Gavin took a step back, grateful that the wall was there to catch him.
Dhaval began to feed the bills into the machine, distracted. “Actually, I know my mom answered some questions she had about blessing a house. She’s even been to your place.”
Gavin’s attention snapped to him, eyes wide. “The what now?”
“The blessing,” Dhaval said, looking over his shoulder at Gavin. “I only know about this stuff because Grandma is always talking about it, but Vastu Shastra says all places are home to souls or spirits or whatever, and you have to pray and cleanse a space before you can live or even move stuff in. I know you guys were already living there before the blessing. If you ask my mom, she’ll say that’s bad juju.”
Dhaval typed in the number of his selection and bent to retrieve a granola bar. Holding it up, he used it to point to his chest. “I have no idea what’s going on here. I feel like this. . .” He looked to the side, breath coming out choppy and uneven. “Honestly? I feel like none of this can be real. But. . . I trust Delilah. I saw her that night after she thought it was following you guys everywhere. I saw her wake up thinking her sweater was possessed.”
“Her. . . what?”
As if he hadn’t heard this, Dhaval continued. “I mean, I don’t know you that well, but we’ve been in school together since kindergarten and you seem weird but not insane. So maybe that is what happened. Maybe your mom did some crazy half-assed blessing in this super-old house and it all went haywire. Maybe your mom brought your house to life.”
Dhaval didn’t look entirely convinced, but Gavin’s blood ran like ice in his veins. He hoped he was imagining the way the floor seemed to shift beneath his feet. He wanted to look outside and see if the trees had turned their leaves toward the windows, if the air had grown still, quieter so House could hear what Dhaval was saying.
Everything started to click into place, and Gavin was pretty sure he’d never been more afraid in his life. The memory he hated to revisit came flooding back to him, of the day he’d first found the car in the garage.
He could still hear the birds, smell the scent of dust and old gasoline when he’d finally been tall enough and strong enough to lift open the garage door. He could still see the car, feel the satin of the paint under his fingers, the softness of the leather.
And if he closed his eyes, he could remember the feeling of excitement, the thundering beat of his heart when he’d opened the door and sat inside. He would drive this someday, he’d thought, stretching his arms to wrap his hands around the steering wheel. Gavin had adjusted the seat and, of course, the knobs on the radio. He’d wiped a layer of dust from the dash and then looked up, tilting the rearview mirror low enough that he could see through the grimy back window.
But that’s when his heart had halted in his chest, his pulse tripping in his throat. For a few moments it was as if the birds had stopped chirping outside; the leaves had quit shaking. It was so quiet he could hear the frantic thump of his pulse in his ears; and he’d had to close his eyes tight, shake his head to clear it before he could look again. Because there in the backseat was a car seat—his car seat; he was sure of it. It was dusty and forgotten, and an old bunny sat lopsided as it waited for someone to come back and retrieve it.
Because his mom had disappeared.
Gavin hadn’t thought about that car seat and what it meant for years, and as he looked up, past Dhaval’s worried expression and out into the waiting room, Gavin realized he wouldn’t get a chance to think about what it meant now, either.
Delilah’s parents were here.
Chapter Twenty-Two