Now it was a nursery, complete with crib and rocking chair and colorful letters on the wall that spelled out LOGAN. Even the smell was different, somewhere between sweet and too-sweet, like a noxious combination of floral air fresheners and baby powder. Since I’d seen the kid wearing diapers—something that made me further question his development, because shouldn’t a two-year-old be using the toilet by now?—I guessed that the air fresheners were meant to cover up the gross stink that went along with pooping in your pants.
I approached the crib as quietly as I could manage, not wanting to wake the kid.
As much as I hated to admit it, he was cuter, or rather less annoying, asleep than he was awake. He sucked his thumb, I noted, unable to stop myself from judging him even when no one was around.
But since no one could hear my inner thoughts, I supposed it was safe to confess there were good things about him too. That his skin was so smooth and unblemished, and his lashes so thick, that any girl in her right mind would envy him. And his expression was so peaceful and relaxed, and he slept so soundly, that I envied him. He had soft curls that peeked around from behind his neck, and my first thought was that I wanted to pet him. To run my fingers through those downy, feather-like curls and to pinch his plump cheeks.
I was such a cliché. I couldn’t afford to watch him for another minute or pretty soon I’d be carrying snapshots of him in my wallet and asking total strangers if I could see pictures of their kids. That’s what grown-ups did. They pretended to be interested in the photos of other people’s kids just so they’d have an excuse to show off their own.
I knew, because my dad had been a master at that game. He once even had giant buttons of my fourth-grade picture made, and he wore his everywhere he went. I found my mom’s in her glove box the day she explained that she didn’t have to wear my face on display to have me in her heart everywhere she went.
I wondered if Logan had taken up my share of that heart.
“We’re all trying, you know?” The hushed voice startled me, and I spun around to find The Husband—Grant—leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He had on a plain white tee and flannel pajama bottoms. “Your mom most of all.”
I shrugged, not wanting to have this conversation. Not here, not with him. Maybe not ever.
I tried to brush past him, but his hand caught my arm. He wasn’t rough, just firm. “Kyra. We all get how hard this must be for you. Everything’s different now, but it wasn’t like we did it on purpose. Things just . . . changed. We want you to be part of our family.”
I closed my eyes. I knew he was trying to help, but his words—the way he said we and our, like I was just supposed to accept him and his son because that was the way things were now—made me want to puke.
“I’m trying too,” I said, and jerked my arm out of his grip.
When I reached my room, I closed my door and leaned against it to bar myself inside.
When was this going to get easier? When would I feel like I belonged somewhere, that I was part of a home or a family, or that someone really understood the person I was now?
I searched my nightstand for my clock, desperate to know how much time had passed, and when I found it, my eyes drifted to the beat-up copy of Fahrenheit 451 sitting beside it. My heart fluttered.
Someone did understand me. Someone who didn’t question where I’d been or how old I was now that I was back.
I eased away from my door so I could text him, knowing full well he was sleeping and wouldn’t get my message till morning. But there was already a message waiting for me.
Not from Tyler but from Agent Truman.
A message had been delivered at 12:01 a.m.: Were there fireflies the day you disappeared?
I dropped onto the edge of my bed, my breath coming in short gasps.
Fireflies. Why on earth would he ask me about fireflies?
My dad had mentioned fireflies to me too. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence.
I squeezed my eyes shut and searched my memory for that night, because suddenly it seemed a zillion times more important than it had before.
We’d been driving on Chuckanut Drive, and I was purposely avoiding my dad, stubbornly staring out the window. There were blurs of light every now and then, flickers in the distance. I suppose they could’ve been fireflies, but I couldn’t say for sure since I’d never really seen one in real life before.
Then I’d yelled at my dad to stop the car, and when he did I fled, and there was a flash. . . .
I pounded my fists against my thighs. Why couldn’t I remember more?
And why was Agent Truman so interested in whether there were stupid glowing bugs out that night?
What if my dad wasn’t as crazy as I thought he was?
A weight settled over my chest as I made a decision. I had to figure out what happened that night, but I couldn’t do it on my own, and I wasn’t about to go to my dad until I knew for sure how this was gonna play out.
There was only one person I could count on right now.
I picked up my phone and punched in a message: Any chance I can talk you into ditching school tomorrow?
I started to hit send and stopped myself. Adding another line to the text: I need an accomplice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Day Six
I STAYED IN MY ROOM UNTIL MY MOM AND Grant had taken Logan and left for the day. I was proud of myself for giving The Husband and “my brother” their names back. It was a big gesture on my part, even if they had no clue I’d taken them away in the first place.
By the time they were gone, I’d already changed my outfit three times. I chewed the side of my nail as I triple- and quadruple-checked the time. It was only 7:43.
I don’t know why I was so nervous all of a sudden. I’d made Tyler a generous offer, hadn’t I? Giving him the chance to risk truancy, and possibly restriction, just to hang out with me for the day. Clearly, my selflessness knew no bounds.
The drumming at my window made me realize I’d been wrong to doubt whether he’d show, and I rushed to meet him.
“Hey,” I exhaled, sounding way more relieved than seemed warranted.
“Hey yourself. So what do you have planned for us? Bank heist? Jailbreak?” The way he looked at me, with that grin and that glint in his eyes, made me smile. But it was his touch, when I let him help me out the window again that made me beam from the inside out. He deliberately pulled me into him, practically yanking me to make it seem as if I’d lost my balance. My cheek smashed into his chest, not that I was complaining exactly. It wasn’t the worst place to be. “Or maybe you have something more . . . interesting in mind,” he suggested, his voice all gravelly sounding as it rumbled against the side of my face.
Grudgingly, I shoved away from him. “Jeez! Don’t you ever get tired of trying to seduce me with your sorry pickup lines?”
Undiscouraged, he smiled down at me. “Trust me, if I was trying to seduce you, there wouldn’t be anything sorry about it.” He reached for my hand, and his fingers linked through mine the way they had the night before as we started walking.
There was something so endearing about the way he held my hand, the way it felt like something we’d been doing forever while at the same time it felt shiny and new. My stomach quivered, and I liked it.