“On what?”
“Just stuff,” she said, echoing my words. “Life stuff.” But there was the tiniest crack of a smile on her face, and I knew she was hinting at something more.
“Riley…” I said, frowning at her.
“What?” she asked, shrugging and faking innocence. “All I’m saying is that you’re too busy worrying about the future. Sometimes, you just gotta feel.”
***
Riley’s mother picked her up after breakfast. I stood on the front porch and waved until their car disappeared at the end of the drive, but instead of going back inside, I took the wooden steps down onto the front lawn. The fresh spring air was refreshing, so I followed a gravel path that wrapped around the side of the house into the backyard. I was heading in the direction of the tree house, a place I’d wanted to check out ever since Cole pointed it out during the tour of the ranch.
As I neared the oak tree, I realized just how tall it was and how far the branches stretched out in every direction. A canopy of green above me created a pool of shade from the sun. I took the time to count the number of wooden planks nailed into the trunk—there were twelve in all. The house itself looked neglected, and I wondered when one of the Walter boys had used it last. Probably not for a long time, I thought. It would be the perfect place to hide out.
Placing my hands on the wooden step above my head, I started to climb carefully, not wanting to get a splinter. When I reached the top, I pushed open the trapdoor in the floor, and its hinges screeched.
“Jackie?” someone asked as I poked my head up through the floor.
Startled, I let out a scream and my foot slipped. There was a flutter in my stomach as I lost my balance, but my hand shot out and caught the top rung of the ladder before I crashed to the ground.
“Give me your hand,” Alex said, his face appearing above me through the hole. I reached toward him, and he gripped my wrist, yanking me up into the safety of the tree house. We both collapsed onto the floor, chests heaving.
“I almost fell out of the tree,” I said in disbelief.
“And I almost died of a heart attack,” he replied. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” I gasped, still out of breath. My heart was pounding so hard that my chest hurt. “I didn’t know anyone was up here.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Being curious,” I said. “I’ve never been in a tree house before.”
My heart was finally starting to slow down, and I had a chance to take in my surroundings. The small room was washed in calm, green shade, and despite its lack of air-conditioning, the foliage outside kept the space cool. There were two tiny windows, one of which had a telescope screwed into the sill.
On the wall was what looked like a hand-drawn map of the ranch, but the imagination of a child had clearly created it. The pool was called Poison Lagoon, the Walters’ house was the Black Fortress, and the tree house was Woodland Sanctuary. A plastic toy sword was leaning in the corner, and small crates for sitting were arranged around the floor.
“Never?” Alex asked. He propped himself up onto his elbows to get a better look at me.
“I’m from New York City, remember?”
“Don’t you have trees there?” he joked.
“There’s a potted bamboo tree in our lobby,” I said, still examining the map on the wall. “But I don’t think it would make much of a tree house.” Underneath the drawing of the waterfall, I could barely make out the scribble of words: Mermaid’s Cove. A treasure chest was colored onto the sand with jewels dripping out over the edge.
“It’s so strange to think that you didn’t have a backyard,” Alex said. “I mean, I practically lived outside when I was a kid. My dad helped me build this when I was eight.”
“Even if I did have a backyard, it wouldn’t have mattered,” I said, reaching for the plastic sword. I scooped it out of the corner and swished it in the air. “My dad wasn’t much of a handyman.”
“He was a businessman, right?” Alex asked.
Lowering the toy, I tilted my head to the side so I could get a better look at him. Alex was the first Walter to ask me a question about my family. As I stared at him, his entire body went rigid when he realized his mistake. Instead of being sympathetic, he seemed uncomfortable, more so than me, and for some strange reason that put me at ease.
“It’s okay,” I told him before he tried to apologize.
He didn’t reply for a moment, and I thought at first that he was going to ignore me. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.
“Alex,” I said, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “I can tell by the way you won’t look at me that you feel awkward—about my family.”