Gavin’s throat grew tight; his eyes burned with sadness and loss.
Maybe someday, a few years down the road, he’d be able to come home at Christmas and be with this unlikely family again. Maybe with some distance, House would understand what it had done and how it had broken everything that had once been so easy.
It had stalked them at the park.
It had terrorized and hurt Delilah.
It had trapped him inside for two days.
And Gavin suspected, deep down, that House was still hiding the truth about what had happened to his mother.
Gavin knew without hesitation that he would follow Delilah anywhere; she was the love of his life. His heart broke as he stared at the familiar and magical spread in front of him—enormous lemon muffins and fluffy scrambled eggs, plump wild berries and House-made peach jam. He knew once he left, he most likely wouldn’t—and couldn’t—ever come back.
“Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Gavin said, picking at some fruit. “I know I’ve been sort of off lately, but I got an e-mail from Delilah last night. Before work.” He took a bite and tried to ignore the way the room cooled ever so slightly, bowing at the edges like a breath being held. “She got accepted to a school in Massachusetts. She’s not supposed to leave until August, but she thinks she might go early. I don’t know.. . . I think it might be a good idea.”
House grew still for a moment, the leaves on the tree outside the window unfurling in his direction, like a hand cupped around an ear, waiting. “She even suggested I go with her, but does she not know me at all?” he said, hoping he sounded angry, brokenhearted. “I’m not leaving. This is my home. You’re my family.. . . I couldn’t ever go.” Meaningful pause. “I wouldn’t want to.”
He was actually a little surprised at how easy the lie was and how willing House was to accept it. Even Dining Room grew warm. The lights brightened everywhere, and the hands on Grandfather Clock began to spin wildly.
When Gavin slipped out the door fifteen minutes later, the key was still tucked inside his pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Her
Gavin arrived late. He quickly changed into the clothes Delilah had left in a bag in his locker, and his long, loping strides carried him through the door and down the aisle to his seat. Silence fell over the room as Mr. Harrington stopped speaking while he got settled.
“Thanks for joining us, Mr. Timothy.”
Gavin brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry I’m late.”
“By all means, let us run on your schedule.”
With a tiny apologetic smile, Gavin bent to pull his tattered copy of Ivanhoe out of his backpack. He glanced up at Delilah, who unlike the rest of the class, hadn’t yet turned her attention back to the front of the room, and the look in his eyes grew heated. “Hey, you.”
They hadn’t seen each other all weekend, and Delilah wanted to draw up a petition to make that amount of time apart illegal. Had Gavin changed? Had he been hurt? She worried about him being in the house alone and tried to catalogue even the smallest changes, but she couldn’t seem to make it beyond the way he was looking at her.
“Hi.” She shivered, turning back in her seat and sitting ramrod straight.
She knew they were trying not to anger the house further by spending time together, and she didn’t think she’d ever take for granted again having Gavin back in school. But sitting in front of him was a torture. Especially since once Mr. Harrington started lecturing again, Gavin was leaning so far forward in his seat Delilah could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Lunch?”
“No,” he whispered. “Before then.” The words came out as punctuated spots of warm air on her skin.
She waited until Mr. Harrington turned to the board before angling slightly toward him to reply. “Okay. You okay?”
“Music room.”
? ? ?
They skipped third period entirely.
Safely in the portable, he said, “I found a key.”
“Do you have it with you?”