Listening for Lucca (11 page)

“The ghosts touch you?”

Lucca shook his head and pressed on his chest, my chest. He made a face like he was happy, then like he might cry.

“Oh.” I understood. “Feelings like that. You
feel
them. That’s it? Nothing else?”

He nodded and seemed to relax onto the bed. Then he looked me right in the eyes.

“Well, that’s it,” I said uncomfortably. “You can get back to playing.”

He continued to look at me and made the overhead gesture for ghosts again. Then he pointed to my eyes, my ears, my chest. Asking me if I saw, heard, felt.

“Okay.” I lowered my voice, and he lowered his hands. “I can see them. And hear them. Okay?” Then I added, “Don’t tell Mom.”

Then I started laughing. Like he
would
tell Mom. Like he could.

Lucca didn’t think it was funny. He kicked me hard in the shin and ran out of the room.

Suddenly it didn’t seem funny to me either.

Lucca had a pretty good kick. After the ten minutes it took to use the bathroom and get dressed, my shin still hurt, and it was turning purple. I hobbled downstairs and got an ice pack from the freezer.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked. “Lucca just tore through here a minute ago, then ran out and threw himself on the couch. He’s pouting. Have you been fighting?”

“No. That would be way too normal.” I took my ice
pack and went back upstairs as quickly as I could with a throbbing shin.

I headed to my window seat and sat there with my leg stretched out and the ice pack on my shin.

It
would
be nice to have a normal brother-and-sister relationship.

I’d tried to shut out the dreams overnight and it hadn’t worked. But I did need to know what happened to Sarah.

I reached for my pen and got out the notebook. I took deep breaths and imagined being Sarah.

But as I set the pen to the paper, I heard Mom calling. “Siena, you have company!”

Company?

Curiosity made me hurry downstairs.

Sam stood at the front door.

“Hey, Siena.”

“Uh, hey, Sam.” Thank goodness I’d gotten dressed. I’d been sleeping in my underwear and an embarrassing camp T-shirt from when I was eight. It was bad enough I was holding a Cookie Monster ice pack and had a purple shin. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you described the place so nicely, I had to see for myself.”

How had I described the place? Oh, yeah. I’d called it a dump.

My mother, in a burst of excitement over the prospect of me having a friend already, showed up with a pitcher of lemonade and plastic cups. “Why don’t you guys sit outside?”

“Ooooookay,” I said. “Let’s go outside.”

We sat down on the porch steps and I poured our drinks.

“It’s nice of your mom to make us lemonade,” Sam said.

“Don’t be too flattered. It’s from a mix.”

“Still. Makes a guy feel welcome.” He watched me place the ice pack back on my leg. “Ouch. What happened?”

“Nothing, really.”

We sat in silence for a minute. I was careful to sip my lemonade and not gulp it.

“So, now you’ve seen the place,” I said.

“Yep. Nice place. Not a dump. Probably needs a new roof.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mention that to my parents.”

“I’m sure they know already. This
is
a relaxing life,” Sam announced, stretching out on the porch.

It seemed like he was making a point to show he had listened to the things I’d said before.

“Let’s go in,” I said after I’d gotten two mosquito bites. I brought the pitcher back to the kitchen.

Sam didn’t make it into the kitchen with me. I backtracked and found that he’d gotten caught in the living room. He was crouched on the floor with Lucca, playing with his train set. Lucca never sets up his tracks in an easy oval or figure eight, but uses track splitters to make elaborate designs all over the floor.

“Look, Thomas trains! I love Thomas trains!” Sam exclaimed. Lucca beamed.

Sam got so absorbed that I sat on the couch, watching. Were Lucca and I still in a fight? It’s hard to know with someone who never talks to you.

Mom stuck her head in. “It’s lunchtime. Want to stay, Sam?”

“Sure.”

Mom told Lucca to wash his hands, and he ran off.

When we were alone, Sam said, “Your brother’s shy. He wouldn’t even tell me his name.”

“His name’s Lucca. And he’s not shy. He just doesn’t talk.”

“At all?”

I shook my head.

Sam looked thoughtful. “Why not?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I hopped off the couch and we went to join Mom and Lucca in the kitchen.

As we ate I kept glancing sideways at Sam, who seemed much more comfortable than I was. He caught me looking at him three times, so I stopped looking.

