“I didn’t know Heidi was still alive! I haven’t seen her in so long.” I knelt down next to Van and stroked Heidi’s back, so happy to see her even though her scent was overpowering.
“She’s barely alive. But she’s like Houdini—a total escape artist. Or Kevin left a door open. I think he’s actively trying to get rid of her.” Van rose and Heidi stepped to the side, skittish. “I better get her inside. You okay getting home?”
“I don’t know. It’s so far away.”
“I’ll watch and make sure you get inside.”
“Van! I’m fine.”
“Ingrid!” Then, “There could be something going on next door.”
I looked at the house now and felt a strange twinge, like I’d been avoiding something because I was too happy, too preoccupied with Van to want to deal with it. The house seemed to mirror my own state—fine from the outside but inside, something was off.
“Hey, look, Mary’s up,” Van said.
Sure enough, a backlit Mary Seitzman, wearing a nightgown and a headband with cat ears, stood in her picture window and unapologetically watched us while she ate from a tub of ice cream.
Van stepped in front of me. “Hey, Mary, want to take our picture?”
“Shhh. Okay. I’m going,” I said.
“Okay.” He smiled.
“Good job tonight, by the way. That was a great show.”
I split off and walked across the street, knowing he was watching my movements. I used my key as seamlessly as I could and, before I closed the door behind me, I looked across the street to where Van stood with Heidi, his hand holding her against his leg as if to comfort her with his presence.
When I was with Van, it was like we existed in a different world. A kind of dream. Right now, it even looked like one.
The sky was still dark, but there was a shift in the air, a bridge to morning.
I gently closed the door shut behind me.
Not so long ago, I had dreaded night. Now it was better than day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SUNDAY, APRIL 10
“Come on in,” Van whispered. He held a toothbrush in one hand. “Hold on.” Van leaned into the powder room and spit in the sink. He placed the toothbrush down and quickly rinsed his mouth. “Sorry. Did you get wet? Here, let me take your umbrella.”
“I’m fine.” There was something oddly intimate about seeing Van brushing his teeth.
I swept past him into the mudroom and took off my dripping tennis shoes. Snacks of goldfish crackers and pretzels and flats of six-packs of sparkling waters lined the shelves. A basket of neatly folded laundry sat on top of the washer. The dryer-sheet scent in the air reminded me of Van.
Van had texted at 1 A.M. on the dot: How do you feel about coming over to my house? I’m babysitting tonight.
That was how I found myself being led into a den/media room. A plush gray sectional draped with folded cashmere throws dominated the room and faced the most enormous flat-screen TV I’d ever seen. Beyond the sliding glass doors, the light blue pool was set aglow by underwater lights and shimmered as raindrops broke the surface.
The rear of the Moores’ house was mostly floor-to-ceiling glass. Their house backed a cliff, a limestone shelf pockmarked with shallow caves that rock climbers or drunk people on the greenbelt would climb up to. One time a girl, high on something, had scaled the cliff all the way up to Van’s backyard and wound up waking Lisa when she pounded on the glass with bloody hands.
“Watch out for the Legos,” Van said as he scooped up a pirate ship and a nerf gun. Then he fell back onto the sectional and stretched out his legs in front of him. He quickly moved over to the part without the leg rest. “Here, you take the money spot.”
I took a seat next to him, still curious and looking around. I saw a vintage Evel Knievel pinball machine in one corner of the room next to a bar with a built-in refrigerator stocked with drinks. Van saw me notice the bar and stood. “Here, let me get you something. Diet Coke, sparkling water?”
“I’ll have sparkling water. Thanks.”
“Watermelon, lime cranberry, mango…” Van trailed off.
“Mango!” I laughed.
“What?”
“You have a fun house. This room is new. The pool.”
“Kevin moved to a hedge fund and things got nicer around here,” Van said, matter-of-factly, a little bit like none of it was his. I glanced up at a family portrait on the wall behind me. It was hard not to notice how different Van looked from his family.
