Greg’s enthusiasm is almost too big for his body to contain. At this moment, I can see heredity in play. He’s just like Tucker. “We can go now,” he says. “If you want.”
We bike from the pizza place to the house on Chesapeake and enter through the front door. In daylight it’s even prettier than in the dark, and the weathered gray shingles, even though they’re new, keep the house looking like the one that’s been standing in the same spot for decades. As we kick off our shoes in the front hall, there’s no evidence my mom’s even been here.
“So the choice is yours,” Greg says, as we make our way toward the great room and the stairs to the second floor. “We can do the whole house tour first and save your room for last. Or start with your room.”
I’m on the lookout for stubbed-out cigarettes or crumpled fast-food bags—classic signs of Mom—but relax when there’s not even a sign of leftover ash on the kitchen counter. “My bedroom, definitely.”
Following him up the stairs, I feel my own excitement build inside me like the fizz in a soda can, even though I’ve already seen his surprise.
“Ready?” He opens the door—
—and I see it.
The hardcover shell of the book is lying open in the middle of the floor with all the pages torn out and scattered around the room. Along the spine of the book, nothing but ragged little page stumps remain, and the thought of Mom, here in this room, deliberately destroying a book that was meant for me, hurts as badly as anything I can remember.
“What the hell—?” Greg goes into the room and squats down to pick up the pages as I stand rooted in the doorway, my hand clamped over my mouth, fighting to hold in the secrets clawing their way up my throat.
He looks over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes so sad. He knows. Of course he knows. Who else would do such a thing? “What, um—” He clears his throat. “Do you know anything about this, Callie?”
Anger throbs under my skin like a pulse. I could tell him the truth. We could find her. Turn her over to the police. But it’s just a book. She could have broken all the windows or damaged something that might have hurt Tucker or Joe instead of just me. I shake my head and swallow all the words but one. “No.”
A tear tracks down my face. I pretend it’s not there as he asks again. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“This was supposed to be for you.” He tucks all the torn pages back into the cover and stands. “So you would know—the only thing I’ve ever wanted is for you to feel at home.”
“I do.” He doesn’t know I’ve seen his note.
His face shows everything as he looks at me for a long time. The uneasy shift of his jaw, the lingering sadness in his eyes, the confusion of his eyebrows as they pull together … there’s so much more he wants to say as we stand here in deadlock. The tear seeps into the corner of my mouth and I swear I can taste the sorrow.
“Do you?” Greg places the ruined book on the window seat and crosses the room.
He wraps his arms around me, and as I hear the steady, reassuring thump of his heartbeat beneath his T-shirt, I feel as if my own chest still might crack open and pour the truth at his feet.
“I wish—” The words come out as a sigh as Greg releases me. There’s one small damp spot on his shirt and I can’t look at it. “You can trust me with anything, Callie. I wish I could make you believe that.”
Even in the earliest of my memories, he’s been there. I do trust him.
Just not where my mother is concerned.
“So, do you, um—do you like your room?” There’s a snuffed-candle feeling between us and I can hear it in Greg’s voice.
The window seat doubles as a doorway to the balcony outside and I can picture myself here on a rainy day with a book in my hands. The skylights overhead drench the room in sunshine. And the wall-length bookcase will hold more books than I can even imagine owning. “It’s perfect.”
His smile lacks the deep creases that usually bracket his mouth like happy parentheses. “We’ll have to go pick out furniture soon. If you’re interested.”
“I am.”
I mean it, but I see the doubt in Greg’s eyes as he turns to lead me downstairs for the rest of the tour.
My cell phone vibrates in my jeans pocket as I ring up a wool sponge, a pair of sunglasses, and a pair of tickets for the nearly full two o’clock tour boat.
“Thanks,” I say, bagging up the purchases for a lady wearing a Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt. As Theo predicted, the stream of tourists has grown as the holidays approach. Schools are out, so families are arriving, as well as the snowbirds, who will stay until spring. “And enjoy the tour.”
When she’s gone, I dig out my phone and find a text message from Alex.
On my way home. Even though we have plans for tomorrow, I’d really like to see you tonight.
I catch myself smiling and glance around the shop to make sure Kat isn’t looking, but she’s busy talking a group of teenage girls into buying matching hemp bracelets so I type my reply.
Sounds good.
Business is steady for the rest of the afternoon, and Kat and I take turns behind the register. It’s not my idea. If I had my way, I’d let her do all the selling, but Theo has us on a rotation schedule that forces me to interact with the customers. Talking to them hasn’t gotten any less difficult, but selling is easier now that it’s the holiday shopping season. And Kat’s suggestion of pairing a wool sponge with a bar of soap and calling it a “Greek bath set”—which earned her the Theo Seal of Approval—is the most popular seller of the day.
“So, are we still on for shopping?” She comes up beside me at the checkout counter and gives me a little hip check as I’m ringing the final sale. Theo has locked the side doors and is waiting at the front to let the last customers out. “I’ve been trying to come up with something really good for Nick, you know? Like maybe Devil Rays tickets or a Kennedy Space Center tour for his big present, but I was thinking tonight we could look for stocking-stuffer-type gifts. A DVD or a nice shirt or something.”
I hesitate as I slide the till closed, trying to come up with a good reason why I can’t go tonight.
“What?” Kat asks. “Do you not want to go now?”
It occurs to me that I could just tell her no, but she’s been talking about shopping all week and I don’t want to disappoint her.
“No, I mean—I do, but Greg decided we should do a family dinner and then go see the progress on the new house. It was kind of a last-minute thing.”
All I’ve been doing lately is lying, and I’m sick of myself for doing it, but it doesn’t stop me. I hold my breath, watching her face as she removes the contents of the till. Hoping she doesn’t know that Greg and I went to the house last night.
“Oh, that will be cool.” She stuffs the cash and credit-card receipts in a zipper bag. “Give the boys a hug from me, and take pictures of your new room, okay? I’m dying to see it.”
Her blessing only makes me feel worse.
Someone is speaking Greek in a low, hard voice as I approach Alex’s boat that night. I stop, hanging back beside a nearby tree, watching the two dark shapes standing on deck. The taller of them is Alex, the other barrel-chested and short. His father. I can’t understand the words Nikos is saying, but the anger is clear in the way he alternates between shaking his finger in Alex’s face and smacking the side of his son’s head with the flat of his hand. Alex’s voice is absent in the conversation. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect the blows. He just stands there—his shoulders folded forward and his head lowered in defeat—absorbing the abuse. My fists curl into themselves and I stop myself from rushing to his defense, because this is Alex’s story—one he hasn’t told me—and I’ve come uninvited into the middle of it. I wonder if I should look away, give him his privacy, but I don’t. I watch, my heart aching for him.
It’s over when Nikos stalks off into the night. In his anger, he doesn’t see me, but Alex does. He steps off the boat and we sit together on the bench.
“So, how much of that did you see?” He looks at the boat, at the river beyond it, but not at me.