I watched her as she watched me; her gaze fell onto Cameron and then back to me. I noticed
all of these things, but not before noticing that Cameron’s arm had shot away from me as soon
as she had materialized. His jaw had clenched, snapping the beautiful, youthful features of his
face shut. When I met his eyes, I was frightened by the blank man who had taken his place once
again.
Spider had—somewhat gently—grabbed the girl by the arm, rerouting her back into the house.
Cameron chased after them, without a word or glance back. When they had vanished, Carly was
stilled. Her head was bent forward, her hair hiding her face. I shrugged out of my soaked towel
and wrapped myself in the one that Cameron had left behind. I sat on the edge of my long chair
with my back straight up and took a moment to get my voice back.
“Who was that?” I managed. There was panic in my voice, and I didn’t know why.
“That,” Rocco told me, “was Frances.” He said this with admiration. He said this as if it
were enough to satiate all the questions that were running through my head.
Rocco squinted while the little boy splashed water at him. “Superman,” his tiny voice
commanded, spread-eagle arms out. Rocco picked him up by the torso and flew him over his head
with a whoosh. The curly blond kid looked more like a cherub or a clip-winged Gabriel than a
Clark Kent. There was something familiar in his triumphant, devilish grin.
“And who’s this?” I tried to sound non-creepy and directed my forced smile in the child’s
general direction. But I was always awkward around kids, especially when I had been one of them.
The only kid I had ever known was my brother, who was seven when I was born and was already more
of a grown-up than anyone else I knew. I tended to ostracize myself from other kids when I was
forced to assimilate, positive that they could smell fear. They pounced on carrot-haired
oddballs like me all the time.
“This little guy is Danny,” Rocco said to me. He fell backward, letting Superman plunge into
the water. Daniel’s head popped back out, and he giggled while Rocco remained submerged.
“How old are you, Daniel?” There was that awkwardness again.
The kid did the other thing that kids tended to do around me: he completely ignored me. He
busied himself with dog-paddling around the pool, trying to sink Rocco’s submarine body. I
readjusted my towel and peeked at Carly. She hadn’t moved a muscle.
“He’s six,” she conveyed flatly. She then stood and walked into the pool house. A few seconds
later, Spider emerged from the patio doors, snuck a quick look around the pool, and kept going
into the pool house, banging the door so violently that one of the flower boxes on the
windowsill tumbled to the stone ground—petals, earth, and roots spilling over.
Rocco was heavily engaged in a new game of water wrestling, having finally found a partner he
could beat.
I waited two long seconds for Cameron to reappear too. He didn’t.
Curiosity edged my impatience, but jealousy made it boil over. Cameron was in the empty house
with the blonde mannequin, sans his arachnid chaperone. It was silly to be jealous. I barely
knew the girl. I barely knew Cameron. I had no claim or cause to hope. I was being silly. I was
being silly and completely ridiculous. So I snuck back into the house when Rocco was sunk, armed
with an excuse of needing a fresh towel if I was discovered.
Inside, the house was hushed. I could hear the wheezing of the night guards who were sleeping in
one of the basement rooms. Floorboards were slightly creaking upstairs, and voices were moving
about. Through the kitchen, down the upstairs hallway, the strained voices became strained
words. The door to the library was ajar. I crept toward it, the bottom of my naked feet sticking
to the hardwood floor.
“How much is it this time?” I heard Cameron coldly ask. I peeked in and saw him facing the
high shelves against the wall. Books were stacked at his feet. He was crouched in front of the
emptied third shelf and fiddled with the black wheel of a small metal door.
The unhidden safe opened, revealing a heap of paper bills inside. The woman—Frances—was
waiting behind him.
“Um, five thousand should do it.” Frances’s voice was seductive and unaffected. “Rent is due
next week.”
Cameron grabbed a stack of cash and very swiftly leafed through the bills. He stopped midway
through the stack, split it, and put the uncounted bills back in the safe. He slammed the metal
door shut and abruptly turned around with the remaining bills in hand. I threw myself—Indiana
Jones style—into Rocco’s room, landing on a pile of dirty clothes. I ducked behind his door
and sat on a mass of socks, underwear, shirts, a plate, a Victoria’s Secret magazine.
“Seems like the amounts get bigger every time I see you,” Cameron pointed out to Frances.
“I have a growing child to raise. Or have you forgotten that?”
There was a deep sigh. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”
“What-do-you-mean,” Frances put on. “Money. Like I said. Like always.”
“You could have just called Spider. He would have made arrangements to have it delivered to
you. It would have been more convenient.”