The Unseen World by Liz Moore

settled and cooled.
    The house looked too still.
    â€œI’ll come in with you,” said Liston, and together they exited thecar and approached the house. Would her father be inside? Would he be frantic, apologetic? Would he have an explanation for them both?
    Inside, it was quiet. “David?” called Ada, once, twice. But there was no response.
    Liston turned to her. On her face Ada saw an expression that was meant to register as cheerfulness but came off as doubt.
    Liston checked her watch, and Ada did the same: 5:00 in the evening.
    â€œTell you what,” said Liston brightly. “Why don’t you come over for a while? Pack some overnight things just in case. I’ll go get a room ready back at the house.”
    Ada’s heart increased its pace. The idea of spending time at Liston’s, while her sons were there, was simultaneously appealing and terrifying.
    â€œCome on,” said Liston. “We’ll get you a snack, too.”
    It was only then that Ada realized she had not eaten all day.
    Upstairs, alone, Ada packed a nightgown, her hairbrush, some clothes for the next day (to pack more than these seemed pessimistic), and seven books, all into the little blue suitcase that was hers to use. David had a matching one in green. Then she went downstairs and wrote a new note for David.
    David , it said. I am really scared. Where are you? I’m at Liston’s. Please call right away .
    And then, just in case, she wrote down Liston’s number, too, which David knew like his own pulse.
    She exited the kitchen, leaving the door unlocked for her father. She walked toward Liston’s.
    Liston’s house had a front porch, and on it were two boys’ bicycles leaned in toward one another, and a girl’s pink bicycle with its tassels chopped off an inch from each handle. Someone had begun to color the pink seat black with a permanent marker, but had only gottenhalfway. Like all the houses on the block, Liston’s was a colorful Victorian, painted a different color every ten years or so. That decade it was light blue with dark blue shutters and edges. The porch itself had been painted the color of the trim, so that walking on it gave one the feeling of being underwater. It was nearly time for a new paint job; the existing color had begun to come up off the wooden floor and down from the ceiling, and small unsettled piles of paint chips had made their way into crevices and corners. Once or twice, Ada had seen Liston briskly sweeping the porch and the front walkway, but mainly she had no time for such details, preferring instead to maintain, she told Ada, the highest level of cleanliness her busy schedule would allow. She would not have dreamed of bringing in a cleaning service—to her they were for rich people.
    Ada walked up the steps with great apprehension and raised her fist to knock softly on the door. No one answered. She looked at her watch and told herself that if, after two minutes, no one had answered, she would try again.
    She did, with slightly greater force. And this time quick footsteps came rushing toward the door, and Matty opened it.
    He said nothing. He was nine years old at the time, tall for his age. He had a feathery haircut, and he wore denim cutoffs and a red-striped tank top. Both knees were scraped up, and as he appraised Ada, he reached down to scratch at one of his scabs absentmindedly.
    â€œHi,” Ada said.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œI’m here to see your mom,” she told him. She felt ridiculous saying it: only four years older than he was, and yet playing the role of an adult, a friend of his mother’s.
    But at that moment Liston came into sight behind Matty, sock-footed.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Matty? Open the door for Ada,” she said, and then did it herself, and Matty shrugged and ran upstairs.
    â€œNo manners,” said Liston, after Ada had stepped inside. Listonshut the inner door behind them. Liston hated the heat more