The little boy paused in mid-throw—he had an ashtray in his hand, as he was preparing to lob it at his sister’s head—and listened.
“Ashton! Ashton!”
Someone was downstairs, calling his name. “Hey,” the boy said, dropping the ashtray. “Whose voice is that?”
“I don’t know,” Piper said. “But whoever it is, they’re calling me.”
Ashton frowned. “You mean, they’re calling me.”
“No,” his sister insisted. “They’re calling me. They’re saying, ‘Piper! Piper!’ ”
“They’re saying, ‘Ashton! Ashton!’ ”
“They are not!”
He was about ready to pick up the ashtray again when the voice resumed.
“Who is it?” Ashton asked, heading out of the room and down the hall.
“I don’t know,” Piper replied, close on his heels.
It wasn’t their mother. As they passed the door to their mother’s, they could see it was dark inside, and music was playing. Their mother was apparently sound asleep. The voice wasn’t Consuela’s either, and it certainly wasn’t their father’s. It was hard to tell if it was a boy’s voice or a girl’s voice. But it kept calling to them.
The two children paused at the top of the stairs and looked down.
“Maybe we should wake Mother,” Piper suggested.
“No, she’d just get mad,” Ashton said.
They listened. The voice was calling them again. It seemed, Ashton thought, to be coming from the kitchen.
“Who’s there?” Ashton called down the stairs.
The only answer he heard was, “Ashton! Ashton!”
The voice was becoming more urgent now.
“I’m going down,” the boy announced.
“Why are you going down?” his sister asked. “They’re calling me!”
“They are not! They’re calling me!”
“I’ll beat you down there!” Piper shouted.
“Oh no, you won’t!”
The two of them began racing down the stairs.
They never saw the wire that was stretched across the staircase halfway down. They barely even felt it. They only knew that suddenly they were airborne, that instead of running down the stairs, they were now plunging down them head first. There was a brief sensation of somersaulting through the air—their feet above their heads—and then came the final thud against the marble floor. The last thing both Ashton and Piper heard was the surprisingly loud snap of their necks. Ashton’s last thought before he died was that his sister was lying on top of him, and he wanted to slug her for that. But at least he had a split second of satisfaction that he’d beaten her down the stairs.
SEVENTY-NINE
“This is what they call Indian summer,” Aunt Paulette said, arriving with pumpkin and apple pies.
It was a beautifully warm, sunny day. The leaves might be off the trees, but otherwise it felt like a day in August instead of October. Jessie watched Abby and Aaron play on the swings. The boy had shown up early. How he’d known they’d have a cookout Jessie didn’t know. He’d seemed to just intuit that he’d be welcome today, that Jessie would want him to come by. He didn’t say much, but smiled a little, obviously pleased, when Jessie asked him to stay for supper. She’d called Aunt Paulette and asked her to bake some pies. Now she was firing up the grill, one eye always on the children on the swings. Their laughter reassured her. Watching the kids play, Jessie had come to the conclusion that there was nothing to fear from Aaron. Whether he was somehow in league with Emil, she was still unsure. But the boy himself was darling.
“Jessie,” Aunt Paulette said, setting the pies on the picnic table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Monica to come by as well.”
Jessie shot her an angry glance. “I do mind, Aunt Paulette. I don’t want to get into any heavy discussions with Monica today.”
“No heavy discussions,” her aunt assured her. “Just let her have a hamburger with us. She’s very upset about everything that’s happened.”
Jessie just grumbled under breath.
“Mommy,” Abby called from the swings. “We’re hungry!”
“Okay,” Jessie called back. “How many burgers can you eat?”
“I can eat a hundred!” Abby said, laughing.
“I can eat two hundred!” Aaron added, his face lit up by a big smile.
Jessie laughed. “I’ll make you each two,” she said. “And if you want another, I’ll throw another patty on the grill.”
“He’s very cute,” Aunt Paulette whispered, drawing close to Jessie.
“Adorable,” Jessie agreed.
She looked up. Her sister was coming up the hill, carrying a bowl. Jessie dropped her eyes to the grill. She really wished Aunt Paulette hadn’t invited her. She wasn’t ready to face Monica just yet. All those years ago, Monica had deliberately stolen Todd from her. Deliberately broken her heart. And she’d done so through trickery. Jessie knew Monica resented so much about her. She was jealous of her relationship with Mom, with the teachers at school. She figured Monica’s theft of Todd—and her terrible lie—had been her way of having revenge. And while it all may have been a long time ago, it would still take some time for Jessie to forgive her sister. She didn’t want to be hard or cruel. She knew that Monica was going through a rough time now that Todd had left her. But the fact was, Jessie was still hurt by what Monica had done. It would just take time.
“Hello, Jessie,” Monica said.
“Hello.”
“I made a tossed salad.”
“It looks delicious,” Aunt Paulette said, taking the salad bowl from Monica and placing it on the picnic table next to the pies. “Are these the last of the fresh tomatoes from the garden?”
“Yes,” Monica said. “I picked them this morning.”
Jessie thought her sister didn’t seem sorry at all. She stood there rather haughtily, smiling, pretending nothing was wrong.
“Who’s the boy?” Monica asked.
“That’s Aaron,” Aunt Paulette informed her. “Oh, Abby! Come over and introduce Aaron to your Aunt Monica.”
The children jumped off the swings and ran across the grass. Abby’s blond hair was tied in two ponytails on the side of her head, and they flopped like bunny ears as she ran. Aaron’s dark eyes were bright and shining. He seemed far more animated than ever before. He was barefoot as always, and his clothes were still slightly soiled and wrinkled. But he seemed a different boy. No longer mysterious or quiet, he was smiling and laughing. When the children reached the adults, they stopped running and looked up at them with bright, happy faces.
“Hello, Aaron,” Monica said.
“Hello!” the boy responded enthusiastically.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Over there!” he chirped, pointing toward the woods.
“Don’t you own any shoes?” Monica asked.
“Nope,” Aaron replied.
Jessie overheard, and stepped forward. “Oh, come now, Aaron. You must have shoes at home.”
“No,” he insisted.
Jessie exchanged a look with Aunt Paulette.
“May I please have three hamburgers?” the boy asked.
“I told you if you eat both of the ones I’m grilling for you, I’ll make you another.”
“I will eat both of them!”
“All right,” Jessie said.
The children ran back to the swings.
“Is the kid really that poor?” Monica asked. “No shoes and his parents don’t feed him?”
“He does seem rather neglected,” Aunt Paulette observed. “His clothes are quite dirty.”
Jessie returned to the grill and flipped the burgers. “Well, if he’s hungry,” she said, “we’re going to make sure he leaves here with a full belly.”
The kid did indeed wolf down both of his hamburgers, and asked for a third, which Jessie happily made for him. After that, he had two slices of pie, one pumpkin and one apple. He was smiling and laughing the whole tim
e.
As Abby helped Monica and Aunt Paulette clear off the table and carry the leftovers into the house, Jessie sat down at the picnic table opposite Aaron, who was finishing the last of his pie. “Aaron,” she said, “I’d like to see where you live. Will you show me sometime?”
“Sure,” he chirped.
Jessie leveled her eyes at him. “That would be okay? Would your parents like to meet me?”
She was testing him, of course, trying to see if he might give away a clue about Emil, if in fact he was somehow in cahoots with him.
“I don’t have parents,” Aaron said. Suddenly his high spirits evaporated. His smile disappeared; the light in his eyes dimmed. He just sat there at the picnic table, staring at his plate.
“Who do you live with then?” Jessie asked the boy.
Aaron didn’t reply. He just looked up at her with his big brown eyes.
“I wish I had a mommy like you,” he said.
Jessie’s heart melted.
“Mommy!” Abby called. “Can me and Aaron color now?”
