They left not too much later. Delilah was absorbed with everything around them, but still so self-conscious in front of it, wondering how much it could hear, or see. Wondering, too, if it saw through her directly to her not-so-innocent intentions where Gavin was concerned. She’d spent a good fraction of the time they were there imagining where they would kiss when they spent time together at his house.
He didn’t say anything when they left; he gave a small pat to the trunk of the cherry tree before leading Delilah out the back gate and onto the street. Back on the ordinary sidewalk, she didn’t think she would ever see the world the same way again. How many homes were like this? How many trees had the same consciousness as the ones in Gavin’s yard?
Just as she pondered this, his pocket buzzed. She looked up at his face in surprise as he seemed to hesitate for a moment before digging into his pocket.
“You have a cell phone?”
“Yeah. Of course.” The way he looked at her, she felt as though she’d grown an eyeball on her forehead.
“Did you buy it?”
Gavin held up a finger, asking her to wait as he answered. He didn’t answer like she would, with a “hello,” or a “hi,” or a “This is Gavin.” He just said, “I’ll be back by nine.” And then hung up.
“You have a curfew?”
“Of course I do,” he said, laughing.
“But if the house knows where you are all the time, why would you need to tell it when you’ll be back?”
“It can’t always see me unless I’ve taken something with me that’s. . . possessed.” He laughed when he said this, giving her a little apologetic smile. “Or unless it follows me in the grass, or in a wire, which. . .” He paused. “I’m not sure it’s ever done that. It’s weird to find the language for all of this. I mean, sometimes I know when House is worried, and it leaves a small object at the door for me to carry. Like on days I have a big exam. Or when I had my job interview and it knew I was nervous.” He smiled down at her. “But usually when I leave, I’m just. . . by myself.”
Delilah nodded, thinking about what he’d said and how much freedom he really had, in a weird way.
And nine o’clock felt like an eternity. Delilah looked at her watch. Did she really have five more hours with him? A blur of images flew through her thoughts like a stack of photos being flipped through his long, knobby fingers. Hands held, lips to palm, mouth moving up her wrist, kissing her chin, her lips, her eyelids. The smooth glide of his tongue on hers and a quiet exhale from her mouth into his.
But no, she didn’t have five hours. She was lucky if she had two, because her own curfew was sunset, and the sky was already sagging: the dim gray-blue of abbreviated winter days.
Gavin slipped the phone back in his pocket and gazed at her. His eyes were so dark and shiny, like her favorite black marbles when she was little. She used to pretend she found them while on safari in Africa, hunting for magical roots and fruit.
“I work because it’s nice to have some independence, but also there’s always money in the jar.”
Delilah blinked into focus. “What?”
He smiled, as if catching her daydreaming about his eyes and the adventures he saw for them behind the dark, dark irises. “In the pantry. There’s a jar of money; it’s always full. I don’t know how, but I never run out.” When she still didn’t respond, he reminded her with a patient smile, “It’s how I got a cell phone.”
“Is the jar alive?”
“I assume so.” He shrugged, shoulders pointing to the clouds and then relaxing again. “I don’t have much of a relationship with it other than to get some money when I need it.”
“Sounds pretty typically teenager,” she said, and grinned.
His smile stuttered and then twisted into a full curve, lighting up his entire face. Delilah thought she’d lose her mind or melt into the sidewalk if he smiled at her like that much longer.
“I haven’t been called ‘typical’ before.”
“I guess you’re not, except with the money jar.”
“Have you?” he asked.
“Sure, lots of times. Maybe not with that word, but with others—like sweet, or quiet, or well behaved.”