Page 16

For reasons I’m still not sure about, I went back into the house and left through the front door instead of simply slipping through the hedge into the Barringers’ backyard. I suspect that, deep down, I knew something horrible had happened, kicking off an avoidance of our backyard that persists to this day. That’s how I found myself tracing the curve of the sidewalk, turning up the walk bisecting the front yard, and hopping up the three steps to the front door.
Mrs. Barringer answered the door. Seeing me there, without her son, sent a hand flittering to her throat.
“Where’s Billy?” she said.
“He’s not here?”
“No, Ethan. He’s not with you?”
When I shook my head, fear sparked in Mrs. Barringer’s eyes. Seeing her silent panic made clear the unnerving fact I’d been trying to suppress since waking up in the tent.
Billy was gone.
Thirty years later, he’s still gone, as is his family; the house they once occupied now stands empty. I pause on the sidewalk, struck by how utterly abandoned the place feels. It’s not surprising no one wants to buy it. The shutters have been faded by the sun and the windows are as dark and empty as the eyes of a corpse. The only sign of life is the flowers lining the front walk. Bright and in full bloom, it’s clear they’re the work of Mrs. Chen, Hemlock Circle’s expert gardener. She probably couldn’t bear the sight of unattended plants and took it upon herself to care for them.
After one last look at Billy’s house, I continue to the next one on the cul-de-sac—the Van de Veer residence.
Fritz Van de Veer and his wife, Alice, were the first to settle on Hemlock Circle after it was built in the late eighties. They were soon followed by the Wallaces, the Patels, the Chens, and my family. Of the six original houses, only the Barringer place has been home to more than one family. First the Remingtons, who spent three years there before they got divorced and moved away, then the Barringers, then several other families who came and went. That turnover, while normal for most neighborhoods, is unusual in a place like Hemlock Circle, where few people ever leave.
Make no mistake, it’s weird that five out of the six families living on the cul-de-sac when Billy vanished remain here thirty years later. Even the Barringers, who had every reason to leave, stayed a few years after their son’s disappearance. The night before they left for Florida, I asked my parents why they had stayed here for so long. Why everyone had stayed.
My father cited the diverse neighborhood, its cleanliness and quiet, its excellent schools and low crime rate, what happened to Billy notwithstanding. Situated a stone’s throw from Princeton and halfway between New York and Philadelphia, its location made it one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the country.
Despite the way he talked, I know the real reason that’s kept every family here all these years. No one wanted to be the first to leave, lest it make them appear suspicious. Now that my parents have finally felt comfortable enough to move, I wouldn’t be surprised if others did as well. Especially Vance Wallace, who lost his wife to cancer a few years ago and, until Ashley moved back in, had lived in that big house all alone.
To get to the Wallaces’, I must pass the Van de Veers’. As I do, I spot Fritz Van de Veer rounding the house, a garden hose in hand. Even though he’s watering flowers, Fritz looks like a businessman on Casual Friday. Pressed khakis. Crisp white shirt tucked in to show off his still-trim figure. The only sign that he’s been retired for years are his sneakers, which are the same gleaming white as his shirt.
Fritz is soon joined by his wife, Alice, who’s clad in a floral sundress and sandals. She’s as slender and elegant as the last time I saw her, which might have been more than a decade ago. Like her husband, her hair is a shade of beige that refuses to betray her age. Not quite blonde, not quite gray. Standing side by side, the two of them give off distinct Pat Sajak–and–Vanna White vibes.
I step closer to their yard, stopping next to the hedge separating their property from the old Barringer house. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Van de Veer,” I call out, sounding like I’m thirty years younger and not the same age they were when Billy was taken. Such formality can be forgiven. As the only couple on Hemlock Circle without children, Fritz and Alice rarely entered my childhood orbit. Other than appearances at our annual Fourth of July party, I can’t remember another time in which the Van de Veers were at our house. Nor can I recall ever setting foot in theirs.
Then again, after Billy, the general mood of Hemlock Circle changed. The neighborhood grew more somber, less friendly. Russ’s parents stopped celebrating Chinese New Year with an open house, and Ashley’s halted their Memorial Day pool parties. The Patels stillcelebrated Diwali, but only with close friends and family. Even my parents stopped their Fourth of July picnic, opting instead to take me on vacations to national parks and notable historical sites.
“Ethan, hello!” Alice squeals as her husband waves with his hose hand, sending a stream of water arcing across the lawn. She dodges it on her way to the sidewalk, where she presses both of her well-manicured hands to my cheeks. “It’s been ages since we last saw you. Hasn’t it been ages, Fritz?”
Behind her, Fritz nods. “It has.”
“Now you’re all grown up! You must be, what now, thirty?”
“Forty,” I say.
“No!” Alice says, gasping then giggling. “Oh, that makes me feel positively ancient.”
She gives my arm a playful swat that might be seen as friendly but could also be considered flirtatious. For clarification, I look to Fritz, who offers none. Instead, he says, “I see you’ve been making the rounds this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Going from house to house,” Fritz says, again gesturing with the hose, the water splashing first toward the Chens’, then the old Barringer place, before stopping in the direction of the Wallace house next door.
“Oh,” I say, a bit unnerved. Has Fritz Van de Veer been watching me? If so, maybe he also saw who tossed the baseball into my yard. I hold it up for him to see. “Just trying to find the owner of this. It was in my yard this morning.”
Alice briefly eyes the ball. “Strange for something like that to show up.”
“Have you seen anything else strange recently?”
“Can’t say I have,” Fritz says before turning to his wife. “Sweets, could you go inside and pour me a glass of lemonade? I’ll be there in a sec.”
At first, I’m not sure what surprises me more—that Fritz calls his wife “sweets” or that he can’t get his own damn lemonade. What ends up surprising me the most is when Alice dutifully nods, gives me a wave goodbye, and heads inside.