At the Quiet Edge(15)

But then, lying in the dark, the only person within one square mile of a pitch-black night, he’d started imagining more dangerous possibilities. What if the renter was obsessed with the missing girls because he’d taken them? What if Everett had been poking around the belongings of a serial killer? What if there were cut-up body parts in those storage bins?

At long last, he’d heard the creak of the gate rolling open, then the rumble of a car, the engine ticking loudly in the familiar way of his mom’s ancient hatchback, and his eyes had actually burned with thankful tears. He’d turned over on his side, ears straining at every sound of her unlocking the door, setting down her keys, then slowly opening his bedroom door to peek inside.

Where had she gone? Was something wrong?

His mind stuttered over the question again and again, because he couldn’t imagine his mom doing anything bad. She’d always been so steady, too steady, too attentive and present and there. She hovered and checked up on him, and said no to sleepovers more often than not.

“Are you taking Spanish next year?” Josephine asked, breaking through his thoughts as though she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “My parents want me to take Spanish, but I want to learn French. That doesn’t start until high school, though, which is stupid. So I may have to take Spanish first.”

“You’ll be trilingual.”

“True. Which would be kind of cool. And it would look good on college applications. I want to go somewhere far away for school. Georgia, maybe. That’s where my folks are from. Where are you from?”

“Here,” he said, though that wasn’t quite true. “Actually, I was born in St. Louis.”

“Oh, cool. A world traveler.”

Everett laughed, the last of his dark thoughts blowing away. “That’s me.”

By the time they made it home, Everett was laughing so hard at Josephine’s stories he forgot to be worried . . . until they walked into the office and his mom’s surprised eyes went wide and locked right on them. Everett always had to make complicated arrangements to get friends dropped off and picked up afterward because no one could just walk over. He’d never shown up with an unexpected guest.

“Mom,” he said, “this is Josephine. She lives over at the highway.”

“Well, hello, Josephine.”

“Hi, Mrs. Brown.”

“It’s Ms. Brown, but you can call me Lily.”

Josephine glanced at Everett and lifted her eyebrows in a signal.

“Oh, right. Could you call Josephine’s mom and let her know everything is cool and that you’re here and we’re safe and stuff?”

His mom leapt toward the office phone, all eager energy now. “Absolutely!”

Did she think he didn’t have friends because Mikey didn’t come over anymore? She looked way too happy at the prospect of a new visitor. Josephine gave her the information, and they wandered into the apartment, ignoring the overly cheerful parental conversation left in their wake.

There wasn’t much to show off. A big living area with a drab kitchen that looked nothing like the kitchens in decorating shows his mom watched on cable. Though he supposed the space was “open concept.”

He wondered what Josephine saw. The beige couch was nicer than the one they’d tossed last year, but it wasn’t exactly stylish. Then again, they lived in Herriman. There weren’t a lot of apartments, but there was a big trailer park. It wasn’t as if Everett was the only poor kid in town.

Still, on Josephine’s street, the houses were two stories with little front porches. She probably had a real dining room with a chandelier. Maybe she had a big yard and a trampoline, and one of those—

“Aw man,” Josephine sighed. “It’s just an apartment. I don’t even see any hidden doors.”

“Well, they’re hidden, duh.” He heard his mom laughing on the phone and tipped his head toward his bedroom. “Come on. I need to feed my cat.”

“I’m not allowed to go into boys’ rooms.”

His skin blazed hot in a moment of embarrassment at the implication of what that worry implied, so Everett blurted out, “I’m gay,” before he even realized he might say it. “I mean . . . I’m gay.”

Her eyes went wide with the same surprise he felt over his sudden out-of-context declaration, so he stammered out an explanation. “I’m just saying that I’m not, like, going to try to kiss you or something. You don’t have to worry. That’s all I meant. It’s safe. To come into my room.”

Josephine laughed, a quick, loud bubble of amusement that popped in his ears, and for one single heartbeat, worry imprinted on him like a camera flash. Would she mock him? Tell him he was going to hell? Most kids around here went to church, though only their parents still cared about grimacing at the gays. And there wasn’t much to say, anyway. It wasn’t like he was old enough to go on dates.

Then her laugh turned into a sweet grin. “Well, I’m not gay. Aren’t you scared I’ll try to kiss you?”

The alarm he’d felt must have finally appeared on his face, because her smile softened into concern. “Hey, I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. I mean, I don’t really know, but I didn’t think you would. Not because girls can’t start things, of course. Just . . .” He shook his head, unable to think of a single logical conclusion to that sentence. Because I trust you? He barely knew her.