He turned onto the next road. A gentle hill broke up the flatness of the surrounding earth. It was the hushed, eerie beauty of Willa Cather country, a century later. Sophomore year, she’d been assigned to read O Pioneers! in English class, and the familiar descriptions of the land had comforted her. They’d reminded her of visiting her favorite grandmother. Little did she know that, soon enough, she’d be living here.
The novel no longer held any appeal. It wasn’t fictional anymore.
A house in the distance grew bigger, and Makani realized that the road was Ollie’s driveway. His house was white, like hers, but peeling and weatherworn. It was a Victorian Gothic Revival—a style that was growing obsolete in these parts—with three dramatically arched windows under three steeply pitched roof points. Twin columns framed a modest covered porch. The expansive yard was unkempt and overgrown.
Makani was grateful that she didn’t believe in ghosts; she only believed in the ghostlike quality of painful memories. And she was sure this house had plenty.
Not everything about it was gloomy, however. As she stepped out of the car, a set of wind chimes jangled in the breeze and two large ferns swayed on chains from opposite ends of the porch. They were dead from the early frosts. But proof of recent habitation.
Ollie shot her a nervous glance. “Home sweet home.”
Had he ever brought home a girl before, or was this something new for him? Something potentially vulnerable? On the disintegrating coir welcome mat, a single word was barely visible: LARSSON.
The younger Larsson unlocked the front door, which opened into a large, dim, and dusty room. “I know.” He sighed. “It looks like a haunted house.”
Makani held up two innocent hands. “I didn’t say a word.”
He led her inside with a tight smile. The floors were old hardwood, and the boards groaned with each step. Makani waited in the threshold while Ollie threw open the curtains. Sparkling dust motes caught in the sudden light as the living room was revealed to be more homelike, more normal, than anticipated. She couldn’t help feeling relieved. The rugs, lamps, and hardware seemed to be a mixture of Victorian reproductions and actual Victorian antiques, but the sectional sofa was firmly from this century.
Though . . . there was something about the space. It possessed an unnatural amount of stillness. Everything appeared unruffled. Unused.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ollie asked. “We have water, orange juice, Coke—well, it’s not Coca-Cola, it’s the off-brand Coke—”
Makani laughed, because he’d remembered. “Water’s fine.”
“Tap water? Ice? No ice?”
She trailed behind him through the adjoining dining room, which was also murky and untouched. Ollie moved like a creature of habit. “Whichever’s more work for you,” she called out, even though the temperature inside wasn’t much warmer than it had been outside. She didn’t want ice.
At least the kitchen was brighter. Much brighter. Curtainless windows looked out upon the sweeping fields, and the maze’s flags waved merrily in the distance. Ollie’s kitchen, though not as clean as Grandma Young’s, was less dusty than the other rooms, and the dishes had been recently washed and were drying on a rack. And while the cabinetry and furniture didn’t look exactly modern, they didn’t look Victorian, either.
A shadow lurched out from the floorboards.
Makani shrieked as a small dog with a speckled, bluish-gray coat skittered and stumbled toward Ollie.
Laughing, he kneeled to greet the intruder. “Hey, Squidward.”
For the second time in an hour, she’d completely lost her shit. Makani felt embarrassed, all over again. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Blue heeler.” Ollie smiled as he rubbed its head. “Back when we adopted him, I was a big SpongeBob fan. Now he’s deaf and almost blind. He sleeps most of the day—that’s why he didn’t notice when we came in.” Squidward leaned against him, as if he were using Ollie to keep himself upright. “How are you, buddy?”
Makani squatted to pet him. “Is he friendly?”
“If you let him sniff your hand first, you’ll be fine.”
Squidward himself kind of smelled, but Makani didn’t mind. His fur was coarse, almost waxy. But it felt nice to be petting a dog and even nicer to be this close to Ollie.
“Do you have a dog? Back home?” Ollie looked aside as he added this second question, aware of how infrequently she spoke of her past.
But dogs were a safe subject. Makani shook her head as Squidward rolled onto his back. “My mom claims she’s allergic. Really, she just thinks they’re too messy.”
“We have a cat, too. She’s probably outside right now.”
“Sandy Cheeks?”
He grinned. “Raven.”
“Ah. A much cooler name.”
“Not necessarily. At the time, I had a massive crush on Raven-Symoné.”
Makani laughed.
Ollie rubbed Squidward’s belly. “I have no idea why my parents let me name our pets.”
“Because, clearly, your parents were awesome.” But she flinched as soon as it came out. Was it okay to mention them? Although, he was the one who brought them up.
And now he was nodding in agreement.
It occurred to her that perhaps Ollie appreciated the acknowledgment of his parents. Perhaps it was harder when people went out of their way to avoid talking about them—when they pretended like his parents had never existed in the first place.
Makani often pretended like hers didn’t exist. At her grandmother’s insistence, she called her mother once a week and her father every other week. They didn’t even know what was happening here, because, until this moment, she hadn’t thought to tell them. Her parents always spent the too-long calls complaining about each other.
Ollie washed the dog off his hands and grabbed two burritos from the freezer. He held them up for her. They were both bean and cheese. “One or two?”
Makani longed for a piping hot bowl of saimin, a noodle dish so common back home that it was on the menu at McDonald’s. Osborne didn’t even have a non-saimin McDonald’s. But burritos were decent. Better than whatever she’d be making for dinner with her grandmother. “One, please,” she said. “Thanks.”
He slipped off their wrappers, hesitated, and then grabbed another burrito for himself. All three went into the microwave.
As she scratched behind Squidward’s ears, Makani stared at a faded photograph on the refrigerator. Ollie’s parents stood in front of Old Faithful. Their arms were around each other, and they were smiling as the geyser sprayed above their heads like a whale’s blowhole. His father’s smile was farmer-stiff, but his mother looked carefree.
Beside it was a photo of Ollie and his brother. Ollie looked old enough to be in high school, but he was still younger than she’d ever known him. His hair was an odd, streaky green, and he was wince-laughing as Chris pulled him into a forced hug. She wondered if their parents were already dead and who had taken the picture.
“I tried to dye it blue.” Like always, Ollie had been watching her. “One of the first lessons that you learn in school—yellow and blue make green—and I forgot.”
“You look like a mermaid. A sad, pubescent mermaid.”