Van saw me take it in. “Max calls me the foreign exchange student,” he said dryly.
“He must think he’s really funny.”
“Oh, he does.” Van smiled. It was the first mention of Max in a while. But then Van’s smile faded, as if he remembered again that things had changed. Max wasn’t joking around at Van’s house anymore.
“Where are your parents?” I asked, changing the subject, and accepting the drink from Van. We accidentally touched fingers and a shock traveled through my hand. It happened each and every time.
“My mom and Kevin?” I noticed Van correct my use of the word “parents.”
“Staying downtown overnight. There was some event for Kevin’s work.”
“That’s awesome that they trust you.”
“My mom trusts me. She shouldn’t, but she does. Kevin’s all over me but he can’t say anything.”
“Why shouldn’t your mom trust you? From what I can tell, you’re not out crazy-partying.”
Ugh. Instantly, I wished I could take it back. I wasn’t an expert on Van. I was well aware that I had zero idea why he waited until 1 A.M. every night before he texted me. His main life took place before then. I was reserved for the time when nothing was going on because the rest of the world was asleep.
Van gathered a throw in one hand, sank into the sofa next to me, and tossed the blanket over both of us. That was a first, being under the same blanket as Van.
“That’s true. I’ve been tied up with band stuff.” Van angled himself so he was facing me a little bit and he moved his legs over to my portion of the sofa with the leg rest. Once again, we were touching. Just a little bit.
“You’ve been really busy?” I asked, distracted. I scooted a half foot over so I could face him more naturally. I rested my elbow on the arm of the couch, which inadvertently put me in a suggestive position, thrusting my chest out. Van’s eyes glanced down and back up lightning quick. I would have moved but then I wouldn’t be as comfortable so I decided not to worry about it. Van steadfastly kept his eyes on mine.
“Yeah, now I have practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays and shows all weekend. I’m rambling.”
“Are you blushing?” I asked.
“No.”
“You are! Why are you blushing?”
“Because you’re sitting like that.”
“Like what?” I teased. Were we flirting?
“I don’t know … all … I’m not used to…” Van said, uncharacteristically flustered.
Now my face felt warm. I moved my arm and folded my hands in my lap.
“Never mind,” Van said, backtracking and regaining the unruffled composure he always had. “It’s fine.”
Whatever had just happened, I decided to ignore it and never, ever accidentally flirt with him again. I obviously did it wrong.
“So … how’d you find them? The band, I mean.”
“It’s actually thanks to Caroline. She met this guy at a coffee shop who was looking for a new lead singer. What?” he asked self-consciously when I stayed quiet.
“Nothing! I was just thinking you’re a really great singer.”
Van seemed to be taking in what I was saying about him like it was the most important thing in the world. “I don’t know about that,” he said, “but thanks. Kevin’s always saying I’ll never make any money as a musician, but this…”
“Don’t listen to Kevin. You’re talented.”
“Thank you,” Van said, and nudged my foot with his.
> “You’re welcome.” I stared back at him and smiled. What was going on with us tonight? All of the eye contact. The rain pounded hard outside, we were cozy under a blanket together, and it felt like we were the only two people awake in the world. I leaned my head back on the sofa.
“You tired?” Van asked.
I raised my head. “I’m always tired. What about you?”
“I am always tired. But I can never sleep. Want to watch a movie?”
Just then we heard the padding of footsteps. One of the twins showed up at the doorway, holding a stuffed penguin.
“What’s up?” Van asked.
“I don’t know. Where’s Mom?”
“Remember? I’m babysitting all night.”
“Oh yeah.” The twin, Anthony, stared at Van like he was an unappetizing selection. “What’s Ingrid doing here?”
“Keeping me company.”
“Oh.”
“Want me to tuck you in?”
“Okay.”
