Page 87 of You'll Be Sorry

He sounds so serious, I nod in agreement.

“But what’s the point of having a secret hideout if others don’t know you have a secret hideout?”

I can nearly follow that logic.

“So I said we should invite you. You won’t tell anyone.”

On that we both agree.

“Plus, most people are afraid of you, right? Cuz they think you’re a witch and all—but I don’t, remember? You and me, we know better. Henry…he’s still scared but pretending he isn’t.” William stage-whispered, “That’s the other reason you should come. Henry’s always playing the big, brave older brother. But Iknowthe night-light in our room isn’t for me.”

I’m slightly taken aback by this admission, but then, having never had any siblings, I’m not sure if ratting out each other is just the way it is.

William seems to realize this a second later. “Don’t tell Henry I said that. Ready?”

“You mean…to visit? Right now?”

“Yeah. Summer’s almost over. Next week we gotta go to our other home. Back to school,” he finishes glumly.

“I’m busy.”

“No you’re not. I saw you. You’re just sitting there.”

“I’m reading!”

William peers at me intently. “My mom likes to say that, too. And you know what my dad tells her? That book isn’t going anywhere.”

The boy rocks back on his heels, confident he’s won the argument.

“I’m not sure I like your father,” I grumble, but sometime during William’s soliloquy, the two dogs had started running about in an exuberantgame of tag. I like my cabin and my solitude. I don’t need to go anywhere or deal with four precocious bordering on bratty children.

Lovey, on the other hand, who’s still mostly puppy at heart…

“How far away is this secret club?” I hear myself huff.

“Hideout,” William corrects. “I think it’s a pirate’s lair, but Henry tells me I’m being stupid. Pirates don’t hang out in the mountains.”

“It’s a cave?” I can feel my interest pick up despite myself. I’ve roamed these mountains all my life. I know of plenty of small indents and alcoves, but nothing that I would consider worthy to serve as a rogue’s hangout.

I surrender to the inevitable and drag on my boots.

Soon enough Lovey and I are crashing down a well-worn deer path with a bounding kid and his highly enthusiastic dog.

Traitor, I want to tell the canine, who continues to avoid my gaze. But it’s not really his fault. I’ve met this dog before, as well as other scattered members of Lovey’s bloodline. From what I could tell, he passed most days tied up on a small concrete pad, nowhere to go, nothing to do. Whether the notoriously cranky farmer turned him out—highly probable—or the dog finally had a chance to run for it, I can’t blame him for seeking a better lot. English Labs are known to be excellent family pets. Well played on his part to wiggle his way into a household with four high-energy kids.

Soon enough, William draws up short, bouncing up and down on his toes.

“Can you see it? Can you see it?” he asks excitedly.

I look around in bewilderment. We’ve descended to just below an impressive pile of massive stone slabs, typical for the Granite State. But I don’t see any openings, large, small, or otherwise.

William is practically vibrating. “It’s good, right? Like you can’t see it at all!”

“I don’t see it at all.”

“We wouldn’t of either. Dog found it. Didn’t you, boy?” He pats the dog on the head, who preens. “Henry!” he calls out suddenly. “She can’t see it! She really has no idea!”

And just like that, a head peeks out from what appears to be a solid wall. Followed shortly by two more as the remaining Dixon children join in.