And it’s a rule I need him to break.
“I used to get whippings too, when I was your age.”
Cole turns and looks at me with interest. “But you’re a girl.”
“Girls can get whippings. Actually, do you want to know a secret?”
Cole nods, and I make a production of crouching on the ground, of lowering my voice. “Sometimes, I still get whipped. Not by my father, but at school. I have a teacher who likes to whack me with her ruler.”
His eyes are bright. “Where?”
“On my knuckles, here.” I shift Sidekick’s leash to my left hand so I can show Cole my normally bruised right. “It’s faded now that I’ve graduated.”
“Was it because you tried to talk about Lydia?” Cole’s voice has a solemn empathy to it.
My heart squeezes so tight, it feels as though it might burst. “Is that how you got yours?”
When Cole nods, it’s all I can do to not weep. “I don’t mean to, but it’s awfully hard.” His sigh makes him seem much older than five.
“Maybe you and I could make a deal, Cole.”
“What’s a deal?”
“A deal is when two people agree on something. So if you want, we could agree that when it’s just the two of us, we can talk about Lydia.” Cole’s hand is already inching to protect his behind. “And no one will hurt us because of it, okay? You can ask questions or tell me stories about Lydia, and it’ll be our secret.”
There’s a crease on the bridge of his nose as he studies me.
“I could go first, if you want.”
Cole nods.
I settle against the fence. “Lydia and I used to walk this way all the time when we were kids.” I point to the stone house on the corner. “There used to be an elderly woman who lived there. When it was nice out, she sat on her porch to knit, and she would give us peppermint drops if we passed by.”
Cole frowns at the house. “What does elderly mean?”
“That she was old.”
“Like you?”
“No. Like a grandparent. Do you have any grandparents?”
Cole nods. “And my grandfather always has peppermint drops.”
I glance at the house. “Lydia was her favorite. I don’t think she would have given them to just me. I was too loud.”
Cole nods sagely. “I get too loud sometimes. And babies like quiet voices.”
I smile, and try to seem serene despite the way my heart thumps wildly in my chest. “Okay, Cole, now it’s your turn. To share something about Lydia.”
He blinks at me. Then shakes his head.
“It’s a secret, remember?” I use a whispering voice. “Just for you and me, because we loved Lydia so much.”
Sidekick has given up on getting his walk. He lays his big head on my lap.
Cole pats him. “He’s a nice dog.”
“He is. And he won’t tell anyone that we like to talk about Lydia when it’s just the two of us.”
Cole seems to think about this for a minute. His voice is small when he asks, “Do you know what this means?” Cole holds up his pointer finger.
I resist the urge to scream with frustration, to yell Tell me what you know about Lydia! “It’s a one, right?” My cheerful voice is lined with impatience.
“Okay.” Cole turns his pointer finger to himself and stares at it. “Mommy and Papa didn’t know.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. “Where did you see this, Cole?” I hold up my own pointer finger.
“It’s what Lydia did to me.” His eyes are round and woeful. “Before she got in the car.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
After Cole goes home, I sit on the porch with my notebook and write it all out. Digging the information from Cole had felt like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. I had to shovel past the “That stick looks like a seven,” and, “Your eyes are brown and white,” to get to what I hope is the real story.
The evening Lydia was taken, Cole was playing in his bedroom and saw her coming up the sidewalk. A car pulled up alongside her, and she started talking to the driver.
“Where did the car come from?”
Cole shrugged. “Maybe the store? That’s where our car goes a lot.”
“Did you recognize the car?”
“What does recognize mean?”
“Is it a car you’d seen before?”
Cole nodded. “Yep. Lots of times.”
My heart had pounded, sure that I was a breath away from knowing who had taken and killed my best friend.
“I have one just like it at home. Santa Claus brought it to me. Do you know when Santa Claus will come back? Just Christmas. That’s the only time he delivers.”
“What did the car look like?”
“Black. Just like the one Santa brought me. Papa says they only make them in black. If I could pick any color for a car, I would pick orange. That’s my favorite.”
Not helpful. “Do you know what kind of car Santa brought you?”
“What kind?”
“No, I’m asking you. What kind of car is it?”
“Oh. Ford. Model P, Papa says.”