Van stood, knocking the blanket away, and scooped up his half-brother to carry him off to bed. Anthony laid his head on Van’s shoulder. My heart expanded just a little bit more, seeing this side of Van.
I finished my drink and anticipated Van’s return. When I leaned forward to place the empty can on the coffee table, my movement jostled Van’s phone next to me on the couch. The phone lit up, showing his lock screen—a picture of Van, Max, and Caroline in the hot tub at Van’s house, a stunning view of the greenbelt behind them. Caroline wore a tiny floral bikini and had a spring break tan. Max’s pale, freckled arm was slung around her, curving Caroline into his body. He was looking into the camera, smiling. Caroline was glancing toward Van, on her other side. Van was laughing and saying something to the person taking the photo. Most likely Wilson.
“What are you doing here?” Van’s fourteen-year-old brother Adam stood in the doorway, his lip curled. He looked identical to Kevin and already his body was thickening.
I didn’t know the correct way to answer, when luckily Van saved me. He showed up and pushed Adam aside. “Go to bed,” he said dismissively. Adam bumped into the wall, sending a picture frame nearly crashing to the ground. Van swiftly caught it with one hand.
“You are in so much trouble.”
“Go to bed,” Van said more loudly.
His brother sneered at him. He sauntered away, disappearing down the Saltillo-tiled hallway.
“I should go.”
“No!” Van said, insistent. “No one is going to get mad that you were here.”
Because I was nonthreatening. I wasn’t really a girl in any of their minds.
“He reminds me of Kevin,” I said, gesturing with my chin to where Van’s younger brother had just been.
“Exactly. He’s his mini-me.” Van sounded distracted.
“I’d be careful of him, Van. He’s definitely going to report on you to Kevin.”
“Don’t worry,” Van said, covering us with the blanket again and picking up the TV remote. “Kevin can’t touch me.”
Van’s hand lingered on the remote but he didn’t turn on the TV.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It just occurred to me—remember I told you how, that night, I thought Wilson pushed me back in the house? And there was broken glass? What if I went over there and looked for glass on the floor? Then I’d finally know if I was in the house that night.”
“But there could just be broken glass from the break-ins.”
Van shrugged. “In my memory or dream, my recollection, Wilson pushed me from the patio down the hallway. I could look for something there.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “You really want to sneak back inside the house?”
Van was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke slowly and directly, like he wanted me to understand. “Sometimes I think everyone is acting completely normal and sometimes I think they’re acting like something is up. Caroline was angry and now she’s not. I hate that feeling of not knowing what’s real and what’s in my head. I’m looking for anything about that night. Or something that will help me let it go. I think about it way too much.”
I realized that even though Van had seemed in a good mood every night we’d spent together, his deep anxiety had always been just beneath the surface. “I get it. Okay. When should we go?”
At my use of “we,” Van’s lips broke into a small smile, one corner hinting upward. He glanced upstairs to where his brothers slept. “Soon.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUNDAY, APRIL 10
After the rains, the next day was crisp and beautiful. Sunday was my mom’s day off and it was a lovely spring evening. It was new to not look forward to my mom’s night off. It had always been my favorite day of the week.
Maybe it was because I felt guilty lying at my neurology appointment on Friday after a short lecture from the doctor on the importance of being honest about my symptoms. My mom had stroked my ponytail while the doctor went through a checklist. Any sleep disturbances? Headaches? Any concentration or memory complaints? I’d said no each time and passed his tests with flying colors.
Tonight, my mom and I ate our frozen dinners together in the big, empty kitchen and she announced she was going to pick up an extra shift. I started to tell her she was crazy, that she needed to have a life, that now I’d really never see her, but then I stopped talking. It was because of the cost of my accident.
If I could go back in time and jump farther out … I knew my mom would never want me to feel ashamed but I had trouble looking at her after that. I felt less guilty about lying at the doctor. I didn’t want her to worry and it was my job to get back to diving. Especially when she made so many sacrifices for me to do it.
