to make an excuse about why I couldn’t find you. Do you have any idea how that embarrassed me?”

My face grows warm. I hadn’t even considered how my disappearance would look with a guest around. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Grace. I just . . . I just had a horrible headache earlier, and I had a bad day at school, and after fighting with you I just needed to get away for a little while. I really am sorry.”

Aunt Grace considers me for a few seconds. I can practically see the gears churning in her brain. “You haven’t been acting like yourself for the past few days. Is there something going on at school that I need to know about?”

“No, ma’am, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.” My stomach twists. I hate doing this.

“I hope that’s all.” Aunt Grace heaves a deep sigh. “I’m worried about you, sugar.”

Now I feel even worse. I focus on the porch, not wanting to look her in the eye. “I’m really sorry, Aunt Grace. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You know, you’re starting to act just like Nate when he was around your age.”

My head jerks back up. “What do you mean by that?”

Her eyes take on a faraway look. “He went through this phase where he skipped classes and ran off for hours at a time. It used to drive my mama nuts.”

This is the first time she’s mentioned anything about Dad when he was younger. Maybe if I can play things right, she’ll open up more about him. Or even my mom. “Did he ever say why?”

“No, he did it for a while, then decided to grow up and stop acting so irresponsible.” She pauses and gives me a pointed stare.

Okay, the bonding over Dad moment is finished. I paste on what I hope is a convincing smile. “Yes, ma’am. Lesson learned.”

“Good. Now let’s go inside. I’ve been waiting out here forever and mosquitoes have eaten me alive.”

“What time is it?”

She withdraws her phone from her pocket. “It’s eight twenty.”

A sick feeling stirs inside me. So I’ve lost almost three hours.

As soon as we’re inside, Aunt Grace wipes a hand across her forehead, wrinkling her nose. “I need a bath. Leftovers are in the fridge, so help yourself.” She takes a few steps down the hallway then looks back at me. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure.”

My heart thrills. If she’s taking a bath, that means she’ll be in there for a while. Meaning I can get in her room and look for things. Things that might give me answers.

The man I met earlier, Mr. Palmer, is watching the television in the front parlor. I don’t know if he’s the kind of guest to get chatty, so I tiptoe past the doorway.

If anyone saw me right now, they would think I look ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to sneak around in my own house.

When I make it to my room, I close the door, leaving it cracked so I can still see Aunt Grace’s room. My heart pounds in anticipation. I rarely go in her bedroom. She says she needs her personal space, especially since we have to share the rest of the house with guests. I bite my bottom lip. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe I should let it go.

No, I’ve got to find what she’s keeping from me.

A few minutes later, Aunt Grace exits her room with her nightgown and robe draped across her arm and goes next door to our bathroom.

As soon as I hear the sound of running water, I dash across the hall into her room. The door clicks softly as I shut it. I wipe my palms on my shorts and survey the room. It’s covered in ugly rosebud wallpaper and her furniture is dark and old. Aunt Grace says it’s vintage. I say it’s hideous.

Still unsure of what I’m looking for, I decide to check the closet first. Shoes line two shelves to my left in neat rows. Her clothes hang across the rear wall, and two large plastic storage boxes are stacked to my right. Ignoring another stab of guilt, I attack the boxes. They’re full of old bills and receipts. Boring business-related stuff that makes my eyes glaze over. A single shelf is mounted over her clothes. I drag one of the plastic boxes over and stand on it, praying the lid will hold me.

A half dozen dust-covered boxes sit on the shelf, waiting for someone to discover what’s hiding inside. I hold my breath as I reach for the first box and slide it toward me.

Shoes.

The second box has shoes, and so does the third. I check all of them to make sure there’s nothing else. Just freaking great.

Grinding my teeth together, I put everything back in place, turn off the light, and step out of the closet.

Next is her dresser. It’s tall—almost to my chest—and has a lace doily draped across the top, covered with pictures. There are two with Aunt Grace and her husband. The majority are of me. My most recent school picture and some she took of me in her garden, plus some from when I was little. The oldest picture of me was taken a few months after I came to Willow Creek. Aunt Grace has her arms wrapped around me and she’s smiling as if she’s never been happier.

Through the wall, I hear a thud and footsteps. Aunt Grace is getting out of the tub.

My fingers fly as I slide open each drawer and filter through the contents. Underwear, socks, old T-shirts, shorts. And a handgun. I snatch my hand back in surprise. Aunt Grace never told me she had one of those in here. But still nothing that could help me.

Please let me find something.

My hands shake as I slide open the bottom drawer. Unlike the carefully folded items in the other drawers, this one is littered with open envelopes and pieces of paper. I pick one up and unfold it. A picture slips out and falls to the floor. I snatch it up. Two guys are standing in front of a tank in what appears to be a desert. One looks like my dad when he was younger, maybe in his early twenties. He’s dressed in a military uniform, with his arm draped over another soldier.

I quickly tuck the letter and picture in my pocket, close the drawer, and stand. Time to get out before Aunt Grace comes back.

I’ve only taken several steps when Aunt Grace appears in the doorway. Her face flushes. “Alora, what in the world are you doing in here?”

If I could rewind time, I would do it right now.

“I asked you a question, young lady,” she snaps. “What in the world are you doing in my room? Snooping around?” Her eyes flick to the bottom dresser drawer.

Excuses fly through my mind. I could tell her the truth, but I don’t want to fight anymore. Or I could tell her I heard a noise in here. She might buy that.

“I’m waiting.” Aunt Grace strides in the room.

I bite my bottom lip. “I need a family picture for a school assignment. I forgot about it and didn’t know how long you were going to be in the bathroom, so I thought you wouldn’t mind me grabbing one of those.” I nod in the direction of the pictures on top of the dresser.

Aunt Grace’s eyes narrow. She stops in front of me, her fingers drumming along her hips. “You should’ve waited until I got out.”

“I know and I’m so sorry,” I say, looking down.

“Have you been in here long?”

“No, ma’am. I just got in here a minute ago.”

“Uh, huh.” She stares hard at me. After an eternity, she walks over to the dresser. “I suppose you can use this one.” She picks up the picture of us taken in the garden. “Don’t lose it.”

“Thank you, Aunt Grace.” I take the picture from her and give her a hug. She feels stiff. I have to swallow back the lump in my throat. I can’t believe how much I’ve lied to her in the past few days.

I lock the door when I get back to my bedroom, then place the picture of Aunt Grace and me facedown on the desk. My fingers fumble against my pocket as I extract Dad’s letter. I scan it, but there aren’t any answers. It’s only a short note telling Aunt Grace how he hated being stationed in the desert and how much he missed her and the rest of the family. No matter, the picture is what I want. I study it, trying to see myself in Dad. We definitely have the same color hair. I can’t make out his eyes, but one time Aunt Grace mentioned they’re blue, like ours.

It’s weird how the few pictures Aunt Grace has of Dad are all like this one, taken when he was probably in his twenties instead of more recent ones. She said my parents never gave her any.

I concentrate on Dad’s face in the picture, trying to merge this image with the one from my dreams, when his face is older and more haggard. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember. I slam the picture on my desk. It’s not fair. I just want to remember my parents. I’m sick of feeling like a freak, living as a ghost of a person.

I pick up the picture again. This isn’t enough—I need more information. Aunt Grace has to have something else hidden from me. Why would she act so weird about me going in her bedroom? I think back to how she glanced at the bottom drawer.

I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.