Unspeakable Things(38)

She dropped her armful of mossy sticks into the wheelbarrow. Dad was working ahead of us, removing the trip wires he put out so he could tell if anyone trespassed. It was our job to clean off the trails behind him. Sephie and I still hadn’t talked about the upcoming party. We were too scared. The older we’d grown, the harder the gatherings were to tolerate.

I dropped my own admittedly lighter bundle of sticks, scraping off the nubby worms that had spilled from the woodbelly. “You’re being a crab since I got to babysit and you didn’t.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. And I know you were lying about the wound on your knee making you fall asleep before I got home.” We had a rule that we stayed up for each other. I’d done it a million times for her because she did most of the babysitting. Last night was only the second night she would have had to do it for me.

Sephie turned away so I couldn’t see her face. “Was not either lying. Dad says it takes extra energy to heal our bodies. The hole in my knee wore me out, and I couldn’t stay awake. But look, it’s good I slept so well. My leg hardly hurts at all this morning.”

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky Dad was asleep when I got home.”

Or I’d wanted to imagine he had been. I shuddered. I’d run so fast from the front door to my room that my feet had only touched the floor twice. The dark of the house left too much room for hiding. “When does summer school start?”

“Monday.” She was sullen.

“How long does it last?”

“Two weeks.”

“Aw dang, Sephie, that’s not so bad! And summer school is super easy.”

She slowed down, letting me catch up. “Mom and Dad said I’m grounded from everything until I get a passing grade. I can’t even have people over.”

I sensed this wasn’t the time to point out that she’d never had people over. Me neither, not since Lynn had dumped me. It would take too much explaining to break in somebody new. But maybe Frank would be different. “You and me can still hang out. I have a kitty clinic coming up!”

Every summer since I was seven I’d held kitty clinic. When I was younger, I trained them to jump from high spots, mostly. As I got older and realized they didn’t need me for that, I’d switched to more medical pursuits, including cleaning out their infected eyes, gently opening the crusted-shut lids with a washcloth soaked in warm water, wiping away the pus, and dropping in eyebright tea that Mom bought at the co-op.

Sephie made a noise of disgust, but her shoulders were loose. I’d won her over. “Just while I’m grounded. And I don’t want to touch their gross eyes. I’ll brush ’em, though, and help you dry the catnip bundles.”

I clapped my hands.

“Hey,” Sephie said, loading up my arms. We had two more stacks of wood to transport to the burn pile. The sun was finally up, its yellow kiss promising to warm my bones. “You never did tell me. How was it at the new family?”

And just like that, all the distance melted away and we were sisters again.

“Good!” I spilled all about the night, everything except the birth control pill that I’d hidden in my jewelry box next to four baby teeth and a glittering earring stud that I’d found on the floor of Ben Franklin and hoped was a diamond.

“Wait,” Sephie said, tapping her chin as she interrupted me. “Frank said that boys were taken where he lived before?”

“Yeah, so what?” I asked.

Sephie flicked my head. “And then they move here, and Clam gets attacked? Seems like a big coincidence.”

I rubbed the spot she’d flicked. “Mr. Gomez is a nice guy.”

Sephie rolled her eyes so hard they creaked. “That’s what everyone says, dummy. ‘I had no idea he was a serial killer! He seemed so nice!’ You better keep an eye on him.”

She was right, and I didn’t like that one bit. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said.

“You better hurry back.”

Dad was up ahead of us, still removing trip wires. I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. I hoped mom was still on the phone, fully immersed in a conversation. I tore past Dad’s studio, toward the house.

I didn’t have to pee.

I was going to follow through on my plan to go through Dad’s stuff, the plan I’d made on chicken-butchering day. Sephie was wrong thinking Mr. Gomez was the one taking the kids. No one married to someone like Mrs. Gomez would ever do that. My dad and Sergeant Bauer, though? That was a different story.

Mom met me on her way out of the house, her face cramped.

“Is something wrong?” I asked her.

She rubbed her temples. “No. It’s time to butcher.”

“Meet you by the chicken coop,” I said. “I gotta pee real quick.”

I had the house to myself, but not for long. I left my shoes at the front door so as not to track in mud and raced toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Their waterbed had no drawers below, only a big box to hold the bladder, so I started in Dad’s nightstand. It held dirty magazines, some half-smoked joints, and sketches I didn’t want to look at too closely. I found the same in Dad’s dresser, plus his clothes.

I didn’t like how much it smelled like him, but I held my nose and kept digging. I didn’t know what I was after. A signed note saying he and Sergeant Bauer had attacked Clam? The mask they’d worn when they’d hurt him? Something to prove that Mr. and Mrs. Gomez were nice people, just as they’d appeared?