Echoes Between Us

by Katie McGarry

  I glance around, not really understanding the draw. It’s a house. Not a waterfall.

  The other towering homes on this street have manicured lawns that suggest the laser-sharp precision of a gardener. But this particular home is overgrown with bushes and wild roses that look like they haven’t seen a sharp pair of shears in years.

  Mom grew up in this small town. Until I was eleven, I lived in Louisville. It was weird being a transplant at first, but I’ve learned to fit in.

  Removing an elastic band from her wrist, Mom draws her done-by-a-master-stylist blond hair on top of her head into a bun. What Mom does for a living relies heavily on appearances. Her acrylic nails are always perfection, her makeup on point, her body the result of a daily onslaught of forty-five minutes on the treadmill then another thirty minutes of P90X.

  Her black yoga pants and tennis shoes are a testament that she meant what she’s said and she’s going to pitch in and work. Sweat beads on her forehead and she brushes it away with the back of her hand as she looks at the monstrosity of a house in front of us.

  In typical Mom fashion to save time, she signed a lease without a walk-through. “The house seemed cheerier in the photos.”

  “So do psychopaths.”

  The yellow house is three stories, was probably built in the eighteen hundreds and has a turret. The color alone should be inviting, but there’s something dark about the house. Like the glass in the windows is a bit too thick, the air surrounding us too heavy, a pressure building that we aren’t welcomed.

  It doesn’t help that the house sits at the bottom of a steep, looming knob and near the top of that huge hill is an aging, abandoned TB hospital that everyone in town knows is full of ghosts and demons, and it’s where devil worshipers perform their ceremonies.

  “Try being positive.” Mom pushes my shoulder, but I don’t budge.

  “I’m positive psychopaths look cheerier in photos than they do in real life.” A side-eye from Mom, and the hurt on her face causes a pinch of guilt. It’s up to me to keep her going when things are hard.

  I wink at her to take away the sting of my words. “You did good finding us a place.”

  Mom loves a compliment, and she accordingly glows. “I did well.” She emphasizes the last word, a reminder she would like me to focus on my worst subject. There are subjects people get and subjects people don’t. Math, I love. English is a constant struggle.

  “We have the entire first floor and three bedrooms,” Mom continues. “One for you, one for Lucy and one for me. There’s a full kitchen and the appliances come with it. We can use the washer and dryer in the basement, we only pay half the utilities, and considering how much houses cost on this street, our rent is practically free. The best news is that we’re only here until December.”

  When the contractor promised our house would be done.

  “Did you tell your father about the move?” Mom’s light tone is now forced. After all these years, the mere mention of Dad still causes her to flinch.

  “Yeah.” I’d begrudgingly sent him a text, but only to get Mom off my back about it.

  “What did he say?” She puts on her designer sunglasses that are too big for her face.

  There’s no answer that will make her feel better. “Nothing much.” And it’s the truth. Mom glances over at my sister who’s playing with a stick under the shade of the tree.

  Where Lucy looks like Dad, with black hair and fair skin, I favor Mom. Our skin has a natural, year-round tan and our eyes are the same baby blue. My hair, though, is the original sandy-blond instead of her salon-bought platinum.

  I’m tall, close to six feet and so is Mom. She was a volleyball player in high school and college. No volleyball for me, I’m a swimmer like Dad. A good one, too. If I can keep up my grades, my coach is convinced I’m on track for a state title.

  “Are you sure you should be handling all these boxes with your arm?” Mom asks. It’s the hundredth time she’s asked this question in the past two weeks.

  “The doctor went a week over to be safe, so I’m good.”

  “You’re such a great kid. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Our landlord and his daughter live on the second and third floors, but they won’t disturb us. They have their own entrance. I think the daughter goes to school with you.”

  My head snaps up as this is the first time I’ve heard this part. “Who?”

  Mom waggles her eyebrows. “Why? Thinking of having some late-night trysts?”

