I stare slack-jawed as he comes nearer. There’s no way he’s actually coming for me, right? How could he consider me a better alternative than Joyce, who oozes maternal safety?
His skinny arms wrap around my waist. And while I would’ve sworn to China and back that I had no instincts at all with kids, I find myself lifting Cole up into my arms. Like I’d seen Lydia do a couple times when he’d scraped a knee or banged his elbow.
With his head on my shoulder, Cole takes a shuddering inhale and exhale, and the kitchen falls silent.
Cole studies the checkerboard before jumping over my red game piece.
“You’re good at this game, Cole.”
He shrugs his narrow shoulders. “Dottie and me play lots. But today she has a fever.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I had a fever on my birthday. Hey, your dress is blue and my shorts are blue. We match.”
“We do.” I don’t recognize this high, cheerful voice of mine. I make a careless move on the board. “So how old are you now, Cole? Eleven? Twelve?”
His smile is faint. “Five.”
He used to laugh so easily, Lydia whispers to me. He used to bring frogs inside the house and break windows with stray baseballs. He’s like a different child.
Is having a new baby brother enough to turn a formerly rambunctious child meek and teary? Or could this be a byproduct of Lydia vanishing from his life? Have his parents talked to him about what happened? That would be enough to frighten any child.
Joyce bustles into the room with a tray. “Thought the two of you might enjoy some lemonade and cookies.”
“Lemonade, yum.” My words are sticky with forced cheer. “Thank you, Joyce.”
“Are you winning, Cole?” Joyce asks.
He shrugs.
“He’s a good checkers player. Aren’t you, Cole?”
Again, he shrugs.
Joyce watches him for a moment, and lines form on her forehead. She glances at me, mouths thank you, and leaves.
“Maybe after our cookies, we could take Sidekick for a walk.” Perhaps Cole will feel more talkative if we’re outside and active. “How does that sound?”
“Okay.”
I move my game piece and stand to put cookies onto individual plates for us.
A scream—Cole’s—tears through the living room. I yelp, and the plate that had been in my hands shatters on the oak floor.
Cole has scrambled backward to the wall. The screaming has stopped, but now he cries with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.
Joyce bursts into the room.
“Just me being clumsy,” I assure her.
She heaves a sigh at the sight of the shattered plate. “Goodness. With all the fuss you two were making, I thought someone had broken in.”
“I’ll get the broom and dustpan and clean it up.”
“You’ll cut your feet if you move.” Joyce is already bustling down the hallway. “Stay there, and I’ll bring it to you.”
I look to Cole, to his shaking shoulders. Then to the locket Father gave me an hour ago. It lies open in the middle of the game board, revealing Lydia’s smiling face. It must have fallen from my pocket when I stood.
“It’s going to be okay, Cole.”
But he doesn’t seem to believe me. Or at least, he doesn’t unroll himself. Instead, he keeps his arms wrapped around his knees, his head tucked as he rocks himself back and forth.
Cole knows something. And I need to know it too.
I attach the leash to Sidekick’s collar. “Look at his tail, Cole.”
A smile flickers on Cole’s mouth as he watches Sidekick’s furry tail brush back and forth on the wood floor. “He’s a nice dog.” He holds out a hand to Sidekick and then giggles when Sidekick bathes it with his long, pink tongue.
That sounds better. I find my hand settles on the back of Cole’s neck as we head outside. When he leans into me, the feeling in my chest is akin to coming home to a warm house on a winter day.
We step outside to find Nick heading up the front walk. With that journalist.
The warmth of Cole settling his head against me is sucked away. Her red dress seems a bit much for before noon, and she’s smiling at Nick, her teeth white and gleaming in the rays of sunshine slanting through the trees.
Her smile sharpens when she sees me. “Hello, Piper. I hoped I’d see you today.”
I wait for Lydia’s voice to tell me to be polite, to tell me that she’s dead and she didn’t love my brother anyway. But she’s strangely silent.
Nick sweeps off his fedora. “You remember Alana Kirkwood, right, Piper?”
“Not really.”
Nick’s gaze commands me to be friendly, but I can’t seem to make myself care. Stupid as it may be, having Alana around feels like a betrayal to Lydia.
Sidekick strains against the end of the leash. “I can’t talk now. We’re taking Sidekick for a walk.”
“What a lovely dog,” Alana coos. She rubs her fingertips together to attract him, but he winces away.
Nick glances at Cole, who has tucked himself between me and the handrail. “And who is this young man?” His tone is strange, high and too bright. He sounds as ridiculous as I do when I’m trying to talk to Cole.