THIRTY-TWO

The night was quiet. Not even the crickets were chirping. A sliver of moonlight striped the floor. Abby lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting.

Then she heard it.

The whistle.

Just a low sound, hardly anything more than the stray call of a bird. Abby could hear it through her window, even though the window was closed. The little girl didn’t move at first. She waited to hear the whistle again, which she did. Then she threw off her sheet and stepped out of her bed.

Moving over to the window, she looked down into the yard. There, in the moonlight, stood her friend.

Her only friend.

No one else at school talked to her but Aaron.

The little boy lifted his hand and gestured for her to come down and join him. It was better that way. Mommy would hear them if they played up here again.

Abby pulled on a hoodie that was hanging on the post of her bed, and stuck her bare feet into a pair of sneakers. She didn’t bother trying to tie the pink laces, since she wasn’t that good at it yet, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask Mommy.

She opened the door of her room and peeked out into the hall. There was no one in sight. She tiptoed toward the steps, pausing at the top to listen. She could hear Mommy in the kitchen, the soft tap-tap-tap of her computer keyboard reaching the little girl’s ears. When Abby had gone to bed, Mommy had been sitting at the kitchen table, trying to write. Abby was glad that her mother seemed to be writing now. She knew Mommy was always happiest when she was writing.

She took the first few steps down the stairs.

Abby knew sneaking out of the house was bad, and she didn’t like to be bad. But Aaron was outside waiting for her. She couldn’t say no to Aaron. She would just have to be very, very quiet so Mommy didn’t hear.

Abby reached the bottom of the stairs. She peered around to look into the kitchen. Mommy was at the table, with her back facing Abby. But the moment Abby made a move toward the front door, Mommy stopped typing and got up out of her chair. Abby froze, taking a step back on the staircase, ready to scramble back up to her room. But Mommy moved out of the little girl’s view. Abby heard the refrigerator open, and then the pop of a lid on a can of Diet Coke.

In that instant, Abby made a mad dash for the door.

 

 

In the kitchen, Jessie thought she heard a sound.

Taking a sip of her Diet Coke, she strolled out into the living room. She looked around and saw nothing. Then she noticed the front screen door wasn’t closed tightly. That must have been what she’d heard—the door rattling. She thought she had shut it securely earlier—and locked it, too. She’d been very careful about keeping the doors locked ever since Inga’s death. She pulled the door shut, pressing the lock into place. It was an old lock, and could easily come loose. That must have been what had happened. Even a breeze could rattle the door and unlock it. She needed to fix it. Jessie looked outside. It was such a quiet night. Even the crickets were silent. The trees stood utterly still. There was no breeze, none at all.

So how had this door come unlocked?