  No. I don’t like the idea of anyone from school having a bird’s-eye view of my life, but saying that to Mom will only make her fish for an explanation. Mom laughs as she takes my noncommittal silence as an affirmative. She’s always on the search for me to be her version of normal.

  “Hannah helped me find this place. She said that Sylvia said that the girl who lives here isn’t someone you all associate with.” Hannah’s a Realtor and one of Mom’s best friends, and Sylvia is Hannah’s daughter. Besides Miguel, Sylvia’s one of my closest friends.

  “Hannah also said that the man who owns the house is super nice. He travels a lot for his job, but is fantastic to his tenants.”

  “If Hannah said it, then it must be true,” I mumble. Because of her job, Hannah knows more about most people than should be allowed, and happily dumps all the personal info she learns about her clients by the first round of drinks.

  Mom ignores my comment, which is probably better for both of us. “By the way, I told Sylvia you’d invite her over to see the place once we unpack the boxes. Maybe you should take her out to dinner when you bring her over. Maybe a movie, too. I’ll pay.”

  “Like a date?” I overly raise my brows in the hopes Mom might think before she speaks.

  “Sylvia is a nice girl, and she thinks the world of you. Maybe you two could be more than friends.”

  “She prefers girls.”

  With a sigh, Mom drops the subject. “Ready to head in?”

  Not really. “Sure.”

  Mom calls Lucy, and she races up the steps of the porch that need to be sanded down and stained. A few pushes into the electronic key lock and we’re past the first door and into the foyer. We walk past the flowing staircase to another door with another electronic key lock. Mom has to check her texts to unlock this one and when she opens it, it’s like the house exhales, and not in a good way.

  The air is stale, the inside dark and when we walk in, I swear it’s somehow darker. Lucy grabs on to my hand with both of hers and hides behind me. I turn on the ancient light switch with a loud thwack and a single overhead lightbulb flickers to life. The room has a dull haze now, like a slasher movie, and I’m betting Mom wishes she had done that walk-through.

  “We need to open some windows,” Mom says, but there aren’t any windows in the living room as the bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom line the walls. “Lucy, come with me and we’ll start in the kitchen. Sawyer, check out the bedrooms for us.”

  Translation—your sister and I are heading to the room with an exit while you check the bedrooms to see if there’s a serial killer in the wings. I agree because I take care of my mom and sister, protect them, that’s my job.

  I inspect the right part of the house first. The area on the other side of the stairway is walled in. That area contains a bathroom and a big bedroom, which I assume will be Mom’s. I re-enter the living room and check the small room running along the left side of the house. Maybe it was meant to be an in-home office. I then enter the bedroom with the turret and a circular window seat—something Lucy will love.

  Even though the shades are drawn, rays of light peek through and highlight the copious dust particles in the air. I narrow my eyes at the rectangular-shaped object on the cushion of the window seat. I’m slow as I walk farther into the room, glancing multiple times over my shoulder as it feels as if there’s someone else in here, someone staring at me.

  I pick up the stack of stapled papers on the seat, flip through it, and it’s nothing more than something that’s been prin
ted out, but it’s wrinkled as if it’s been well read.

  DIARY of EVELYN BELLAK

  1918

  “To Evelyn from Maidy. A Merry Xmas & a Scrumptious New Yr.”

  “What’s that?” Mom says from the doorway.

  “Something left behind.” I roll the paper into a tube, place it in my back pocket and open the shades. Bright, cheerful light pours into the room. “Hey, Lucy. What do you think of this room?”

  She runs in, straight for the window seat, and the heaviness in my chest lessens at the sight of her smile.

  “There are a few stipulations for living here,” Mom says. My stomach sinks as this is what I’m used to, the kick following the good. She walks backward into the living room, and from the look on her face whatever it is she has to tell me isn’t news she wants Lucy to hear.

  I join her in the black heart of the building and cross my arms. “What?”

  “We can only use the washer and dryer when the landlord isn’t, and we aren’t allowed to pester them. Not even if something goes wrong with the apartment. We have to call—never knock. The only exception is when we pay rent. We’re to hand it to them personally, and we can’t be late. And we have to do the yard work, but all the equipment we need is in the garage around back.”

