And of course I must, we must. You can’t put a thing like that out into the world and expect it to dissipate in the air. It has substance now. I’ve sucked him in, and now I have to prove my theory: that there were parts to Caleb that neither of us saw. Something neither of us knew. Secrets lingering just underneath the surface, hidden in plain sight.
I have a key now, I realize. The one that somehow ended up in the attic space. I can get in his house on my own. Undetected.
But I don’t fully trust Max’s surveillance techniques, which is why we end up waiting for the dryer to finish, and then check the house on foot first, walking around the block, looking for Eve’s car.
“I told you,” he says. But I am not one who can accept what I am told without question any longer.
Max watches the street as I slide the key into the lock, and I imagine Caleb standing in my place. The lock turns, and the feeling reverberates through the metal, into my bones.
“Hello?” I call as I push the door open, but Max grabs my arm suddenly, and I fall silent.
“Just listen,” he whispers. So I do: the grandfather clock, counting the seconds; the hum of the refrigerator; our steps that seem to echo louder on the hardwood floor in the entrance. The house feels so different without the area rugs under the furniture, and the artwork off the walls. All that remains are the hard surfaces of the floors and walls, with a smattering of furniture.
“I can’t believe they’re really doing this,” Max whispers.
They’re moving. They’re leaving. And they’re taking the truth with them. I feel an urgent pull upstairs, as if it all might slip through my fingers at any moment. As if everything I told Max hinges on a certain moment in time. Max locks the front door behind him, and the noise resounds.
I take the stairs first, two at a time, like Caleb would do. My hands plant against the walls on the way to the third floor, and I hear Max breathing on the steps behind me. The door is closed—dark blue, in the darkened hall.
I push the door open with a creak, and Caleb’s room is too bright now, without the window cover, in the noonday sun. The glare hits the bare surfaces of his desk and the bedside table. Specks of dust hover in the streams of light, and I know it’s me who has set them loose, who has shaken them out, disturbing the balance of this room.
The boxes are gone.
I don’t look at the bed beside the window, the backpack in the corner. It’s practically all that’s left.
I open the closet door, nervous that the bookcase in front of the door will be moved, or that my memory will have betrayed me, but it’s there: a small door, hidden behind the shelves.
Max stands behind me, unmoving, unspeaking. I open the door, and have to duck through the opening. I stand once I’m through, and Max follows. He pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans to use as a flashlight.
I step once, and the beam creaks under my feet. “Mia’s room is right below here. I could hear her and Eve talking when I was inside. Mia says she heard footsteps up here two days after Caleb’s car went over the bridge.”
Somewhere, I’ve stopped saying died. I say his car went over the bridge, which, I’m realizing, is the only thing we’re truly sure of. The police declared him dead because he went missing under peril. Because there was once a man who disappeared in much the same way, decades earlier, who didn’t wash up to shore for months later, and there was no point dragging it out that long, and no guarantee Caleb’s body would ever be found, either.
“Max?” I ask. “You know Caleb inherited that money from his dad, right?”
He nods, looking around the space.
“What happens to it now?”
He raises his eyes to mine, the wheels processing alongside my own. He doesn’t answer. I thought it must go to his mother, or to Mia, but I heard Eve say they had to leave—that they couldn’t afford this place anymore. I almost say as much, but then his eyes narrow, distracted. Max is taller than me, and he sees something I do not. His hand reaches for a higher beam, and he pulls down a folded red rectangle.
I can feel the red, folded rectangle in my hand, even though Max is currently holding it. I know there are grooves on one side, from when Caleb tried to dislodge a stubborn collection of rocks from his tire tread, but the rocks ended up getting the best of the knife instead.
—
It was August, and Caleb was back. Caleb told me he’d gotten home from his trip the night before, but he hadn’t answered his phone the next day. He said he’d be free, though, so I figured his phone needed to be charged after returning from vacation.
I had Julian drive me over on his way out with friends. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw Caleb in his driveway, hose dragged around from the side of the house, working on his car. If he was out here, he probably hadn’t heard his phone, anyway.
Julian idled at the edge of the road, but Caleb didn’t look up. “You sure he’s expecting you?” he asked.
I wondered. Everything about Caleb recently felt disconnected. But with Julian watching, I wanted to pretend everything was still fine. So I rolled my eyes and exited the car.
He was crouched down beside his back tires, working at something with a knife.
I called, “Hey there,” when I stepped out of the car, but he hadn’t turned around. It was then I noticed he had headphones in. I tapped his shoulder, and he jumped, spinning around, the red Swiss Army knife falling from his hand.
He quickly pulled the earbuds out and stood, resting his hand on the back of his car. “Jesus, Jessa,” he said, “you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He picked up his knife, then noticed Julian still waiting and raised his hand in greeting.
His shoulders were pulled tight. The engine was grating. Everything was tension personified.
Caleb had a lot on his plate, with Sean gone, and I’d felt guilty about my time with Max while he was away. Part of me wanted to just tell him what happened—or what almost happened. But I didn’t want to drag Max into it. Whatever was happening between Caleb and me, it had nothing to do with Max.
Seeing his face, I knew it wasn’t the time.
“Car trouble?” I asked, trying to defuse the moment.
“Tire trouble,” Caleb answered, running the side of his sneaker against the ruined tread. Then he shrugged, turning away. “Whatever, it can wait.” He placed a hand on my back, gently leading me into his house. Julian didn’t pull away until we were safely inside.
Caleb still had the Swiss Army knife in his hand, his fist closed around it.
“Wow, like the Boy Scouts,” I said. I was too bright, too cheerful, trying to make up for the terrible mistake I’d almost made, which he knew nothing about.
“You know what they say,” he said, tossing me the closed knife as he took the steps up two at a time. “Always be prepared.”
I laughed, and he called, “Be right back,” and it was then that I noticed the footprints he left behind on the wood—wet, and grimy, like the dirt in his wheels. I texted back and forth with Hailey while waiting.
“Boo.” Mia jumped out from behind the kitchen wall, and I really did jump then, my heart racing.
“Mia, you scared me to death.”