October Darlings

by Wendolyn Baird

I know you’re overwhelmed; I’m just trying to help. Come home for lunch at least. Love you darling.

  I have no doubt that she loves me, and despite my open reservations on the subject, I have no doubt that she honestly believes that pieces of our family exist in her home. Plenty of people believe in ghosts, I would just rather... not. But in every other facet, Delia’s showed me to be completely sane, if maybe a little odd.

  “You’re welcome to stay for the morning if you’d like. I’d imagine that big house can get awfully lonely with just the two of y’all.”

  “Oh, I’ve really only been here a few days,” I admit. “We’re still getting used to being around each other.”

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Thomas pauses, a spatula full of eggs hovering precariously over a stoneware plate. “Your family isn’t close then?”

  I squirm in my seat, picking at my phone case even more rapidly now. “No, we kind of are. It’s just my dad and my aunt haven’t always gotten along, so most of our relationship has been long distance.”

  Sabrina’s in the middle of shoveling scrambled eggs onto her toast. Sitting cross-legged in her chair with her wide eyes gleaming in interest, she looks more like a cartoon character than a real person.

  “If your dad and aunt hate each other, why’d you move? Did your parents come with you?”

  “Sabrina!” Mrs. Thomas hushes her with the wave of a dish towel, but the question is already out there.

  “Uhm,” I clear my throat. “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s sick. So, I’m here.”

  I can’t say anything further without my face catching on fire from the heat in my cheeks, so I stare at the ridges on my placemat and pretend I’m invisible.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Thomas breaks the silence first, doing the automatic condolence thing every other adult has done since he got diagnosed.

  The idea of thanking her for her pity or smiling politely back to every person who thinks they can tell me ‘it’s all going to be alright’ causes my stomach to turn. I really hope she doesn’t say it. Please don’t say it.

  “I’m sure everything will turn out alright eventually. In the meantime, we’re glad to have a new neighbor.”

  She said it.

  Smiling wanly, I accept the warm plate she offers me while a hollow sensation worms its way up my chest. My throat feels like there’s a bubble caught in it, preventing me from speaking.

  “What grade will you be going into? Are you going to be going to the charter school or the public one?” Sabrina launches fully into a new subject, either a far better expert at deflection than I am, or completely obtuse.

  “Uhm, I’ll be a senior, and I don’t know.”

  “Me and most of my friends are at the charter, it’s way better because there’s less hours, but my cousin says he likes how big the public school is. Either way, you’ll have to drive in or snag the bus at the end of the road. Do you drive?”

  “I drive, but I don’t have a car. Do you?”

  Before she can answer, her mother cuts her off. “She’s not allowed to, for the time being. She’s still paying off the damage to the car she crashed while getting her learner’s permit.”

  “I said I was sorry!”

  The sounds of their conversation compound into my ears with a ringing. My breath is coming out in quiet, little gasps, and if I pick at my phone case anymore, it’s liable to bust.

  “Look, I really appreciate this and all, but I really ought to get going. I left my camera outside and I’d hate for anything to happen to it.” The words burst out in a rush of air that leaves me clinging to the countertop. My face is burning, and the way their conversation drops off, it’s clear that I’ve said something inherently rude.

  Mrs. Thomas' broad lips tighten into a purse, and the light in her eyes flickers. “That’s understandable. Please, won’t you finish your breakfast before you go?”

  Ah. I flush even more, dropping my gaze to the nearly full plate of eggs and toast before me. It isn’t what I said, it’s that I’m not being gracious about the food that was set in front of me. Typical manners, and I overlooked them so easily.

  Sabrina is flitting back and forth, a corner of toast still in her mouth as she scrapes her crumb ridden plate over the trash can, and her eyes dance more than once to the hallway I assume leads to her room.

  “Oh, just leave it!” Mrs. Thomas whisks the plate away from her daughter and waves her out of the room.

  “I’m sorry.” I say to my hands rather to anyone’s actual face.

  Sabrina’s little brothers have wandered in, clad in all their superhero pajama glory and sporting sleep filled eyes. I’d caught sight of their family portrait in the foyer on my way in, but they’re both so drowsy, neither even seem to notice my presence.

  “Eating is... difficult lately. My throat feels like there’s a lump in it all the time, even though I know there’s not. And I don’t really like talking about my dad.” Blinking rapidly, I snap my jaw shut to keep my chin from trembling more than it already is. My hair, I let fall in front of eyes to block out any further questioning, and the split ends of my nearly black waves tickle where they brush against my skin.

  “We didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.” Her voice softens as she serves her boys and continues to stare at me. I can feel the careful attention more than I can see her, but I know it’s there all the same.

  “Please, try to eat what you can. It’s important. Besides,” she chuckles. “If my daughter has decided to be friends with you, you’re going to need your strength! She never stops going. Has she asked you about your cemetery yet?”

  “What?” I snap my head up.

  “The cemetery? She’s been going through every book she could find on the subject because your property is downright legendary around these parts. But your aunt has never been very forthcoming about having outsiders view the place, so she hasn’t had much luck actually seeing it. Which, of course, is quite understandable.”