  Which means I’ll be doing yard work, but if that’s the worst, I can live with it. “That’s doable. Anything else?”

  “Just one thing, and it’s not a big deal. Small, really.”

  “What?”

  “The house is haunted,” Mom rushes out, then smiles at me. “So let’s unpack.”

  VERONICA

  The only reason people come to live in this small town is to hide or to die.

  Nazareth’s parents brought him here in seventh grade to hide. My father, on the other hand, uprooted me from our suburban, cushy, lower-middle-class, chocolate-chip-smelling home when I turned eleven for me to die.

  There aren’t many of us new people in town, so I’ve always been curious which reason brought Sawyer Sutherland to this forsaken land. Is he here because he’s hiding or dying?

  “It’s bad enough Sutherland is moving into your house, but now it appears he’s invading your mountain.” Leo jumps onto the crumbling brick wall that runs along the concrete porch of the old TB hospital and looks down the hill. Sure enough, Sawyer Sutherland and his band of merry friends are walking through the thick bushes and tall, green trees up the narrow path.

  Leo’s right about Sutherland invading my space, but wrong on the hill being mine. Our backyard touches the property, but the hill and the sanatarium belong to the state. Leo doesn’t come here as often as I do. We spend most of our time at Jesse’s farm, but Leo’s on a countdown to college and he wants to visit all his favorite places before he leaves. The hike up the hill is killer, but the view is breathtaking.

  “Fantastic.” Sarcasm in full effect. “I’m so happy he’s feeling at home.”

  It’s early evening, not quite nightfall, and the sky surrounding us is full of pinks and the dark blue of evening. Behind us is the massive porch where nurses would roll out patients in their beds so they could take in the fresh air. Back in the early 1900s, thousands of people lived here as they tried to “cure” themselves of TB by taking part in a fresh-air treatment. Many lived. Many more died.

  Most people in town are terrified of this building. It has been abandoned for so long that not even the windows are in place anymore, leaving gaping, dark holes for all sorts of wild animals and undesirables to wander in. It doesn’t scare me, though. To have fear for this place is to be scared of death and that is not a dread that I possess.

  Leo drops to sit beside me and our legs dangle over the wall. His shoulder rubs against mine, and I’ll admit my heart skips several beats. I wish it wouldn’t, but it does.

  He smells of sandalwood, and I hate how handsome he is—beautiful black skin, black curly hair that almost touches his shoulders and a smile that makes even the stone-cold people in the world feel included.

  Maybe if Leo’s eyes were misplaced on his handsome face like a Picasso painting or he had an alien popping out of his forehead or slimy tentacles attached to his back, I could find a way to not like him a little too much. But there’s no alien, no tentacles, and I have feelings for Leo even though he has no idea I’ve fallen for him.

  I have to stop thinking of Leo and feelings so I focus on the opposite of Leo and find Sawyer Sutherland leading the pack. Following him are a few guys and a few girls. The girls are huddled together and laugh hysterically when Sawyer turns his head toward them and surely says something witty.

  That’s what Sawyer does—talks. Laughs. For some reason everyone loves him. Girls want to date him, guys want to be friends with him, teachers want to hate him but he charms them regardless, and coaches fall over themselves to convince him to be on their teams. That is what popularity looks like.

  Sawyer cons them all. He makes them all feel as if they’re important—that is, everyone but me and my friends. He and I have been alphabetical buddies since he moved here, and he acts like I’m invisible. “Do you think he’ll talk to me now?”

  “No,” Leo replies.

  “That was blunt.” Yet probably true.

  “Starched button-down shirt, cargo shorts, Nike high-tops. He’s got that same God-awful haircut everyone else has, and like the rest of the losers in town, he thinks he’s original. People like him don’t know how to see anything beyond themselves.”

