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“If it’s not too much trouble.” I do like that grilled cheese. It was perfectly toasted with just enough butter and the melty cheese doing that stringy thing when you pull the triangles apart. But I need to know more about why he’s going on this sudden trip. I feel my face fold into an accusatory glance. “How long will you be gone for?”
He whisks his hand through the air. “You two need your space. To get to know one another better.” He tosses a bay leaf into the pot. “You don’t need a gray-haired third wheel in your space.”
“How long, Mr. Gian?” I ask.
He tries to divert my attention, hitting my weakest spot. “I’ll leave you chocolate ganache cake for your dessert.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That sounds lovely.”
Why won’t he tell me how long he will be gone? An unpleasant thought pricks at the back of my mind, making my gaze drop to the countertop. I tap the end of a pen against the marble.“Hedidn’t ask you to leave, did he?”
“Hmmm?” Gian is pretending to be enthralled with his stirring. He doesn’t want to answer me.
I press on. “I mean, if he did ask you to leave to give us space, please don’t go. We can get to know one another just fine with you here,” I beg.
Finally, Gian looks up from his pot long enough to briefly make eye contact. “He didn’t ask me. Please don’t mention it to himtonight—he’s still sore about the trip. It’s just a last-minute thing that came up. Family business.”
My stomach flip-flops. I squirm on my barstool. I picture being in this house without Gian and alone with Haze.
I need my new friend for emotional support and comfort—and let’s not forget that the food has been incredible—and he’s my only hope. Selfishly, I say, “I still need to talk to my family.”
“You’ve been working hard all day. Mr. Bachman will be home soon. Why don’t you lie down a little before you have to get ready for dinner.” Finally, he looks at me for longer than a second, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his lingering gaze.
The look in his eye is the same one Grandma gives me when I’m going to the movies, and she’s hiding a little extra pocket money in my purse for candy.
He’s going to help me! “You know, I am a little tired. That’s a good idea.” I ease up from my stool. Standing, I stretch my arms up high, yawning. “I think I will rest for a bit.”
I’m hoping for a phone.
He clicks the knob on the stove off and sets a lid on the pot. “I’m going to pack. I’ll call you when dinner is ready. This will taste even better if it sits till dinner. Be sure I take the bay leaf out before we eat.”
“Thanks, Gian,” I say.
The thought of hearing my mom’s voice sends butterflies taking off in my stomach. I neatly put my school supplies and laptop back into my backpack, heaving it over my shoulder. Eager to discover what he left for me, I prance up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Closing the bedroom door, I stow my backpack on the closet floor.
Whatever it may be, where could it be? I look around. At first glance, nothing seems out of place. There’s a desk, desk chair, bed, dresser with eight drawers, two nightstands, the bed, and the closet behind me with doors I’ve left open.
The closet seems like a good place to begin. My backpack and shoes are neatly lined on the floor. A few things I’ve unpacked are on one of the center shelves. There’s a long, high shelf over the bars for hanging clothing.
If I had something to hide, I’d go high. Standing on the balls of my feet, I stretch upward, running my fingers over the smooth wood of the empty shelf. Nothing.
I go to the desk, carefully opening and closing each drawer. They’re all empty. I pull open the top drawer of the dresser. A colorful line of neatly folded panties greets me. Lifting a corner of a stack of boy shorts, I eye the three-stranded pearl necklace that means everything to me. I reach out, touching the cool beads for comfort. This necklace is my only connection to my father. I tuck the pearls back under my undies for safekeeping.
As I close the drawer, a chime goes off, the same one that sounds whenever the house's front door opens or closes.
Someone has opened the front door. My heart hammers in my chest. My head snaps to the closed bedroom door. Is he home already? I tiptoe over to the door and listen for his voice. I don’t hear anyone. I need to be sure.
Slowly, I inch the bedroom door open.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck as I call out, “Haze? Are you home?” I hope against hope for no answer. I’m met with total silence.
The door chimes again.
“Gian?” I call out.
“Just putting my bag in the car, darling! You have at least another half hour.”