Jessie looked up. “You should say, ‘Aaron and I.’ ”
“Okay. Can Aaron and I color?”
Jessie smiled, deciding against correcting her further about using “may” instead of “can”—for the moment, anyway. “Would you like to color, Aaron?” she asked.
“Sure!” the boy answered.
She walked with him up to the house. In the kitchen, Abby had brought out sheets of papers and her box of crayons, setting them on the table. Aaron came into the room and immediately his eyes were drawn to the family picture Abby had rendered at school. He stood in front of the refrigerator staring at the stick figures of Abby’s family. His expression was intense.
Jessie stooped down beside him. “Abby drew that of her family,” she told him. “Maybe you can draw a picture of your family now.”
“I don’t have a family,” Aaron said.
“Come on, Aaron,” Abby called from the table. “I’ll show you how to draw!”
A smile returned to the boy’s face and he scampered over to join her.
“Jessie, sweetie,” Aunt Paulette said, “you cooked tonight so Monica and I will wash the dishes.”
“That’s not necessary,” Jessie said. She really just wanted Monica to go home.
“No, fair’s fair,” Monica said, stacking the dishes in the sink and turning on the faucet. Jessie reflected for a moment on the irony of her sister’s words, then drifted back toward the table to watch the kids color.
Aaron was working slowly, tentatively, one eye always on Abby’s drawing. He seemed as if he had never colored a picture before in his life. He watched as Abby drew, then tried to copy her. He was very intent in his efforts, his little tongue protruding over his upper lip as he concentrated.
Jessie was overcome with sadness. This was what it would have been like if she’d borne both twins. She would have had both a boy and a girl playing around the house. She would have had a son—and Abby would have had a friend and a playmate with her at all times. Why had Jessie ever feared that her little boy would be a monster? Her son would not have been like his father. Jessie’s little boy would have been just like this Aaron, sweet and innocent. He would have had similar bright brown eyes, and a smile and a laugh that were just as happy.
As she continued to watch the children at the table, Jessie felt as if she might start bawling. The old guilt had returned. How she regretted wishing her baby dead. She had caused that miscarriage herself—she was convinced of that. She’d wished that she might lose the boy but keep the girl. Meeting Aaron was her punishment. It was karma, as Mom would have said. Fate was showing her what she had killed.
Jessie wasn’t aware until the last second that Monica had come up behind her.
“Jessie,” her sister whispered. “We need to talk.”
“Not now, Monica.”
“Well, when then?”
Jessie resented being pulled out of her thoughts this way. The last thing she wanted to contemplate at the moment was Monica’s treachery. “I don’t know,” she said. “But not now.”
“I can’t take any more of this!” Monica suddenly wailed.
Anxious that the children might hear, Jessie strode into the living room. Monica quickly followed.
“Don’t you realize what I’m going through?” Monica cried. “My husband has left me! You have to help me get him back!”
Jessie spun around to glare at her. “I have to do what?”
“You need to tell him that I told you I was pregnant, and that you did ask me never to bring it up again.”
“Why would I lie for you?”
“Because I did everything I could not to break your heart further! I didn’t tell you that I was pregnant because I figured it would hurt you more. And I fibbed to Todd that I told you because I didn’t want you to find out—I was trying to spare your feelings!”
Jessie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “This is all bullshit, Monica, and you know it. You were never pregnant! You just used that line to snare Todd.”
“I was so pregnant!”
Jessie made a face in disgust. “I remember when you were going to fertility treatments a few years ago. You told me then that doctors believed you had a congenital condition preventing you from conceiving!”
“No, no, I never said that—”
“Yes, you did! Look, Monica, please go home. I do not want to deal with this now.”
“But Jessie—”
“Please leave, Monica!”
Her sister glared at her for a moment, then stalked out the front door, letting it slam behind her.
Jessie became aware of someone standing behind her. She turned around. There, looking up at her, was Aaron.
“Are you okay?” the little boy inquired, all eyes and concern.
