chapter NINE
Everything was quiet when I walked in the door. And dark—the kitchen light was on, but that was it.
“Echo?” I called out, but there was no answer. I went around the corner and looked into her room. Empty.
“Chris.”
I turned to see Sheila standing at the edge of the living room. She sounded relieved to see me. As I switched on the hallway light, she picked up the suitcase by her side and stepped toward me. She was wearing a coat and had a backpack slung over her shoulder.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m going to Aunt Marion’s.”
“What?” I cried. I suppose I shouldn’t have acted so pissed off. After all, I’d been planning on taking off myself not twenty minutes ago. But I was just a visitor. She was the mother. She wasn’t supposed to leave.
“I can’t take it anymore, Chris. I need a break. It’s just for a few days.”
“Right,” I said. Judging by the size of her suitcase, it looked like it would be more than a few days.
“I left a note for your father on the table. For when he comes back.”
“Great, can’t wait,” I snapped. “And what about Echo?” I asked. “You’re not taking her with you?”
“Echo has school. I can’t just pull her out,” she murmured. “She’ll be fine. You’ll take good care of her. I know you will.”
That’s your responsibility, not mine, I wanted to say to her. Then again, it’s not like she’d been doing a bang-up job to begin with. “Where is Echo?” I asked.
Sheila glanced around. “She’s downstairs, I think. In the basement,” she said. She looked away for a second. “You know, in her corner.”
“Right,” I said. I still couldn’t believe it.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I just need some time. I’ve got to get it together, and your father…” Her eyes began to fill up with tears.
“When I said ‘do something,’ this wasn’t what I meant.”
She didn’t answer for a moment. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said at last. She stepped up close to me. “Good luck with your game on Saturday”, she said. “I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Who cares about a stupid game,” I whispered.
She stepped back. I could tell she was a little taken aback, but she didn’t say anything.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” she said, and headed out the door. Then she was gone.
I guess human mothers aren’t so different from doppelganger mothers after all, I thought, watching as her headlights backed out of the driveway.
“Echo?” I called out from the top of the stairs.
“Down here.”
I headed down the stairs and looked in between the sheets. There they all were, just like last time—Echo, the bunnies, and the bears, all seated around the table in their little chairs. Except Echo, of course. She was too big. Teacups and saucers were neatly placed before every member of the party. A plate of real cookies occupied the center of the table.
“There you are,” she said, as if she’d been expecting me. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive. Look, everyone, Chris is back.”
She got up slowly and moved a few of the animals aside, adjusting their place settings, and went back to her seat at the other end of the table. I sat down at the spot she’d cleared.
“See, Mr. Wimple,” she said to the bear at her right, “I told you he’d be here.” She looked up at me. “Everyone was worried when you didn’t show up last time,” she explained. “Would you like some tea?” She offered the kettle.
“Um, sure. Why not,” I said. I took the extra cup near me on the table and held it up. She pretended to pour, then put the kettle back down.
“Mom’s left,” I said.
Echo nodded. “I know. I looked in and saw her packing.”
“You don’t seem too concerned,” I said.
Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then she shrugged again. “She’ll be back,” she whispered. “She always comes back.”
So this isn’t the first time, I thought. Whether that was good or bad, I really couldn’t say.
“Would you like a cookie?” she asked. She reached forward and started to pick up the plate, then stiffened. I could see a wave of pain flash across her face. It was only for a second, but it cut right through me. Then she straightened up and handed me the plate. She must have seen me wince.
“I shouldn’t have spilled that milk,” she said.
“Just bad luck, that’s all,” I said, taking a cookie.
She nodded and went back to sipping from her cup.
“I’m sorry, Echo,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s just angry.”
It seemed like she didn’t even care. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.
“’Cause it’s just the way he gets sometimes. He can’t help it. He isn’t always like that, you know.”
I couldn’t understand why she would stick up for him. “I just wish it was me instead,” I murmured.