  I wouldn’t say God-awful haircut, but I’ll agree on the unoriginal. Sawyer’s brownish-blondish hair is cut into a low fade, longer on the top with the brush up that’s popular among most guys of our town. He’s on the taller end of the student population, has a swimmer’s build, and he’s as semi-good-boy-cool as they get. On the outside he checks all the boxes adults require to be a good boy. He says “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am” at the right times with the smile that hints at the mischief he’s been up to, but he’s the type to down a few beers with his “bros” on Saturday night and act like an ass.

  But because I like to make life interesting … “What if it’s a façade and there’s really a rebel hiding underneath?”

  Leo snorts, and even I have a hard time keeping a straight face. Sawyer Sutherland is as textbook cool-boy-with-money as one can get, and I gave up on anyone who’s textbook years ago.

  “I like your outfit.” Leo gives me an appreciative once-over.

  I waggle my eyebrows. “I do my best.”

  Today, I’m in a knitted see-through pink top with a black lace tank underneath, a layered black skirt that ends midthigh and striped black-and-green knee-high socks. I’m a real-life, vertically impaired anime character.

  Four-foot-nine isn’t an impressive height. Like, there are Charlie Brown Christmas trees taller than me. And God help me, I look cute and cuddly. Like a stupid kitten with big blue eyes. I can’t look mean and menacing even when I’ve tried, and trust me, I have. Anytime I’ve attempted to straighten my corkscrew blond curls, I’ve failed. They spring back into place.

  Nazareth, one part of our small group of friends, pops out of the forest and climbs up the brick wall. Wondering if I’ve forgiven him yet, he offers me a questioning rise of his eyebrows. I’m already sad that Leo and our other friends graduated last year and won’t be attending school with us anymore, and knowing that I’ll be alone at school next year sucks.

  Nazareth is supernova intelligent and will be taking college classes online at home to supplement his high school education. Tragically, this year, he and I will only share two classes. He won’t even be there for lunch. A part of me is seriously pissed at the traitor. Yeah, I get it, the decision is best for him, so I’ll hold on to a fraction of my anger and be passive-aggressive about it until he buys me tacos in repentance for his bad-for-me, yet good-for-him choices.

  The past three years have been the best of my life. Now everything is changing, and not for the better. When it’s clear I’m pouting, Nazareth clasps hands with
Leo. “Hey.”

  “Not sure how long we’ll stay. Sutherland and his friends are on the way up.” Leo jacks his thumb in their direction then pulls his cell out of his pocket, no doubt texting Jesse to see if he’s started his ascent since the popular people may possibly ruin our plans for the evening.

  My cell rings. The caller ID informs me it’s Glory, Jesse’s older cousin and town psychic. She’s been helping me avoid my fate, but I’m avoiding her so I reject the call.

  “I started packing for school,” Leo says as he pockets his cell, and my stomach bottoms out. Soon, Leo will be two hours away, and while he promises we’ll hang out all the time, I don’t believe him. When Leo went to a three-week-long camp for his college this summer, I didn’t hear from him once. Typically when people leave this town for more than a month, they don’t return.

  Instead of accepting the inevitable, I intervene by dropping the news onto Nazareth. “Sawyer Sutherland moved in with his mom and sister into the downstairs apartment.”

  Nazareth isn’t much of a conversationalist. He isn’t much on showing emotions, either, yet his eyes widen. Nazareth has been my best friend for so long I can practically read his mind. One of the most popular guys at school is living in the house of the girl voted most bizarre in the latest Tillman High’s student Insta poll?

  “I know, right?” I make a funny face of twisting my mouth and crossing my eyes. Nazareth’s lips turn up.

  “Did you hear what happened to Sawyer’s arm?” Leo asks.

  No. School gossip isn’t my thing. “I’m assuming the cast means he broke it.”

  “On how he broke it. He told everyone he slipped on the pool deck at the YMCA.”

  “So he’s suing the Y?”

  “No, he lied to his mom and the doctor. He didn’t slip on the pool deck and his friends know he lied, but he won’t tell anyone how he broke it. Everyone’s covering for him, but they want to know what happened.”