Page 66 of You'll Be Sorry

It made it a simple matter for me to ease in the back door. Kids had taken off first thing this morning, Janet had headed into town with the family van, while Dave had set out whistling for the fishing pond. The house so empty and quiet.

And yet still screaming family. The pile of dirty dishes in the sink, half-filled glasses dotting the table. A sweater hanging over the back of a chair, a pile of dirty towels there, scattered shoes in different sizes and shapes everywhere.

I’d never visited the house occupied. It was…different.

While the old homestead had been torn down and completely vanquished, some of the furniture, including two early-American pieces, had been preserved. I made my way to the commode dresser now, a relatively simple but gracefully curved three-drawer chest that had been positioned against a wall in the dining area. I imagine the Dixons used it to store table linens and the like.

But because I actually knew my history, I understood the commode had been engineered to hold more than the obvious. You know what the original settlers didn’t have in the eighteenth century? Access to banks, or vaults, or safes. They hid their valuables instead. Sometimes tucked beneath the floorboards or wedged up in the rafters. But for the more prosperous ones—say, the Dixons of the world—often in secret compartments built into their furniture.

I started with the side trim pieces, using my nails to search for invisible cracks and crevices. Third time was the charm. It took several minutes to carefully pull out the panel, revealing a small, rectangular hollow. Perfect.

I eased the battered journal from my pack. Had a moment’s hesitation. Then hastily shoved the book inside the cavity before I could change my mind. Because discovery was the name of the game, I made sure I left the front panel partially ajar. My gift to Janet Dixon. My curse to the rest of the family.

And then, having completed my mission, I turned around to leave…

And discovered the little Dixon, William, and a dog staring at me.

“Hey, I know you,” the boy declared. He was clutching the front of his pants in a distinct gesture. “You have a cute dog. Look, now I have a dog.”

The dog and I had recognized each other immediately. It quickly glanced away.

“Why are you in my house?”

“I’m…looking for your parents.”

“They’re out. I don’t know when they’ll be back.” William shrugged.

“And your siblings? Should”—the thought came out of nowhere—“should you be home alone at your age?”

“Oh, I just came in to pee. I wanted to go in the woods, which Henry says is okay. But then Violet saw me and got all”—the boy pitched his voice higher—“‘Oh gross!’So I had to come back to the house.” He finished on a glum note. “And now I’m missing everything.”

“What is everything?”

“At the cave! We’re fixing it up to be our secret hideaway. We might need a safe place to protect ourselves from enemy invaders. Or witches.” He paused, regarded me solemnly. “I don’t think you’re a witch.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. You don’t even have a black cat. Plus your dog is too nice.”

I glanced at his dog, who now whined softly and pressed himself tighter against the boy. He was worried I’d come to take him away, but not even I was that cruel.

“Are you lonely?”

“What?”

“Just…You seemed kinda…alone.” Then when I continued to stare at him wide-eyed, William continued in a rush. “You don’t have siblings, do you? I got three of them, which means I’m never alone, and sometimes, I really want to be alone, but most of the time it’s nice cuz I’m never alone.”

I could almost follow that. “My family is gone,” I heard myself say.

“They live somewhere else?”

“They died.”

“Oh.” His little face furrowed. “That must be sad.”

Again, I surprised myself. “It is.”

“You have a dog. I have a dog.” The boy patted his mutt affectionately. “Maybe sometime you and your dog could come, like, have a playdate with me and my dog. I like to build forts and climb trees. What do you like to do?”