Unspeakable Things(41)
Sephie lit up like a torch, letting him at her foot. “Really?”
I scowled. No, not really. He was in his “generous” phase. Mom and Sephie fell for it every time.
“You bet,” he said, reaching for one of my feet. I tucked them both underneath me, and he returned his full attention to Sephie. “We just need your mom to sell that ol’ sewing machine, eh?”
He smiled conspiratorially, but Sephie kept her face closed on that one. She knew Mom’s sewing machine had been a gift from Grandma.
“Who wants a drink?” Dad said after he’d given both of Sephie’s feet a good rubdown. He stood slowly.
“I’ll take some water,” Sephie said.
“Cassie?”
“I’m good.” I was thirsty, but I could tell right now that this was going to be an early-to-bed night, and I didn’t want to need to pee in a couple hours. “But thank you.”
He swayed in front of us, not quite ready to go. “Have I ever told you two that you’re beautiful and that I love you?”
Sephie snuggled closer to me. “Yes.”
He squinted like he was auditioning for the role of Thoughtful Dad. “So beautiful that boys are going to want to ask you out soon. Or maybe they already are.”
My hand flew to my neck scar. It was pressing tight, almost choking me.
Dad leaned closer, but it threw him off balance, so he straightened. “We should talk sometime about what those boys are gonna want to do to you. Some of it is going to feel good. Real good.” He smiled and nodded slowly, mostly looking at Sephie. “Some of it won’t. Your mom talk to you about any of that?”
Sephie was pushing fully into me now.
“That’s gross, Dad,” I said, a burning setting up in my head. Mom should be home soon. Where was she?
“Should have thought of that before you paraded your bodies in front of me in those dresses. But yeah, I suppose it is gross,” he said, chuckling. He tried for a little leprechaun heel click and almost made it.
“Gross gross, the man who loves you the most,” he sang-mumbled as he shuffled to the kitchen.
The commercial break was almost over. A preview of the upcoming Matt Houston episode played, humor and action blended over its jumpy horn-based theme song. But there was more! Sonny Bono and Zsa Zsa Gabor were guest-starring.
“No way!” Sephie wailed.
“It doesn’t matter,” I hissed, leaning forward to peer toward the kitchen. “We have to go to bed. Now. You know that.”
Sephie nodded morosely. Her face was swollen with sadness. Everybody in the world had seen that episode but us, and now we were going to miss the rerun. She pointed at today’s Lilydale Gazette lying near Dad’s chair. “I heard there’s some good garage sales this weekend. Maybe we could talk Mom and Dad into taking us?”
“Do you think Dad already read the paper?”
“He’s not reading anymore tonight,” she said, tossing one last miserable glance at the TV.
“I suppose you’re right.” I grabbed the Gazette and followed Sephie toward the bathroom.
“We’re going to bed!” I yelled in Dad’s general direction, hoping it would deter him from following us. We locked the door and Sephie used the toilet while I brushed my teeth, and then we switched. The TV was still blaring when we opened the bathroom door. We swapped a worried look with each other before bolting up the stairs. I checked Sephie’s room with her, and then she did the same for me.
“Night.”
“Night,” she said.
I was in my closet ready to sleep before I remembered that I hadn’t read today’s Nellie Bly’s Trust It or Don’t yet. I figured I might as well skim the garage sales while I was at it. I stepped out of the closet, grabbed my flashlight, and opened the paper.
The headline screamed at me.
Another Lilydale Boy Is Attacked.
CHAPTER 24
The article said neither of the boys could be named because they were minors, but I knew the first was Clam, and the writer included a photo of the second boy’s run-down house. Anyone who rode my bus could tell you that’s where Teddy Milchman lived. Teddy was small, and he was quiet, and he had soft-looking black hair like puppy fur, and he was only a fourth grader.
He lived in the Hollow, just like Clam.
Had the police noticed both kids who were on the record as being attacked were from the same neighborhood? I reread the article but didn’t find anything making that connection. I stared at my door, desperate to dash through it like the cartoon Road Runner. I wanted to hurry downstairs and convince Dad to call the police and let them know that the Hollow connected the boys. Maybe if the police knew, they could watch that area. They could save any more boys from being attacked and hurt so severely they had to wear diapers, from feeling powerless in their own bodies.
The breath rushed out of me as I heard it.
Dad was clipping his nails.
I blinked back tears. I felt like I was holding my breath past the point of drowning, it hurt so bad. I swiped at my face and quietly burrowed back into my closet, yanking out my journal and pencil. I would write fast, and I would write good, so good it would keep Dad from coming up the stairs.
I finished writing it.
Then I waited.