Black Bird of the Gallows(19)

Is he serious? I open my mouth, but some last remaining shred of sense closes it. “Sure.”

He gives me a wide grin. “Thanks. Hey, maybe one of these days, you can introduce me. She kind of blew me off on Friday.”

And…that’s all I can take. I turn away and clamp my hand over my mouth before hysterical laughter bursts from me like a geyser. Reece retreats to the safety of his own seat with raised eyebrows.

Despite my aborted laughter, nothing about this is funny. There’s an inherent problem here. Unless he’s pretending to not know I’m Sparo—very, very possible—Reece would like me to set up an introduction for him with myself.

Maybe he really does have bad eyesight. He does squint a lot. Or he’s not as smart as I thought.

Either way, I had not anticipated this little wrinkle.

And it’s not even the worst part.

I don’t even know for certain if the boy I’m trying to stalk is a human being.





9-the visitation experiment


Surely this isn’t healthy behavior. I am at my kitchen table, partly doing homework, mostly peering out the window at the house next door. Reece and I got home about fifteen minutes ago, and the only thing he’s done is collect the mail and go inside. I turn my attention to my physics homework and eat an apple slice. The only two living things who can see what I’m doing are Roger, who is snoring on the floor next to me, and the white-feathered crow cleaning itself on the other side of the window.

I’ve started thinking of this one as “my” crow, and there’s no getting around it—all the crows at the Fernandez house are more than just crows. That’s not a pleasant truth to acknowledge. It makes it even more imperative to learn Reece’s secret.

Movement draws my attention up from my notebook. Reece has come outside as two little kids run up the driveway, backpacks swinging behind them. I snatch up the binoculars from the counter next to me and focus on the little group. Reece kneels down for hugs. My chest tightens to see them throw arms around him and hug with such force, he tips over backward. I can hear their shrieks of laughter from here. He’s so cute like this, being a good big brother, that some of my annoyance with him and his secrets thaws. The kids toss their backpacks on the lawn, and one of them digs a soccer ball out from behind a bush. A three-way passing game ensues, with lots of wayward kicks and more laughing. Seeing this, it’s hard to imagine this family is anything other than what they appear. But I know better.

It’s a perfect time to take Roger for a walk. I scoop up the leash. The sound of the clasp jingling propels the dog from sound sleep to prancing at the door in under three seconds. I throw on a hat and an old coat—what I always wear for walks with Roger—and pop earbuds in my ears for good measure. We start down the driveway. Roger’s good on the leash, but today he hears the noise of children from his old home, and his nose is raised, feverishly smelling the air. I slow down only a little as we pass Reece’s house. It’s enough to give Roger encouragement to pull toward the children and for them to notice him. Which is what I want.

“Look!” A little girl with warm brown skin points at us. “A dog! Hi doggie!” She runs toward us, waving, followed by the boy. Trailing behind them both is Reece.

“Easy, Fiona,” he calls out. “Remember what to do around dogs you don’t know.”

If Fiona hears him, she’s pretending she can’t. She does, however, approach the wiggling Roger with caution. She looks up at me with a sweet little smile. “Hello, I’m Fiona. May I pet your doggie?”

I can’t help but smile. “Of course,” I say, half smitten with her already. I crouch down, get a good grip on Roger’s collar in case he decides to show his affection too enthusiastically. “He’s very friendly. Sometimes, too much so. You may get kisses.”

“That’s okay.” She pulls off a glove and extends one small hand for Roger’s inspection. He complies as respectfully as he can, but he can’t resist licking, which sends her into a peal of giggles. “That tickles! What’s his name?”

“Roger.”

She peers up at me from beneath thick lashes. “Are you Angie?”

“Um, yes. That’s me.” I’m a little surprised but manage not to show it. This kid knows my name?

She leans forward, cupping a hand over her mouth. “My brother talks about you,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“Oh.” Well. That answers that. “Really?”

She giggles again. “Yup.” Just then the little boy joins us. “Look! That’s my other brother, Paxton.”

Paxton is a pale, blond, serious-looking boy who appears to be about the same age as Fiona. He greets Roger without smiling, presenting his hand to be sniffed, but he lets out a laugh when his fingers also get a lick.

“Very nice to meet you, Angie,” says Paxton in a formal, important voice.

I can’t help but grin at him. “Likewise, young sir.”

“This is Roger,” Fiona informs him. “Angie said we could pet him.”

Reece jogs over then, as I expected. White teeth flash in a quick smile. “Hi, Angie. I’m sorry about these two. Are they behaving?” He uses a serious voice, but his lips twitch in amusement. “Using manners?”

I’m still eye level with the children, and it’s them I address. “You two are the most well-mannered kids I’ve ever met. Roger here thinks you’re great, too. He loves new noses to kiss.”