Page 23 of The Intruder

NOW

CASEY

After Eleanor has eaten about half a dozen cookies, she asks me, “Where’s your TV?”

“I don’t have one.”

She looks horrified. It’s hard to throw stones though, because I’m fairly sure I would have reacted similarly at her age.

But what I didn’t understand back then is how freeing it is to not have a television.

There are so many better things to do with your time.

Televisions weren’t even invented until the early twentieth century, and look how dependent we are on them.

“There are lots of things to do besides watch television,” I say.

She doesn’t seem convinced. I admit, it’s a controversial decision to be television-free. Even Lee has a TV, and he seemed just as horrified as Eleanor when I told him I didn’t have one.

“We can play cards if you want?”

She crinkles her slightly upturned nose. If she weren’t so painfully skinny, she would be very pretty. “Cards?”

I feel about a million years old. “Yes. I don’t usually have anyone to play with. But now I’ve got you.”

“Great.”

“We can play any game you would like,” I offer. “What games do you know?”

“Roblox. Minecraft. Fortnight.”

“I mean card games.”

“Oh.” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “War?”

“What about go fish?” That game at least will require some interaction on her part, which might get her talking. “Do you know that game?”

“Sure. I guess.”

I get up to find my pack of playing cards, which I have mostly been using to play solitaire. As I am sifting through the drawer of the desk in the living room, the lights overhead flicker and go out for a split second but then thankfully come back on.

The deck of cards belonged to my father. He loved to play. He taught me every game he knew, but our favorite one to play was poker. My father was an excellent poker player, and we spent hours playing Texas Hold’em. He said it might come in handy if I were ever low on funds.

The key to being a good poker player, he always said, is knowing when to bluff. It’s not as easy as you think. What it comes down to is you should only bluff when you know your opponent will fold. If your opponent is going to stay in the game no matter what, then it’s not worth it to bluff.

While I’m grabbing my father’s deck of cards, I can’t help but notice Eleanor’s backpack again. The bloodstain is still there, but at least it hasn’t gotten bigger. What is she hiding in that backpack? If her bloody clothes were something she was willing to show me, what is she hiding from me?

For a second, I am seized with the almost irrepressible urge to rip the bag open and look through the contents. But I’m finally getting her to trust me. Violating her privacy like that would destroy all the goodwill from my infinity promise.

Maybe I can worm the truth out of her.

“Do you want any more cookies?” I ask her as I return to the table with the deck of cards.

She looks down at the container of cookies. She’s eaten about six of them—half the tin. “Nah, I don’t want to get fat like you.”

Wow, nice. I let the comment slide and pick up the half-eaten tin of cookies to put it back in the pantry. I grab a sponge to wipe down the table from dinner, and then I sit down across from her. I deal each of us a bunch of cards, but I barely look at mine. My eyes are on Eleanor’s face.

“Do you want to go first?” I ask her.

“No. You can go.”

My eyes flit down to the cards in my hand, attempting to focus on the actual game. “Do you have any sevens?”

“Go fish,” she says.

As I pick a card from the stack, I say, “How old are you anyway?”

I stare at her pale face, waiting for her answer as the lights flicker one more time. She doesn’t lift her eyes from the cards in her hand.

“Do you have any jacks?” she says.

I pass a single jack across the table. “Do you have any nines?”

“Go fish.”

“Are you twelve?” I ask.

She grits her teeth. “I said, Go fish.”

“Are you thirteen?”

I’ve pushed too far—Eleanor has had enough. She puts down her cards and purses her lips. “What’s the difference?”

“I was a teacher,” I explain. “I just wanted to see if I could guess your age correctly.”

“Were a teacher?”

“I’m taking a hiatus.”

“Why?”

The last thing I want to talk to this girl about are the reasons why I am not allowed back at Brigham Elementary School. The last time I was in the building, I sat in front of Principal Loredo’s desk flushed with shame as she peered at me over the edge of her half-moon glasses.

What were you thinking, Casey? she said to me. How could you do that?

I…I’m sorry. I got carried away.

You’re a good teacher, she acknowledged. And I know you were upset, but I can’t protect you after what you’ve done. I’m afraid that you’re terminated. Starting immediately.

I thought about getting down on my knees and pleading with her. My teaching job was everything to me, and I couldn’t believe I had done something so stupid and impulsive as to get myself fired. But I knew the principal didn’t have a choice. Her hands were tied after what I did.

“It’s complicated,” I finally say.

“Why is it complicated?” She blinks up at me as a flash of lightning makes her face glow. “Did you get fired?”

“No,” I lie. Or is it a bluff? No, it’s a lie.

“Were you a good teacher?”

I won Teacher of the Year three times, but I don’t want to brag. “Yes, I believe I was.”

“Then why did they fire you?”

“I told you, I wasn’t fired.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Did you lose your mind then? Is that why you’re living out in the woods?”

Maybe a little bit, I want to say. If I told her the whole truth, how would she react? “How about this? I’ll tell you why I’m not teaching anymore if you tell me your last name.”

She put down the knife to eat and then to play cards with me, but now her fingers curl around it once again. “No deal.”

My gaze darts down to the knife, then back up to her face.

I’m not sure if I believe she would really hurt me, but then again, why was she covered in blood?

This girl may be capable of more than I think.

Although by the looks of her arms, whoever she did this to likely deserved it.

“You don’t need to defend yourself against me. I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t know that for sure.”

“I would never. I infinity promise.”

Eleanor stares at me and doesn’t loosen her grip on the knife. Her voice is flat. “It feels like you make those kinds of promises a lot. I’m not even sure if you can keep them.”

“I swear.” I lay a hand on my chest. “I would never hurt you. You don’t have to worry.”

“Maybe,” she says softly, “you’re the one who has to worry.”

I look down at her fingers gripping that knife. There is still blood caked in her fingernails. As I am staring at them, the lights overhead flicker one more time, and then they go out for good.