“Daddy,” said the big sister, said it funny, like it was in quotes.
“Why?”
“See what he knows about Leo.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Not in Manila.”
“How do you know he’s in Manila?”
Her voice took on an edge: “Or Singapore, Shanghai, what difference does it make? They’ll track him down.” She was walking toward the unlit room, the bedroom. “See you later,” she said.
“You’re leaving?”
“Bonsoir.”
Or some foreign shit; this was like another goddamn country.
Freedy’s angle was perfect for seeing what happened after that. The little sister and the Nat guy exchanged a look, like they didn’t know what the hell was going on. Join the club, thought Freedy. Meanwhile, big sister was climbing up the rope ladder in the bedroom. There was just enough spillover light from the candles in the big room to gleam on her blond head. Up and out of sight she went. Freedy heard something close like a lid.
The little sister and the Nat guy made eye contact again, different this time. The little sister got up and walked over toward the record player where the Nat guy was standing. Why did he keep calling her the little sister? She was just as tall as the big sister, with a body just as good in every way. In fact-another one of his insights was coming, he could feel it-they were identical, except for the hair. Except for the hair, they could have been twins.
And the Nat guy was not their brother, oh no, not unless something sicko was going on. Freedy knew that from the way she put her arms around him, the way they kissed, swaying to the music but not dreamy, much hotter than dreamy. Freedy was just settling into what might get pretty interesting when he saw something that actually scared him, scared him, Freedy; made his heart jump inside his chest. It wasn’t that first gleam, barely flickering in the unlit bedroom that did it; he didn’t make the connection. It was when that blond head materialized in the darkness, and big sister, her body hidden in shadow, took in the scene by the record player. Her face.
Actually scared him.
“I love this song, don’t you?” little sister was saying.
“Yes,” said the Nat guy.
“Do you understand the words?”
The Nat guy shook his head. “Is this before the kidnapping or after?”
“Just before,” said the little sister.
Freedy looked beyond them, to the bedroom. Big sister was gone.
20
“That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.” Why? (Or why not?)
“I love that,” Izzie said.
“What?”
“Your chipped tooth.” She ran the tip of her tongue over it again.
“It’s a flaw.”
“That’s why.” They stood beside the wind-up record player, down in the cave, their arms around each other, music of long ago all around them; the words incomprehensible to Nat, the emotions not. “How did you do it?” Izzie asked.
“Do what?”
“Chip your tooth.”
“I was born with it. My mom has the same thing, same tooth.”
“Your mom-” Izzie began, and stopped herself.
“What about her?”
“Oops,” Izzie said.
Nat backed up a little, still holding Izzie, but at arm’s length. “What about her?”
“I hope to meet her one day.”
“That’s not what you were going to say.”
Izzie sighed. “She sounds nice, that’s all.”
But he’d never really discussed his mother with Izzie. “Who says?”
“You can be relentless.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m used to it. Patti told us about her. There-happy now?”
“Yup.” He was; the sound of her name stabbed him, but he was happy at the same time.
Izzie laughed, moved closer to him. The music played, the candles burned. Happy, and on his way to exhilaration. He spun her, just a half a little spin, to the music.
At that moment, something caught Nat’s eye on the far, and distant, wall. He looked over Izzie’s head, saw only the biggest of all the oil paintings, hanging halfway up. Fauns, sheep, a centaur spying from behind a rock, three nudes bathing by a waterfall.
“Is she relentless too?”
“My mom? No.”
“What does she do?
“I thought I told you.”
“Must have been Grace. Happens all the time.”
“She works in a law office.”
“Your mother’s a lawyer?”
“Receptionist.”
“How big a practice?”
A question that would never have occurred to him. “In what way?”
“How many lawyers?”
“Just one.”
Izzie’s eyebrow rose, that right eyebrow that took care of nonverbal communication.
“It’s a small town,” Nat said.
“What’s he like?” said Izzie. “Or she.”
“My mom’s boss?” Mr. Beaman: Whatever you’ve got, Evie. Paper cups will do. “He’s all right, I guess.” She never complained. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s about you,” Izzie said. “And we have something in common.”
“We do?”
“I lived in a small town once myself. In Connecticut. Not Grace. Just me. We were very little and it was just for a year. This was after the divorce. Grace stayed with our mother in the city, my father and I moved to the country. I went to first grade at an ordinary public school.”
“And survived?”
“Very funny. I loved it. Especially snow days. They were the best. Did they have snow days where you were?”
“Some.” But not many; Nat’s town prided itself on keeping the schools open no matter what, and anyone with a pickup and a plow was on the road with the first falling flakes, fighting for a chunk of the public-works budget.
“There’s nothing like a snow day,” Izzie said. “Not Christmas, or any other holiday or vacation. You wake up
