Come Find Me(44)

He pops the trunk, and I see a baseball bat wedged in the corner, along with his gear. He pushes it to the side, making room for Elliot’s things, then takes out a couple of bungee cords to secure my bike.

    “Ready?” he asks as he closes the trunk.

But I stare up at the house, then back at Nolan’s car. “There are a few more things I want to grab. In the house.”

He pauses before nodding once.

“You don’t have to come in,” I add.

“I’ve already been in there,” he says, and I narrow my eyes at him over my shoulder. I knew he had been at my house, not in my house.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He puts his hands up, surrendering.

“Okay, well. I left handprints all over the back window of your car to freak you out,” I say, since we’re in the confessing spirit.

“I sort of figured,” he says, and even in the dark, I can tell he’s grinning.

He follows me around back, but he pauses at Elliot’s window, like he’s considering changing his mind. I’m expecting him to tell me he’ll wait for me out front, when he finally climbs in after me. He doesn’t move from Elliot’s room at first, once we’re inside. It’s different in the dark, I get that. Instead, he stands across the room from me, a shadow in the dark house.

“Come on,” I say.

“I can’t see.”

“Sorry. No lights, or someone will notice.”

“Are you trying to freak me out again?”

I cross the room and grab his hand, pulling him behind me, his dry palm pressed against mine, fingers locking, like it’s nothing. I’m thankful for the dark as we walk, tethered together. And I’m thankful for his hand, which at the moment is for me and not him. The scent of paint, the stairway before me—the shadow house is here.

    My free hand grips the banister, and I hear nothing—no breathing behind me. Nolan knows what happened here, too. He must. His steps follow mine, in grave silence.

At the top of the stairs, I finally turn on the flashlight, shining it back and forth. To the right is the loft area. To the left, the room for storage, with the boxes of Elliot’s things. My eyes meet Nolan’s. “Do you think this will all fit in your car?”



* * *



—

The backseat is full of Elliot’s boxes—if Elliot won’t talk to me, maybe I can still decipher his intentions, his thoughts. Maybe there will be a note about the program on December fourth. Maybe I can figure out how he knew the kid on Nolan’s wall. There must be answers in here somewhere.

I know this isn’t everything, that the police took things from his room, as evidence. But this had all been left behind, or stored in the shed behind the house, until the cleaning company was called in, followed by the stager and the Realtor.

We leave Nolan’s car at the corner where he picked me up earlier and slowly transport my bike and the boxes, one by one, to the base of my window. I decide I’ll move them later, once Joe is up and in the shower and won’t hear me banging around in the next room. Except when we’re depositing the last boxes, the outside light turns on. The back door swings open and Joe is there, staring at us both. He’s in gym shorts and a T-shirt, and his eyes look bloodshot, and I can’t tell if I’ve just woken him or if he’s been awake for a while now.

    He stares from me to Nolan. Nolan puts the last box down. “I should go,” he says, taking a step back.

“Yes, you should go,” Joe says, in a voice I’ve never heard before.

Nolan looks at me and cringes, mouthing Sorry. I’m still watching him stride toward his car on the corner when Joe’s booming voice cuts through the night. “What the hell is all this?”

“Elliot’s things,” I say, even though surely he can see this for himself. The boxes are labeled in black marker, with his name.

“Where did you get all this?”

When I don’t answer, he throws his hands in the air and spins around, retreating into the house once more.

“Joe,” I say, following him inside.

He stops walking down the hall but puts his hand up, cutting me off.

“You sneak out, sneak out with a boy, and what, take a joyride to your old house?”

“He’s not some boy, Joe. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it’s not like that, Kennedy. What’s it like, then? Go ahead. Tell me. Is he the reason you’ve been skipping school?”

I stare at him, frozen.

He nods, every movement tight. “Yeah, the school called. They called, and I thought you were sick, thought that’s why you looked tired when I got home. I told them you weren’t feeling well. Thought it was my fault, that there was something I missed, but you were just planning to meet up with your boyfriend—”

    “Nolan,” I say. Joe looks at me, confused. “I was planning to meet with Nolan, Joe. Because something’s happening. At the house, something isn’t what we thought.”

“Kennedy, stop.” He puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know how to help you.”

“Well, you can start by not selling my house, Joe!”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You’re grounded. For the week. School and back, that’s it.”