They all seemed to feel it. On the way home, Max and Nell had kept silent. They were so quiet at supper that Dad put his hand on everybody’s foreheads, but no one had a fever.
“Winter blahs,” he concluded. “And it’s only the first day.”
Susan did what she always did when she felt unsettled. She found a book. But before she opened it, she stood at the family-room window and watched Mrs. Grady’s ever-present kitchen light filter through the colored figurines in the window across the way.
Mrs. Grady did not believe in curtains, a fact Susan knew well because Mrs. Grady was a woman who liked to announce her likes and dislikes as if she were carrying a bullhorn. Collecting the Gradys’ garbage cans one day, Susan had been stopped by the pronouncement that horizontal stripes would never again be a part of Mrs. Grady’s wardrobe; apparently they made her behind look like a beach ball. Curtains had been the subject of at least three separate bulletins, because according to Mrs. Grady, despite her disapproval of them, Mr. Grady insisted on them. Susan doubted this. She’d barely ever heard the man say a word, let alone voice an opinion. Insisting on something seemed a stretch.
But it was true that all the Gradys’ windows were covered except this one, in the kitchen, the one filled with colored glass. For a second more, Susan stood looking into the blue, at the hazy rainbow that glimmered in the space between the houses.
Then she opened her book.
Because she was reading, she didn’t much note when the others came in. She was only half aware of Max sitting down at the table to do his homework. She did look up when Nell came in, wrapped in a blanket cocoon. But that was only because Nell plopped down beside her on the old maroon sofa, letting her blanket fall across the pages of Susan’s book.
“Hey!” Susan said.
Nell shot her a look. Susan huffed and retreated to the table, her back to the window. Kate and Jean trooped in then, their matching Barbies fresh from the promised bath and once again dressed for a party. They sat down on the floor and began to play.
And this was the moment the curious feeling that had nudged Susan for two days blossomed into something more.
On the couch, Nell bolted upright, letting her blanket cocoon fall open.
“It’s out! Mrs. Grady’s light’s gone!”
Max didn’t turn.
“She’s probably blown a fuse,” he said. He shot a wry half grin at Susan. “But let’s call the police anyway. I’d love to see her face when they come.”
Susan twisted around in her chair to look and blinked in surprise. It wasn’t just the light.
The whole square of Mrs. Grady’s lit kitchen had disappeared, and their own window now glowed a brilliant cobalt that drew the last of the light into it and pushed it back again. The glass seemed to curve outward, a dark mirror casting their faces back in shimmering curves.
In reflection, the room looked oddly out of shape. Susan swiveled back to see it and found everything in place — family pictures on the wall, the old couch, the overstuffed recliner, the long oval table. She glanced at Max, who was still bent over his homework, his back to the window. Kate and Jean had noticed, though. Gripping their Barbies, they had gotten up to gape at the glass.
Susan could almost feel the pulse of the glowing light behind her. She turned back to it.
“Max,” she said quietly. “Look.”
Her tone must have caught him, because he didn’t argue. He turned, drew in a sharp breath, and stood up.
“What in the world?”
Susan took a step toward the window and tried to peer through the reflection. On the other side of the glass, Mrs. Grady was indeed gone. Her window, her kitchen, the old grill, the stairs — the neighborhood itself seemed to have winked out of existence. In its place stood a wide old tree, black as a charcoal drawing against blue glass.
“That can’t be,” Susan said.
“What happened to it? Did something explode?” Nell asked. Cautiously, she crept from the couch to stand beside the twins, clutching her blanket around her neck.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Kate said.
“Explosions leave a pile of house,” Max told them. “This is more like an optical illusion. Maybe somebody’s playing a practical joke on us. You know, beaming something at the glass.”
Susan thought for a minute, then ran to the bathroom, with its small window that faced Mrs. Grady’s kitchen. Outside, the colored glass still glowed from the other house as the neighborhood settled placidly into the night. She squinted into the evening light, looking for Max’s practical joker, but there was no one. Puzzled, she walked back into the family room. The others hadn’t moved. They all stood staring at the window. It smoldered like a blue coal.
“It’s normal out there when I look from the bathroom.”
“And did you see who’s doing it?” Max asked her.
“No one is. No one’s outside.”
“Makes no sense. It’s got to be an optical illusion.”
“Why does it bend out like that?” Jean asked. She came around the table and past them, her hand extended toward the window.
“Don’t!” Nell said. “It could burn you!”
Max shook his head. “Do you feel any heat coming off it? Optical illusions don’t burn.” He followed Jean to the window.
Jean leaned up on the sill and poked at the blue curve with her Barbie. The doll’s blond hair sank into the glass like a waffle dipped in syrup.
“Wow!” Max said. “That’s some trick.” He poked the glass, too, and his finger disappeared in blue up to the knuckle.
They all had to try it then. They climbed onto the wide sill, probing the window with hands, resting cheeks on it. On the other side, the sky was the same deep blue they’d seen over Mrs. Grady’s house, but where her house should have been, the lone tree now stirred in a faint