“Yes, Aaron, I’m fine.”
“I came in because it seemed you were upset,” he said.
Jessie’s heart melted again. She stooped down and placed her hand on the boy’s cheek. “You are a darling little angel to worry about me, Aaron,” she said.
He smiled. “I drew you a picture.”
“You did?”
He nodded, taking her hand and bringing her back out to the kitchen. Abby had gone outside with Aunt Paulette to close up the grill. On the kitchen table sat two drawings. Abby’s was a stick figure of a little girl with yellow hair holding the hand of a stick figure of a woman, also with yellow hair. Underneath she had printed: To Mommy Love Abby. Aaron’s drawing was almost identical, except the smaller stick figure was a boy with black hair. And there was no printing underneath.
“Why, this is lovely, Aaron. Is that you and me?”
He nodded, seeming very pleased with himself. “But I didn’t know how to do that part.” He pointed to Abby’s printing.
“You’ll learn how to print soon, I’m sure.”
He pouted. “I wanted to sign it like Abby did.”
“I tell you what. Your name and Abby’s both start with the same letter. A. You see it there?” She pointed to the A. “Just copy that and I’ll always know this came from you.”
Aaron smiled broadly and quickly got down to work, carefully copying the A on to his own drawing with a crayon.
“Look how high I can go!”
Jessie looked up at the sound of Abby’s voice. The little girl had gone back to the swing set for one more ride. Jessie saw Abby swing forward, her little legs pointing out in front of her.
“Be careful,” Jessie heard Aunt Paulette call to her.
“Look how high I can go!” the little girl shouted again. “Aaron showed me!”
Jessie’s heart leapt into her throat as she watched her daughter swing higher and higher into the sky.
“Be careful, Abby!” Aunt Paulette was calling. “You could fall—”
And in that very instant, she did. Abby flew from the swing and came plummeting to the ground. Jessie watched as if in slow motion. She’ll break her neck. She’ll snap her
spine. Abby tumbled through the air and crashed hard against the earth.
“Abby!” Jessie screamed, and bolted out of the kitchen into the yard, leaving Aaron standing at the table with his drawing in his hands.
EIGHTY
Paulette applied a cold compress to Abby’s right knee. “Nothing’s broken,” she assured Jessie, who hovered beside the little girl’s bed. “But she’ll have quite a bruise.”
“Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Jessie asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. She can move everything. She was lucky to land mostly on her bottom.”
Abby giggled a little.
Jessie sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking her daughter’s hair. “How do you feel, sweetie?” Jessie asked.
“Okay now, Mommy,” Abby said.
Paulette let out a long sigh of relief. For a moment there, it had been terrifying. Abby had been sprawled on the grass, not breathing. As it turned out, however, she’d just had the wind knocked out of her. Her breath came back to her and the color returned to her face as Jessie lifted her from the ground and carried her into the house. It had been a frightful moment, but it looked as if the worst would be a bruise and a scraped knee.
Yet as terrifying as the moment was, something else had frightened Paulette even more, and this fear wasn’t as easily abated.
As Jessie cooed over Abby, Paulette turned around once more to look at Aaron. The look on the boy’s face was still there. He stood in the doorway of Abby’s room, watching everything and everyone with eyes that seemed considerably smaller than before, eyes filled with hatred and resentment. Paulette had seen the look on his little face as he stood at the kitchen door watching Jessie run to Abby. It was a look that had transformed his features. It had been a terrible thing to witness, leaving Paulette cold. She shuddered again seeing that the look was still on his face.
As she watched him, Aaron turned and walked away from Abby’s room. Paulette followed him into the hall. Aaron was descending the steps.
“Where are you going, Aaron?” she asked.
“Home,” he said sullenly.
“Don’t you want to say good-bye to Abby?”
“No,” he replied, and disappeared down the stairs.
Paulette popped her head back into Abby’s room. “Everything okay in here for the moment?” she asked.
Slice Page 28