My mom looks up from behind the counter, confused. “I thought you were having pizza at Aisha’s.”
“I was, but . . .” My voice trails off. I take in her knotted fingers, the purse over her arm. “Is something wrong?”
Her forehead creases. “Do you think you could stay with Felicia while Aunt Elena takes Noah to the hospital?”
“What?” My eyes widen. I look around for my uncle, but don’t see him anywhere. “Where is he? Of course I will. Is he okay?”
She picks up the phone behind the register again. Dina hurries out of the kitchen balancing two trays, too busy to notice my anxious gaze. Most of the tables are full, typical for a Saturday night. Uncle Noah would normally be here making sure everything runs smoothly. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
“Sonia just walked in.” My mom pauses, setting her purse on the counter. “He is? Okay, don’t worry about Felicia, she’ll be right over.”
She hands me a set of keys as soon as she hangs up.
“I could run there faster.”
“Just take Dina’s car, okay?”
“What’s going on?”
She frowns. “He’s been feeling dizzy, having pain in his chest. He keeps telling Elena it’s nothing, but you know . . .”
I nod, clutching the keys and heading for the door. Noah isn’t exactly in tip-top shape, and my grandfather died young of a massive heart attack. She isn’t saying it, but I know it’s weighing on her mind.
“Sonia,” she calls after me. “Text when you get there—and when you’re on your way back.”
I don’t pause to argue. “I will.”
It’s after six by the time Elena gets Noah into the car and drives away. When I got to the house he looked pale and afraid, not at all like my strong, burly uncle, barking orders from behind the diner counter. Felicia and I play checkers until she’s ready for bed. I offer to read her a story, but she asks me to just sit with her until she falls asleep.
“Do you think Gretchen’s still around, like, watching things?” she asks.
“Like a ghost?” I think of Mrs. Meyer’s anxiety about Gretchen’s spirit being trapped here and a chill moves through me. I dig my hands into my pockets. “I don’t know . . . I guess she could be.”
“My dad said if anything happens to him or Mom, they’ll still watch over us.”
I pull the covers up closer around her. “Your dad’s at the hospital. He’s not going anywhere else tonight.”
“But do you think it’s possible?”
“What do you mean?”
“If someone dies, could they keep hanging around to see what happens?”
I don’t feel equipped to have this conversation, especially right now. “I guess a lot of people might want to . . .”
She turns her head, studying my face. “Would Gretchen have wanted to?”
I think a long time before answering. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Once Felicia’s breathing shifts to an even rhythm, I head into the kitchen to find my phone lighting up with texts on the counter. They go back hours.
Marcus 6:01 p.m. Thought you said no texting.
Marcus 6:02 p.m. Am I allowed to ask where we’re meeting?
Mom 6:32 p.m. Elena says you got there ok. I love you.
Aunt Elena 8:13 p.m. Noah ok, docs not sure what’s wrong . . . More tests.
Mom 8:20 p.m. Hanging in there?
Marcus 8:27 p.m. Hello?
Marcus 8:28 p.m. What did the sheriff tell you?
I dash off quick replies to my mom and Aunt Elena, letting them know everything’s fine, Felicia’s asleep, and I’m settling in to watch a movie. I do turn on the TV, but more out of a need to fill the silence than an actual desire to watch anything.
I text Marcus.
Change of plans. Meet tomorrow. Evil Bean.
My phone buzzes a few seconds later.
Not tomorrow. Tonight.
Can’t tonight. Family emergency.
Should I ring your uncle’s doorbell, or do you want to step outside?
The back of my neck flares hot. I tiptoe to the front window, peek between the curtains, and gasp. The old Cadillac is across the street, right behind where I parked Dina’s hatchback. The dome light comes on and Marcus climbs out, loping toward the house. I look over my shoulder at the empty stairs and hurry to the front door, barely opening it a crack.
“I could report you for stalking.”
“We need to talk.”
“What are you even doing here?”
Marcus gazes up at the sky. “Do you want to have this conversation here, or are you going to let me in?”
I listen for sounds from the second floor. Part of me badly wants to let him in, but something in my gut makes me hold back. Maybe I’ve been too careless with my feelings. His fingerprint might not have been on the postcard, but it’s still unclear what role he played the night Gretchen died. And I can’t forget Reva’s accusations that he might be working with someone else.
A car drives by slowly. My fingers dig into the doorframe.