“I don’t,” she said. “I remember when I was little, when he used to hit you. Listening is worse.”
I don’t know why the revelation startled me so much. I mean, after all, why would Echo have been the only one? Still, I had to look away when she said it. Suddenly I felt worse than ever for what I’d done to Chris. To have a guy like Barry in your life, and then have someone like me come along. Awful. I didn’t know if she was right about the listening part, but after two nights of it, I had a hard time believing she was wrong.
“Don’t you hate him?” I said. “I know I do.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t say that, Chris. Please.”
“Well, it won’t happen again. I won’t let it. I promise,” I said.
As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake. Not just because of the whole involvement thing—though my mother, no doubt, would have been horrified at what I’d said—but also because I couldn’t back it up. I couldn’t be around forever. At some point Echo would be on her own. And because of me. Because I’d taken Chris—the one person in her life who might have been willing to protect her—out of the picture. On the other hand, it didn’t seem like he’d ever done anything to stop it. Maybe he couldn’t because it had happened to him, too. Maybe all he could do was escape with her into the basement, into this tidy little corner of the world where they could both forget about it.
So why did I say it? I guess because I meant it. Even someone like me, a killer, knew that what was going on was wrong. Yeah, I know my mother always said good and evil and right and wrong were just human fictions, but none of that mattered to me anymore. What was happening to Echo wasn’t a fiction. That, of course, was why I was a failure, but at that moment I didn’t care.
“You haven’t eaten your cookie yet,” Echo said. It was like she hadn’t even heard me. Maybe that was for the best.
I munched down one cookie and had another. I hadn’t finished my dinner and was feeling pretty hungry. For the next twenty minutes, I listened to Echo as she chatted with the animals. I piped in from time to time, like when she asked me a question on behalf of Mrs. Weatherby or something. But mostly I hung back, finishing the plate of cookies and admiring all of Echo’s drawings on the wall of the dancing bears and frogs and green hills. Finally I got up to go. I actually did have to study for a test on Macbeth tomorrow. “See you later, Echo,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle Dad in the morning.”
“Wait,” she said, struggling to her feet. She went over to the toy box, reached under it, and pulled out a pad of paper and a small box. She came back to the table and set everything in front of me. I opened the box. It was full of markers and crayons and colored pencils.
“You can’t go yet. You almost forgot,” she said.
“What?” I asked. A shiver ran down my back. She pointed to the pictures on the wall.
“You always make me one. After every time.”
So the pictures weren’t Echo’s. It was like the race car sheets all over again. Only worse. For a second my voice caught in the back of my throat.
“I think it’s time you drew one, Echo,” I finally managed to say. I didn’t want to be insensitive, but I’d never drawn anything in my life—nothing decent, anyway.
Echo paused for a second, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “But you have to tell me what to draw, just like I do with you.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said, going over to the pictures hanging on the wall. “How about a picture of Mr. Wimple and Mrs. Weatherby building a snowman,” I said. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. Besides, I’d always wanted to build a snowman.
“Okay,” she said. “But I’m going to put us in the picture too.”
“Good. We’ll all build one. A big one,” I said, looking over Chris’s pictures. I tried to imagine him sitting at the table where Echo was now, making those suns with a big yellow crayon for his kid sister. To be honest, they were pretty good drawings. Better than I could do, I’m sure.
A few minutes later, I looked over to see how Echo was coming along. She was an even better artist than Chris. There we were with the rabbit and the bear. The page was mostly white, what with the snow and all, but there were mountains in the background with little people skiing on them. And then there was something else.
“What are they doing here?” I asked, pointing to the two other people helping us with the snowman.
“That’s Mom and Dad,” she said. “I decided to have us on vacation. Daddy always said he wanted to go skiing in the mountains. So maybe we’ll go someday, right?”
“Sure,” I said.
When she finished, I hung the drawing up next to Chris’s. There were a lot of pictures on that wall. Too many.
We turned out the light and slowly went upstairs in the dark.