“Maybe it’s for the best,” Carter said. “We could use the time to let the air clear.”

“It’s no worry,” James Harris said. “I’m happy to have the company. Hold on a minute.”

There was a pause, a thump in her ear, and then Patricia heard her son breathing.

“Blue?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

“Mom,” Blue said. She heard him swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

Tears spiked Patricia’s eyes. She wanted him in her arms. Now.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” she said.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry for what I did to Rufus,” Blue said, swallowing, breathing hard. “And, Dad, if you want me to take the test, James says I should.”

“I want what’s best for you,” Carter said. “Your mom and I both do.”

“I love you,” Blue said in a rush.

“Listen to your Uncle James,” Carter said, and then James Harris was back on the phone.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not one hundred percent comfortable with,” he said. “You’re both sure this is fine?”

“Of course it is,” Carter said. “We’re very grateful.”

Patricia took a breath to say something, and then stopped.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course it’s fine. Thank you.”

This was better for her family. James Harris had proven himself so many times. He’d talked her son around from quivering with rage to telling her he loved her. She had to stop dwelling on something she thought she maybe remembered from so many years ago.

It’s not such a big thing, she said to herself, to ignore some crazy, terrible idea you were once convinced was once true in exchange for all this, for the dock, and the car, and the trip to London, and your ear, and college for the children, and step aerobics for Korey, and a friend for Blue, and for so much of everything. It isn’t such a bad trade at all.

CHAPTER 26

Carter picked up Blue from James Harris’s house in the morning.

“It’s all going to be fine, Patty,” he said.

She didn’t argue. Instead she made Toaster Strudel, and told Korey she couldn’t wear a choker to school, and had to listen while Korey told her she was practically a nun, and then her daughter was gone, and Patricia stood in her house, alone.

Even though it was October, the sun warmed the rooms and made her sleepy. Ragtag found a patch of sunlight in the dining room and collapsed onto it, ribs rising and falling, eyes closed.

Patricia had so many projects—finish with the kitchen cabinets, pick up all the newspapers and magazines on the sun porch, do something with the saltwater tank in the laundry room, vacuum the garage room, clean out the closet in the den, change the sheets—she didn’t know where to begin. She had a fifth cup of coffee and the silence in the house pressed down on her, and the sun kept getting hotter and warmer, thickening the air into a sleep-inducing fog.

The phone rang.

“Campbell residence,” she said.

“Did Blue get to school all right?” James Harris asked.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out across Patricia’s upper lip and she felt stupid, like she didn’t know what to say. She took a breath. Carter trusted James Harris. Blue trusted him. She had kept him at arm’s length for three years and what had that achieved? He was important to her son. He was important to her family. She needed to stop pushing him away.

“He did,” she said, and made herself smile so he could hear it in her voice. “Thank you for taking him in last night.”

“He was pretty upset when he showed up,” James Harris said. “I’m not even sure why he chose to come here.”

“I’m glad he thinks of it as a place he can go,” she made herself say. “I’d rather him be there than out wandering the streets. It’s not as safe in the Old Village as it used to be.”

James Harris’s voice took on the relaxed quality of someone who had plenty of time to chat. “He said he was scared you’d gone next door and called the police, so he hid in the bushes behind Alhambra for a while. I didn’t know if he’d eaten, so I heated up some of those French bread pizzas. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Is there something going on at home?” James Harris asked.

The sun coming through the kitchen windows made Patricia’s eyes ache, so she looked into the cool darkness of the den instead.

“He’s just turning into a teenager,” she said.

“Patricia,” James Harris said, and she heard his voice shade earnest. “I know you got a bad impression of me when I moved here, but whatever you think, believe me when I say that I care about your children. They’re good kids. Carter works so much and I worry about you doing this mostly by yourself.”

“Well, his private practice keeps him busy,” Patricia said.

“I’ve told him he doesn’t have to make every dollar in the world,” James Harris said. “What’s the point of working if you miss out on your kids growing up?”

She felt disloyal talking about Carter behind his back, but it was also a relief.

“He puts a lot of pressure on himself,” she said.

“You’re the one with pressure on you,” James Harris said. “Raising two teenagers practically by yourself, it’s too much.”

“It’s hardest on Blue,” she said. “He has such a hard time keeping up at school. Carter thinks it’s attention deficit disorder.”

“His attention is fine when it comes to World War II,” James Harris said.

The familiarity of discussing Blue with someone who understood him relaxed Patricia.

“He spray-painted a dog,” she said.

“What?” James Harris laughed.

After a moment, she laughed, too.

“Poor dog,” she said, feeling guilty. “His name is Rufus and he’s the school’s unofficial mascot. Blue and Slick Paley’s youngest spray-painted him silver and now they’ve both got Saturday school for the rest of the year.”

Just saying it out loud sounded absurd. She imagined it becoming a funny family story next year.

“Will the dog be okay?” James Harris asked.

“They say he will,” she said. “But how do you clean spray paint off a dog?”

“I just bought a new CD changer,” James Harris said. “I’ll ask Blue over to help me hook it up. If it comes up, I’ll ask him what happened and let you know what he says.”

“Would you?” Patricia asked. “I’d be grateful.”

“It’s good talking this way again,” James said. “Would you like to come over for some coffee? We can catch up.”

She almost said yes because her first instinct in every situation was to be agreeable, but she smelled something clean and cool and medical and it took her out of her bright, sunny kitchen for a moment and suddenly it was four years ago and the garage door was open and she could smell the plastic incontinence pads they used for Miss Mary. For a moment she felt like the woman she had been all those years ago, a woman who didn’t have to constantly apologize for everything, and she said, “No, thank you. I have to finish cleaning out the kitchen cabinets.”

“Another day, then,” he said, and she wondered if he’d heard the change in her voice.

They hung up and Patricia looked at the locked garage room door. She smelled the carpet shampoo she used to use in Miss Mary’s room, and the pine-scented Lysol Mrs. Greene sprayed after Miss Mary had an accident. Any minute she expected to see the door swing open and Mrs. Greene come up the steps in her white pants and blouse, a balled-up bundle of sheets in her arms.

She made herself stand up and walk to the door, the smell of Miss Mary’s room getting stronger with every step. She took the key off the hook by the door and watched her hand float out on the end of her arm and insert the key into the deadbolt. She twisted and the door popped open and it swung wide and the garage room stood empty. She smelled nothing but cool air and dust.

Patricia locked the door and decided to clean all the newspapers off the sun porch and then finish the kitchen cabinets. She walked through the dining room, where Ragtag lay sunbathing, twitching one ear as she passed. On the sun porch, light bounced off newspapers and glossy magazine covers, dazzling her. She picked up the papers Carter had left on the ottoman and walked back through the dining room to the kitchen. As she stepped into the den, a voice behind the dining room door said:

patricia

She turned. No one was there. And then, through the crack along the hinges of the dining room door, she saw a staring blue eye crowned by gray hair, and then nothing but the yellow wall behind the door.

Patricia stood for a moment, skin crawling, shoulders twitching. She felt a muscle tremble in one cheek. There was nothing there. She’d had some kind of olfactory hallucination and it made her believe she’d heard Miss Mary’s voice. That was all.

Ragtag sat up, eyes focused on the open dining room door. Patricia put the papers in the garbage and made herself walk back through the dining room to the sun porch.

She picked up copies of Redbook and Ladies’ Home Journal and Time and hesitated briefly, then walked back through the dining room to the den. As she passed the open dining room door again, Miss Mary whispered from behind it: