All Adults Here(48)

“Who’s Robin?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Is that what everyone is calling you?”

August wasn’t sure they’d notice. “Yeah. It’s a nickname thing.”

“Do you want us to try it too?” She was whispering. “At home?”

“Maybe,” August said. “Maybe not. I’m not sure.”

“What are you guys talking about up there?” John said, his face level with the mattress. He pressed his nose against the tiny bit of August’s knee that was against the wooden slats of the bed like a dog nuzzling for a treat. Everyone else was sitting out on the lawn, waiting for the talent show. Evergreen was singing a Beatles medley, with Sarah playing the guitar. She’d started to teach August, just a few chords here and there. August watched her every move.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ruth said, looking August in the eyes. “Unless you want to talk about it now?”

“Let’s talk about it at home,” August said.

“I don’t want to miss the show!” John said. He had loved summer camp, in the way that some adults do, where they could break into some made-up song at the drop of a hat.

“Yeah, me neither,” August said. Ruth turned around and went down the ladder, and then both stood there at the bottom, the two of them waiting for August like firefighters with a trampoline.

“Careful,” Ruth said. “It’s harder in a dress.”

“You can do it,” John said. “And we’re right here, in case you fall.” August turned and followed, lowering one foot down, down, down, until it felt something firm.





Chapter 21





Dead Birds



The plan was this: Cecelia would get off the school bus, hop on Astrid’s plush cruiser bike, and then ride over to Elliot’s house, where either he or Wendy would be waiting by the open front door, the sound of screams echoing off the walls of the foyer. She would enter, and they would exit, to return at six o’clock. In between those hours, Cecelia was responsible for keeping Aidan and Zachary alive. For this, she would earn one hundred dollars, more money than she had ever gotten from her parents for doing any kind of chore, and so it seemed like a great deal all around.

Before she moved in with Gammy, Cecelia had probably spent a grand total of three minutes alone with Elliot—if that much. She saw him in the doorway as she rode up the semicircular driveway. He paced back and forth, a six-foot Ping-Pong ball.

“Hi!” Cecelia said. She swung her leg off the back of the bike and glided to a stop.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Elliot said, and Cecelia wondered if he’d forgotten her name. Elliot and Porter seemed so much older than her dad. Maybe it was just that she knew him better, but Cecelia didn’t think so. It was as if for every year between them and their baby brother, Porter and Elliot were one step closer to the previous generation. Her uncle seemed old-fashioned, like he didn’t entirely understand how the internet worked, or know that calling a woman he didn’t know “sweetheart” was bad. Maybe it was because she’d never had a grandfather, and he was the oldest man in her family. “Let me give you a quick tour.” He turned and walked back inside before the kickstand hit the ground. Cecelia could hear war cries emanating from an inner sanctum of the house.

Elliot and Wendy and the boys lived only a few blocks away from the Big House, but unlike Gammy’s house, which showed its age in the creaks of its staircase and the elaborate moldings, the heavy doorknobs that often didn’t work right, the nightly groans, as noisy and irregular as an old man with a head cold, Elliot’s house—she could feel it the second she walked in—didn’t even whisper. It was the Anti–Big House, the inverted version, but with roughly the same square footage. The walls were taupe, the sofa was beige. Astrid’s house wasn’t cluttered, but it was lived in—art hung on every wall, there were books in every room. Elliot’s house was empty, if you didn’t count all the enormous Legos dotting the carpet, which was also shades of tan.

“Nice house,” Cecelia said, just as Zachary crashed into her from behind. It felt like a hotel or the set of a soap opera. The only things on the supersize mantel were fake candles that went on with a switch. Her parents would have laughed. Her parents referred to the houses that Elliot built as McMansions, which was not a compliment.

“Ha ha ha ha ha, your butt!” Zachary said, and ran off again in the opposite direction.

“The kitchen’s in here,” Elliot said, walking and pointing. “Bathroom’s over there. Their room is upstairs, they can show you. It’s an enormous mess—you cannot possibly believe what a mess it is. The door to the backyard is here, I recommend pushing them out of it and then closing the door behind you.” He crossed his arms. “What else. Let them eat anything from the fridge, it’s Wendy’s problem if they don’t want to eat dinner.” He winked. “Don’t tell her I said that. I’ll be back, or Wendy will. There’s cash on the counter, and my number, if you need it.”

Just then, both boys ran at full speed toward the door to the backyard and smacked into the glass.

“We’re birds!” Zachary said.

“Dead birds!” Aidan replied, gleefully.

“We’ve had some problems,” Elliot said. “The windows are too big, the birds don’t understand that it’s just glass.” He frowned. “As far as I know, none of my clients have had this problem, but who knows, maybe they just didn’t say anything. You sure you’ll be okay? Oh, also, I lost my phone somewhere in the house, so if you could keep an eye out for it, that would be great. It’s here somewhere, because I’ve been in prison with them for two hours, and now somehow I can’t find it.” He patted his front and back pockets again, as if the thing might materialize.