Why didn’t we have any napkins? What if I had mustard on my mouth? Would it be worse to leave it there or to wipe it on the back of my hand?

And why did I suddenly care so much about mustard on my face?

Lucca and Sam started trading broken pretzels for whole pretzels and then built something that looked like a log cabin out of the leftovers.

Mom kept beaming at me, even though I didn’t say a word.

“I have to go to the store,” Sam announced once the table was cleaned up. “Thanks for lunch!” he said to Mom.

“Anytime.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” I said, and we walked to the end of the driveway.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Really? I’d been boring as a box of bricks. But I said, “Yeah, see you soon. Thanks for coming over.”

After I came back inside, I spotted Lucca sitting on the toilet in the downstairs bathroom with the door open. His feet were resting on his toddler stepping stool and a picture book sat on his knees.

He couldn’t read, so he was looking at it.

Well, maybe he could read, but no one would know, right? Maybe he was a super-genius who should have been reading
War and Peace
already.

“Listen, Lucca,” I said, coming into the bathroom and crouching down to be at his eye level. “You’re three years old. That’s old enough to shut the door when you go to the bathroom.” Especially now that people might be dropping by. People who might not understand a three-year-old’s bathroom habits.

Lucca’s eyes widened at me. I knew what he was thinking.

“Oh, if you need help? Just call us. Bye!” I left the bathroom, Lucca still staring at me as I shut the door.

I headed into the kitchen.

“Mom, I just told Lucca it’s time he started going to the bathroom with the door shut.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s getting older, it’s ridiculous.”

“He’s not that old. How will we know if he needs help?” Mom started to leave the room, to go open the bathroom door.

“Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “You can always go in to check on him. But this way, maybe he’ll call for someone.”

Mom paused to consider my point.

“That’s tough love, right?” I explained. “Maybe he’s uncomfortable, but it could help.”

“You aren’t his parent, Siena. It’s not up to you to decide and enforce the lessons.”

“Well, what are
you
doing?” I asked. “Put him in a situation where he really needs to talk, and maybe he will.”

Mom looked angry, but then she sighed and spoke calmly. “Upsetting him won’t work either. It might even make things worse, rule out the chance of improvement.”

The sound of a toilet flushing made us pause. Then it flushed again, and again. Then there was a thunk that sounded like a book being thrown against a wall.

Mom and I forgot that we were in the middle of an argument and started laughing.

“I guess it backfired,” I admitted. “He worked out signals.”

“I’ll go see what he needs.”

“About the door? It’s just so much more civilized with it shut.”

“We’ll compromise: I’ll have him shut the door except for the last inch … no need to risk him getting locked in a bathroom.”

“Deal.” I headed upstairs to the window seat. The water looked beautiful and a cool breeze blew in through the screen.

I was surprised Mom hadn’t given me a lecture about window safety. I know not to lean on the screen, but I’d have to make sure Lucca didn’t visit my room and try it.

Oh, Lucca, are you ever going to talk to us?

My mind was scattered. Lucca still seemed to be mad at me, and Sam—why had he stopped by? Did he want to be friends after all?

But I needed to get back to Sarah, to finding out what happened, and what I was still sensing here. I picked up the pen.

And then I was back in the present, staring at the words on the page. That was it—it had just stopped. Sarah had no more to tell me right now?

Oh, no. Joshua. Joshua would be going off to war.

No, this story had happened already, in the past.

Joshua
went
to war.

Suddenly I had flashes of churning red water; the bombed, abandoned town; a sick little girl in my arms. They weren’t just dreams; they were memories. Joshua’s memories. I had seen them in my sleep, without knowing it, just like I’d seen this house and it turned out to exist.

Why was I having Joshua’s memories? I felt a little shaky and lay down on the window seat.

Calm down.

Think.

I was getting somewhere in the ghost mystery. Maybe Joshua hadn’t made it home? Could his spirit have come
all the way back from overseas just to haunt this house? Spirits could probably go anywhere they wanted, in time or space.

Or maybe it was someone else? Maybe his mom had gone a little nuts in his absence and it was her spirit who was here, still waiting for her son to come home?

I’d have to find out later. It was never possible to get right back into Sarah’s mind. I sat up and went downstairs to look for company, but there was a note from Mom on the kitchen counter, saying that she and Lucca had gone to playgroup. They’d be back soon.