  The side of my fork presses against my knuckle as heat pulses through me. “She mentioned it,” I manage to spit out. “But I didn’t know she was that interested in it.”

  “Mmhm, she’s read at least three or four different volumes about your family history. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it when you introduced yourself, it’s not like her to miss an opportunity to... what’s it called? Fangirl?”

  “Fangirl, yeah.”

  The eggs taste like rubber as I shove them in my mouth, the toast, matching cardboard. My head is reeling, and my body feels light as a dizziness takes me over.

  I’ve always known our family was different, I just didn’t realize how different.

  The back of my neck grows hot as I reconsider the way Sabrina eyed me at the grill last night, and the way she played dumb just a few minutes ago. If she knew who Delia was, what the house’s history was, why on earth would she act like she didn’t? And even more importantly, what is it about Nix House that would have inspired not one, but potentially four different books to be written about it? Surely not ghosts.

  I was only six when Dad moved us away. Living in an ancient house, having a backyard cemetery, and the peculiar reputation that came with the last name Nix, were lost on me before I could process their meanings.

  Now I wonder if that was a mistake.

  Why are books written about my family so intriguing that a girl would lie to me just to see my backyard?

  And if my family really is so strange, what does that say about me?

  Chapter Four

  “I WANT TO SEE THE BOOKS.”

  Sabrina drops her phone with a definite look of guilt flashing away behind surprise. Her bright tank top skims the waistband of her shorts as she tucks the device away, and she adjusts her glasses with the back of her hand before responding.

  “What books?”

  “About my house, or family, or whatever they’re about. Your mom ratted you out. You haven’t just heard rumors about the cemetery being back there, you’ve been try
ing to find a way in. Why?” To my credit, only a small amount of anger ekes out of my words, coming across as mild agitation rather than the severe accusation I want to throw at her.

  “I told you, I love cemeteries. I really do have grave rubbings from all the public ones around here, and a good amount from private burial grounds too. There are a few other family graveyards around here, but they’re connected to abandoned old chapels most of the time. Not my favorites to visit, but the history is always worth it.”

  “So, you’re just a history buff? No other reason behind acting like you wanted to hang out with me?”

  Sabrina pulls back, her slender shoulders curving inward defensively and her hands twisting around one another. “I mean not exactly when you put it like that...”

  Jutting my chin out, I cross my arms and unleash the full severity of my scowl on her. Not exactly, my ass.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” she sighs. “I really did want to talk to you, just to talk to you. I didn’t know who you were until this morning, but you seemed super upset last night, and I thought it was kind of weird that you were staring at us. Which, I get it now, I’m really sorry about your dad. I ask too many questions sometimes and I’m sorry for that too, we don’t get new neighbors often and I guess I went a little overboard.”

  Clearing my throat, I tighten my fingers around my arms and mumble a thank you. “Okay, then what’s with your fixation on cemeteries? Are you collecting strange names, or is it your dream to become a mortician someday? Because it’s a little creepy.”

  Never mind my own graveyard picnics or how Delia chose to sunbathe next to our dead family members.

  “Not so much names as it is culture. Even the artwork on the outside of mausoleums can tell you how rich a family was, or what their profession or values were. It’s kind of fascinating; like reality TV for past generations only you have to track down the clues first.”

  “Of course, a mausoleum will tell you how wealthy a family was; most people can’t afford above ground tombs!” I snort. “Anyway, why go to a gravesite? Can’t you just pull up family trees at the library or something?”

  Sabrina stares at me with such a look of complete exasperation that I almost forget I’m annoyed at her. She’s so expressive, it’s hard for me to hold back a laugh.

  “One, I still need a name for a starting point, and two,” she shoots me a patient glance, “most of the families keep their trees in super boring books on their shelves, they haven’t bothered putting anything online. You’re stuck between a couple of completely boring nothing-villes now. Half the adults don’t even have their own email addresses.”

  “Okay, that’s sad. But I still don’t get why you want to check out my house so bad. Are you playing bucket list bingo or something?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, don’t laugh. I’ve heard stories about your house since I was nine years old, can you blame me for being curious? Especially since I’ve tried asking your aunt a couple of times and she’s always been like, weirdly evasive. Like, no offense, but I don’t really get her.”

  I shift my weight until I’m leaning on her doorway. I don’t always understand Aunt Delia either, and I can’t blame Sabrina for not pushing the subject. Still, the way she’s staring at me, I know she isn’t done gushing about graveyards. Ick. Maybe I can change the subject back to schools or something.

  “Look, every culture has its own beliefs around death, and I guess I like cemeteries because you can even see that reflected in different ways from one grave to the next. Why do some families choose mausoleums instead of the ground? And don’t say money!” She laughs, pointing at me in warning.

  I throw my hands up in acknowledgement and open my mouth to speak.

  “Or why do some people bury ashes, but others will scatter them or even turn them into jewelry?” She cuts me off. “Which, for the record, I find creepy. It’s a modified version of the way Victorians carried around the hair of their loved ones, but with ashes you don’t know what part of your relative you’re carrying around. For all you know, it could be their nose or their toe.”

  “Okay, yeah, I get that.” I wrinkle my nose and it takes everything I’ve got not to cover my ears and start humming.

