âIf we could just figure out what the guy wants. âSave themâ isnât enough to go on.â
I sat up a little taller. âEva.â
âWho?â
âAunt Barbâs hairdresser. She worked right there in the Goodrich house for years. Maybe she knows something.â
He fussed with the camera around his neck. âIsnât that the lady who says she saw Mothman?â
I nodded. âIs that a problem?â
âIt just sounds so ⦠out there.â
âPeople would probably say that about us if we told them what weâve seen.â
He snorted. âThatâs true.â
âLetâs just go talk to her, hear her out. What could it hurt?â
âOkay,â Fox said. âIâm in. What time is it?â
I checked my phone. âAlmost five.â
âToo late to go see her today. How about tomorrow after school?â
âOh, wait. Dad might come home tomorrow.â
âWeâll have to find a good excuse to sneak away.â
My heart sank. âBut I want to see Dad.â
âI do, too, Josie. Weâll do both. Are you in?â
I thought of Masonâs screams and Dadâs bruised, tired face. I remembered my resolve at the hospital that I wouldnât let anything else harm my family.
I stood to face him. âIâm in.â
Â
7
At school the next day, several kids told me they were sorry about my dad; twice as many asked about the Goodrich house. One kid even wanted to know if a ghost had been responsible for Dadâs accident. I told him off, loudly, right there in the hall, partly because he was an insensitive jerk, and partly because the reason for Dadâs fall was a topic Fox and I had been avoiding.
On the bus ride home, I bounced in my seat, knowing I would beat the boys by thirty minutes and glad for the extra time with Dad, if he was home. I willed the bus to go faster, smiling when I saw Uncle Billâs car parked in front of the house.
I ran inside and flung my book bag and coat on the floor. I found Aunt Barb and Uncle Bill perched on the couch, their faces pinched, hands fidgeting.
My steps faltered. âWhereâs Dad?â
âHey, Josie,â Aunt Barb said with a forced smile. âHow was your day?â
âFine. Whereâs Dad?â I checked the kitchen and the bathroom on the unlikely chance he was waiting to jump out and surprise me.
âWhy donât you sit down for a minute, honey?â
My insides froze, squeezed, shattered. âWhereâs Dad?â I shouted.
Aunt Barb stood quickly, hands splayed in a calming gesture. âItâs not what you think, honey, okay? Heâs all right. Heâs still at the hospital. They just want to keep him a little longer.â
I sank into Dadâs leather chair and let the tears fall, torn between relief and fear.
Aunt Barb scooted the ottoman beside me and sat down. âThereâs an infection, Josie. Theyâre fighting it with strong antibiotics, okay? He just has to stay for a few more days. I didnât mean to scare you. I got it all wrong, didnât I?â
I sniffed and wiped the tears from my cheeks. âKind of.â
âIâm sorry, pudding.â She squeezed my shoulders in apology.
âSo will he be home for the auction?â
âTheyâre not sure. They hope so. But you know your daddy. He would try to get up out of his wheelchair and run the darn thing all by himself. He doesnât need that kind of stress.â
âBut heâll be okay? Are we going back today to see him?â
âUncle Bill and I were there all morning. Heâs very tired. Maybe tomorrow?â
I tried to smile to hide my disappointment. From his spot on the couch, Uncle Bill gave a slow nodâhis own special way of offering reassurance. I knew they both tried so hard, did so much for us, and I loved them for it. But I wouldnât feel settled until we got Dad back.
I
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas