The Unseen World by Liz Moore Page B

straight ahead, for she knew that it was one of Liston’s older boys, and the possibility that it was William made her stiffen with nerves.
    â€œWhat are you watching,” said the boy. He had a low voice, much as she remembered William’s voice sounding.
    â€œI don’t know,” Ada whispered.
    â€œYou like this movie?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t think so,” she whispered, but he must not have heard her, because he said, “You can’t talk?”
    Ada’s voice had been taken from her, so she only shook her head. She could recall for the rest of her life the very particular feeling she had at that age, when asked to interact with a peer—it often seemed as if her voice had retreated into her stomach, which then clenched it very tightly and held it deeply inside of her, and wouldn’t release it until she was alone once more.
    Ada shifted her eyes as far to the left as they would go and made out a boy in a blue T-shirt with his hand on the back of the sofa. She let herself turn her head ever so slightly to more closely inspect his arm, which was sturdy and tan, and his hand at the end of it, which had nails that were very severely bitten, down to the part that hurts. She did not look up at his face.
    Then he took his arm away and then he took himself away, out of the room. She breathed out heavily.
    She was alone again.
    At a certain point she could smell and hear Liston microwaving something, probably making dinner, and she knew then that it would be polite to go in and ask her if she needed help, but she was frightened of encountering any of the boys again, so she stayed where she was on the sofa. She was expecting a cry from Liston— Dinner! she might say, and the boys would come rushing to the kitchen—but it never came. Instead, Liston poked her head into the TV room and asked if she wanted to eat there or at the table.
    â€œEither,” Ada said, and Liston winked at her and said maybe the two of them should eat at the table, like civilized people. “David would be appalled if I let you watch too much TV.”
    Ada followed her into the kitchen and watched as, from the microwave, Liston pulled two frozen meals. Dining-In , said the packages on the counter. Salisbury Steak Dinner .
    â€œWhere are the boys?” Ada asked, before she thought better of it.
    â€œOh, they fend for themselves, mostly,” said Liston lightly. “They don’t like my cooking.”
    Ada was surprised. She had imagined, somehow, that everyone in this family ate together all the time. She had liked to imagine it that way.
    They talked about anything but David: the latest gossip from the lab, the problem Liston was working on. At one point Matty came in and asked Liston if he could watch television, “now that she’s not watching.” And Liston told him all right, for fifteen minutes, but then he had to get ready for bed.
    Soon there was a knock at the door. Her heart surged: it was David, she thought, at last. But Liston looked as if she had been expecting one.
    â€œWILLIAM,” she called loudly, without turning around.
    Her oldest son came running down the stairs and around the corner, into the kitchen, and Ada, for the first time, allowed herself to look fully at his face, which was more handsome than she had remembered it. She looked away again quickly. He opened the door and said nothing. A girl his age came in and shut the door behind her. She was tall and skinny, with blond hair and an arc of sideways bangs, and she wore a shirt that hung off her shoulder, a bra strap showing itself assertively. She wore high heels, too. Ada thought she was pretty, but not quite as good-looking as William.
    â€œHey, Miz Liston,” said the girl, and Liston said, “Hello, Karen,” but didn’t look up. William and Karen went upstairs together.
    â€œThat door better be open when I come upstairs,” Liston called after them.
    When Ada finished