  “Right. The thing is —”

  Finally, we’re getting to the why and we can move on!

  “— your family is mentioned in several local histories, both because of their bizarrely secretive funeral customs, and because of their supposed role in helping the underground railroad. Rumor has it the architecture of that house played a huge part in the way the rest of the county built their homes.”

  “Hold on, back up a moment here. Did you say the underground railroad? Like the underground railroad?” My jaw drops, but Sabrina continues unfazed by her own revelation.

  “Well, it’s not proven, but yeah. Except we’re so far down south, everyone thinks your family helped people hide while on their way to Mexico. That’s why the way your house was built was so important. As more people got involved, they’d supposedly go over to see the best ways to hide rooms and tunnels. It became kind of a local joke that everyone was just super impressed with the crown molding and sweeping staircases.”

  “Wow.” Taking a deep breath, I let my arms fall to my sides and join Sabrina on her bed. The mattress squeaks under my added weight, and she pulls one leg to make room while offering me a pillow. All I’d ever considered about my ancestors were their uneasy gazes as I walked down the hall, or the funny fit of their clothes. I’d never imagined any of them doing anything so tremendous with their lives.

  “Do you think I could come over sometime?”

  I blink at her, trying to wrap my brain around the present once again. “You’re back to talking about the graveyard, again? After telling me there are likely hidden passageways in my actual house?”

  “Well, yeah! What’s a better way to find out about past generations than to go snooping around their secrets? Besides, I bet we could find the tunnels."

  The idea is tempting. Exactly the type of bad decision I know I’ll regret, but digging up old secrets is way better than spending the rest of my summer sitting around worrying about Dad. And when am I ever going to have the chance to find a secret passage again? The only problem is I don’t want to start in the cemetery... and I don’t know how I’ll feel about the idea once I’m actually standing in the house again.

  Shaking off the trickles of fear, I smirk at Sabrina and appreciate the mischievous gleam in her eyes. My heart is thudding with more anticipation than apprehension, and a scavenger hunt could be exactly what I need. Photos of hidden doors would be so much more fascinating than a Norman Rockwell tribute.

  “This was never actually about the backyard was it? You want to explore the house?”

  Of course, she does, I just need her to admit it, because there’s no way in hell I’m doing this alone.

  Sabrina bites back a smile, her earrings flashing as she ducks her head sheepishly. “Oh, I so want to! Who knows what we could find?”

  Who knows, indeed? A cloud slips in the room with us as I picture the hallway. It’s the most logical place to start, leading off as it does to all the downstairs bedrooms. It was only a few hours ago that I literally climbed out a window to avoid walking through it. Am I really about to go digging around the dark corners of a place that slams doors on its own and gives me chills strong enough to warrant a hoodie in the middle of June?

  “Maybe we should wait a couple of days first. At least until my aunt goes back to work, she’s off this week.”

  Sabrina nods at me, and I let her believe my only concern is upsetting Delia... but maybe I should hear her out first. If Sabrina is interested in the dead, and Delia believes the dead are still around, I’m bound to be put in the middle of it.

  “Uhm, and what was that you were saying about my family and funerals?”

  At that moment, the doorbell goes off, and Sabrina springs to her feet. “I’ll get it!” she hollers as she tears out of t
he room.

  Unsure of what to do with myself, I trail after her, hands swinging by my sides and my head spinning. And to think, all I wanted to do today was sleep!

  “Glad I got here before the rain. Looks like it’ll blow in any moment now,” a male voice is saying.

  “Mm, smells like it too. Who dropped you off?” Sabrina leans on the screen door, and as she lets the visitor in, my heart crashes in my chest.

  A shocked grin, and the same amused eyes I’d ran into last night are staring me down as Nick steps into the foyer.

  “Addie,” he remembers. “Didn’t think I’d be bumping into you again. Especially not at my cousin’s house.”

  “I bumped into you last time actually, So yeah, uhm, no bumping here. Literally, I mean.” Cringing inwardly, I touch my hair and try to pick out the remaining mint without being noticed.

  “Y’all know each other?” Sabrina swings around, curiosity stronger than any expression I’ve seen her do yet.

  “Hardly,” I shrug.

  “We should change that. Maybe hang out sometime?” He nods quickly as he speaks, his hands outstretched in a way that’s almost hopeful, and my stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with fear.

  “She’s already hanging out with me. And you aren’t allowed to date anymore of my friends. That turned out horribly last time,” Sabrina frowns. “Hey, while you’re here, help me pull in the boys’ pool. My mom hates it when it fills up with rainwater.”

  "Sure, no problem. Addie, will you still be here when we come back in? Or do you have someone to meet?"

  I’m half shaking my head already when Sabrina’s words click into place. It’s about to rain.

  “Wait, no, oh my gosh! My camera! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have to go!”

  “Again?” Nick stares at me in disbelief as I rush around him and ease out the door.

  “Sorry!”

  “Again, what do you mean, again?"

  I leave Nick and Sabrina paused behind the screen door as I cut across her front yard. The sky is darkened to a heavy grey, rumbling with thunder, and crowding quickly with the presence of rolling clouds.