“Yes. Go on, dear.”
“If I could ask you something. It’s about what we talked about. About secrets.” As soon as she spoke the words she could feel the burden lifting, lifting, lifting.
At one time she could have walked to Lucy’s home blindfolded. They’d practically lived at each other’s houses, but she hadn’t been there since a couple of days after Lucy disappeared, and it was strange to be back. Even the front porch felt different in some way she couldn’t identify, as if the house itself were mourning. There were no cars in the driveway, and no one answered the door when she rang. She sank down on the top step and tried to decide how long she should wait. Now that she was there and had time to think it over, she wondered if she should have come. You overreact, her mother was always saying. You’re such a drama queen, Duane accused. Well, she was not the one who’d been dragged down to the police station, was she?
A cricket hopped onto the bottom step and landed near her sandal. Her mother would step right on it, wipe it out before it could get into the house and drive everyone nuts with the chirping, but Rain found the sound cheerful. Her grandfather had told her crickets were considered omens of good fortune in China, and for that reason royal households kept them in cages, like pets. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees, and studied the insect. Such an odd, prehistoric-looking creature. She stared as it hopped off the step and into the grass, and her thoughts turned back to her conversation with Dr. Mallory. We always feel better when we do the right thing. But it was figuring out the right thing that was difficult. And then having the courage to do it. As mad as she was at Duane for his secret with Lucy, she believed him when he said he would never hurt her. He needed her help, and she would start by telling Lucy’s parents everything she could, and she hoped they wouldn’t be angry with her for not coming to them earlier. Courage. Like the writer Isak Dinesen. She would help Duane, she just wasn’t sure what the next step would be.
The banging of a door startled her. She looked up and saw the man coming out of the house next door. Mr. Hayes. Payton, he had told her that day he had given her a ride, had saved her from Jervis the Pervis. It was clear then what to do. Mr. Hayes was a lawyer. Hadn’t her father said perhaps they should get a lawyer for Duane? That would be a first step. She unwrapped her arms from around her knees and sat up. “Hi,” she called.
“Hi, Rain. What brings you to the neighborhood?”
“I’m waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Light. Do you know when they’re coming home?”
“I would guess they should be back soon,” he said and smiled his killer smile, the one that made her wish she had worn something prettier than her old cutoff jeans and done something with her hair.
“Oh. Well, maybe I’ll wait then.”
“I guess it’s been a while since you’ve visited them. I used to see you and Lucy playing badminton in the backyard.”
“Really?” She was flattered that he remembered. She used to notice him too, playing hoops in the driveway by himself, dribbling the ball up and down the drive, twisting in for layups. She’d always had a tiny crush on him, although that was one secret she’d kept from Lucy.
“So why do you want to see the Lights?”
She noticed that the basketball hoop was no longer above the garage door. The window shades were lowered against the heat of the day. “I just remembered something Lucy told me before she—you know—before she was gone. A secret, and I think I should tell them.”
“Oh?”
She tucked her feet in close to the step. At least she had shaved her legs. They still shone with the lotion she had smoothed on earlier. “Mr. Hayes—”
“Payton. Please. This ‘mister’ business makes me feel like my father.”
“Payton.” The name felt awkward on her lips. “Well, I was wondering if I could ask you something. It’s something about Lucy.”
“Sure.” He studied her for a minute. “Listen, it’s hot out here. Why don’t you wait at my place? I’ll get you a glass of soda, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
The kitchen was spotless except for a pile of paperwork on the little table. “It’s nice and cooler in here,” she said.
He checked the refrigerator. “Pepsi all right?”
“Just water would be great.” Alone with him, she wasn’t sure what to do. Sit? Stand? She nodded toward the papers on the table. “My dad does his bills in our kitchen too.”
He handed her the glass. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She took a sip.
“So what is it you wanted to ask me?”
“What?”
“About Lucy. What was your question?”
He came closer to her. The water tasted metallic in her mouth, and she wished he would move back, out of her personal space. “Respect your personal space,” Miss Laurant had told them in health, a mandatory class for all the sophomore girls that was totally stupid with the PE teacher talking about how to prevent getting pregnant, as if anyone over ten didn’t already know stuff like that. Janice Linski had been excused from the class because her parents objected to the sex education part of the course curriculum, but everyone knew it was really because Miss Laurant was lesbian and Janice’s parents protested against things like that. Of course last year the girls who got pregnant had all taken health, which just went to show how epically pointless it was. Miss Laurant had also lectured them about something she called Owning Your Own Power as a Woman. “If something feels wrong, some situation or person, don’t ignore this feeling,” she had said. “Learn to trust yourself. Always trust your instincts.” She had said that often people explained away their gut feelings as foolish. Rain heard the echo of those words now, although she didn’t know why—he hadn’t done anything wrong—but it felt wrong, the way he was looking at her, the way he was standing too close. But he was an ordinary neighbor, for fuck’s sake. A person Lucy used to babysit for, the kind of man her mother would flirt with. Still. There was nothing she could exactly name, but the gut feeling persisted. She regretted coming inside. She set the glass of water on the table and moved back.
“Can I get you something else?”
“Could I—could I use your bathroom?”