The Cheerleaders(43)

At the moment, Spruce Street is livelier than Norwood Drive. Two kids about Petey’s age are kicking a soccer ball around on the front yard of a two-story house. Across the street, a woman is raking leaves. She looks up, pauses when she sees me.

I glide to a stop at the foot of her driveway. Her house is familiar; I have a flash of trick-or-treating for the last time, in seventh grade. I got a pack of organic fruit gummies from this house. When I got home and showed my mother, she rolled her eyes, the same way she used to whenever I reminded her Rachel’s mother didn’t let her drink soda.

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She leans against the handle of her rake. “I’ve already heard about the good word of the Lord.”

It takes me a beat to realize that she’s joking. I return her smile. “I used to live around here.”

The woman gives me a once-over, the skin on her forehead crinkling. “Thought you looked familiar.”

I nod at the trash bag at her feet. “Do you want help?”

She doesn’t answer. Just picks it up and hands me the trash bag. “Hold that open for a sec.”

“Did you live in that house on Norwood that sold this summer?” She dumps an armful of leaves into the bag, keeping an eye on me.

“Yeah.”

She pauses, her businesslike expression softening a bit. She must know who I am, what happened in my house, but she doesn’t bring it up and I’m thankful for it. “Where did your family move?”

“Waverly Estates,” I say. And I hate it. The thought is automatic. I would rather still live here, because it’s where we’re supposed to be.

“So what brings you back?”

“I’m trying to find someone who used to live around here,” I say.

The woman frowns. “Who? Not many people move away from this street.”

“His name is Ethan McCready.”

The woman pauses, hovering over the pile of leaves she’d been reaching for. “Why on earth is a girl like you looking for Ethan McCready?”

“I think he knew my sister,” I say. “I wanted to ask him something.”

“He lived over there.” The woman points past the house where the kids are playing soccer, at the ranch-style at the dead end. “His mother was such a doll. It’s terrible how quickly the disease took her.”

“That’s awful,” I say. “I heard he didn’t have a father either.”

“Oh, he had one.” There’s scorn on the woman’s face. “Left Kathleen when she was pregnant with Ethan. They were never married.”

“So where did he go after she died?” I say.

“One of her cousins took him in. Hate to say it, but it was a relief when he was gone. He really put everyone around here on edge.”

“Because of why he got expelled?” I press.

“Well, that. And his walking the neighborhood at all hours.” The woman picks up her rake. Leans on it, crossing one ankle over the other.

I don’t know why, but the thought of Ethan McCready walking around with no place to go depresses me. “Does he still live with the cousin?”

The woman strips one of her gardening gloves off and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “He lasted a few weeks there.” She points down the street. “He was friends with James Montick, the boy who lived on the corner. His mother caught Ethan sleeping in their basement shortly after that. Told him she’d call the cops. Poor kid. No one ever seemed to want him.”

So what the hell happened to him?

“You haven’t seen him since then?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Beats me where he is now. Could be anywhere, I guess.”

Something in me deflates. I didn’t expect to waltz right into the neighborhood and learn that Ethan McCready never left his dead mother’s house and find him sitting in front of his TV watching the afternoon news. And what would I do if I had found him here?

“Thank you.” I hand the woman the garbage bag, suddenly desperate to leave. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“Don’t be silly.” The woman lifts her free hand. Hesitates. She rests it on my arm and gives me a gentle squeeze. I think maybe she’s going to say more, admit she knows who I am, but she turns back to her rake.

I get back on my bike. I pedal past the kids kicking around the soccer ball and keep going until I’m out of sight of the woman, slowing when I reach the house where she said Ethan McCready used to live.

I stop in front. It’s small and looks well cared for. There aren’t any Halloween decorations up, but a wooden heart hanging in the front door reads BLESS OUR HOME. To the left of the house is a small yard boxed off by a white fence. To the right there’s a Dead End sign and a patch of woods.

I walk my bike down the path dividing the trees. When the creek comes into view, I pause, remembering Carly’s words: The two of them, like, went off into the woods together all the time.

I picture Jen sitting on the rock jutting out of the creek, a book in her lap. She always had a book with her, was always coming out here to read. If I tried to tag along, she’d announce that she didn’t want to hang out by the creek anyway.

Was she trying to get rid of me so she could meet Ethan in private? Had Susan seen them?