My mom began clearing our dinner. “Hey, what movie do you want to watch tonight? Or we could start a series?” My mom’s blue eyes were happily expectant and her face was relaxed for once.
“Oh, Mom—I’m sorry. I have to finish an essay for Spanish. I should have worked on it all weekend.”
She glanced over her shoulder at me as she started washing dishes in the sink. “But it’s our thing. You can’t start flaking on me!” she teased.
“Never.” I meant to give her a quick half hug on my way up to my room. My mom surprised me by turning around in my arms. She gave me a long, firm hug, holding her soapy hands away from me. I relaxed into her briefly, wishing I could give her my weight and not worry about being so self-sufficient. Instead, I pulled away first, smiled brightly and headed upstairs.
Coach Mike had texted: Hey kiddo, how was your appointment on Friday? You ready to do this thing? What do you think of the recovery plan I sent you? Ready to start wading in? My stomach pinched. In his mind, the resting period was over. Mike wasn’t going to baby me anymore. Tomorrow. I’d get on top of it tomorrow.
At 1 A.M., my phone came alive in my hand.
Ready?
What was I doing? Helping a friend by breaking into a house? This crush was hopeless and it was even more of an unhealthy obsession now that I was spending time with him.
I typed that my mother was home, that I couldn’t get out. Her sleep schedule was so off that I knew she would have trouble falling asleep. Then I erased it.
* * *
We met in the shadows of the home deepest in the cul-de-sac, the farthest down the block from our two houses. After almost having a heart attack from sneaking out for the first time in my life, I couldn’t believe Van did it every night. I had expected my mother to appear at any moment and catch me. But her door stayed shut and I kept going. There was still the matter of getting back in. My heart was calming but the adrenaline was still coursing.
“Mary Seitzman’s window looks right into the yard. Maybe we wait until she’s at her dad’s?” Van seemed reluctant.
“I think she’s there tonight. She goes on Saturdays and Sundays. What are you scared of?” I asked, hands on hips, staring directly at him.
Van gave me an Isn’t it obvious? look.
; I realized I was standing and sounding exactly like my coach. I smiled to myself. Some things were drilled into you.
I softened. “I don’t mean that in a mean way—okay, maybe a little—but what’s up? Really.”
Van didn’t break eye contact. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared to remember.”
“No matter what, it will help you move forward. The only way out is through.”
“Sometimes there’s not a way through. What happens stays with you.”
I didn’t like that sentiment. I’d been taught to focus on what was ahead of me.
“Okay.” Van stared at the house, sizing it up like they were enemies.
“We can’t stay for long. I’m worried about my mom catching me.”
“Let me walk you home, then. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“No. That’s not what I meant. It’s fine. Come on.” I had déjà vu, recalling all the times I’d once said Come on, Van when he’d wanted to hang back.
“This isn’t you daring me to try some stupid skate trick. This is breaking and entering.”
“Van, I won’t let anything happen to you.” It slipped out but I meant it. I’d always been the fearless one.
I thought he would think I was mocking him. Instead, Van smiled at my use of his name. “Okay, Ingrid.”
Van walked ahead of me back onto the sidewalk, out of the shadows. I followed, having to take quick steps to keep up with his long, fast strides. Van noticed and slowed his pace.
The temperature was precipitously dropping, an irrational dip in the April Texas weather. “Let me give you my sweatshirt,” Van whispered.
“I’m good.”
“Here!” He unzipped it and thrust it at me. I swiftly put on the gray hoodie from Van’s old sleepaway camp and was wrapped in his scent.
We took the gate on the opposite side from my house, next to Mary Seitzman’s. It opened smoothly. We cut through bristly weeds that had grown up tall in the pea gravel and lined the path leading to the wide backyard. Van edged around two lawn mowers pushed up against the side of the brick house. I was surprised no one had taken those, too.
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