All That's Missing (19 page)

The way she pronounced the word —
formality
— sounded to Arlo like some sort of dreaded disease. What was wrong with eating in the kitchen? Ida's kitchen was the brightest room in her house. Everything sparkled — the stove and refrigerator and sink. Even the paint on the island was a cheerful shade of blue.

“If I lived here, I'd eat in the kitchen every day,” he said.

That seemed to please her. “I like it, too,” she whispered. From the guilty look on her face, you would have thought Slocum was in the next room.

Steamboat barked at their feet.

“Well, of course, you love the kitchen, don't you, boy?” Ida said. “That's where we keep all the food.”

Arlo waited until they had moved on to dessert before bringing up his conversation with Maywood.

“Mind if I ask you something?” he said.

“Go ahead,” Ida said.

Arlo cleared his throat.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, ma'am. It's not that.” Arlo wiped a drip of ice cream off his chin. “It's something Maywood told me this afternoon.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“Maywood says you're moving to Richmond.” Arlo kept his eyes on his dessert dish, waiting for her to take that in.

“I suppose you were bound to hear eventually, weren't you?” she said.

He raised his head. “You mean, it's true?”

She gave him a sad smile. “A person needs to make plans, Arlo. I'm an old lady living alone.” She folded her napkin and placed it next to her plate.

“Maywood says you bought a condo in a retirement community.”

She rolled her eyes. “It's like taking out an ad in the newspaper, isn't it?” she said. “All I need to do is share one tiny detail of my private life with Augusta and a few days later, everyone in Edgewater knows about it.”

Her body seemed less substantial now, as if her bones were shrinking. Her shoulders seemed to cave in on themselves too.

“It's true that I signed a contract to buy a condominium near Richmond,” she said. “But they told me I don't have to go through with it unless I sell this house first.”

Arlo felt his stomach roll. “You aren't selling the house, are you?”

“I haven't yet.” Her voice was shaky now.

“There isn't even a sign in the yard,” Arlo said.

“That's right. And I don't want one either. Once you put a sign in your yard, all manner of strangers think they have a perfect right to come cruising down your driveway, checking things out on their own. I couldn't stand that. And I didn't want everyone in town knowing about it. Too late now, it sounds like.”

She ran a finger along the grout in the tile on the island, scraping up a tiny grain of pepper, then wiping it on her napkin. “A month ago, selling seemed the only reasonable alternative. Things have been a little tight around here. I haven't been able to take care of things the way I'd like. There was someone interested in the house. I let a Realtor talk me into looking at places in Richmond.” She blotted her cheek with her napkin. “Honestly, Arlo, I'm not even sure how I let her talk me into signing that contract.”

“Which contract?” Arlo asked.

“The one on the condo.”

“But the person who was interested — they didn't buy your house?”

Ida sniffed. “I haven't let him look at it yet.”

Arlo's heart settled back to its normal rhythm. “Is it someone from around here?”

“That's just the thing,” Ida said with a puzzled look on her face. “The man doesn't even live in this state. The Realtor says he has a niece who teaches in some town close by. And he thought Edgewater might be a good place to settle down.” She picked up Arlo's plate and scraped what was left onto her own. “I still don't understand it. Why, you know as well as I do, you can't even see this place from the road. So, why on earth would he be interested in it?”

Arlo could tell that her mind was racing from the way she wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. She opened the refrigerator and started to put their dirty plates in it, until she glanced down and realized her mistake. Then she bent down and scraped the combined leftovers from their two dinner plates into Steamboat's dish.

“The whole thing gave me a funny feeling,” she said. “That's why I canceled the appointment to show the house.”

Something made Arlo slip the wood carving out of his pocket. Why now? He wasn't sure. It just felt like the right time. He set it down in front of her. Ida leaned in close, squinting at it. There was a long pause followed by a tiny gasp.

“What on earth?”
Blink. Blink. Blink.
There she went again. “Where did you find this?” she asked.

He told her about the photo album and how the carving had been attached to its binding.

A tear spilled onto Ida's cheek. It took her a few moments to compose herself before she could speak. “Your father made that, you know. It was when he was at camp.” She traced the knife marks in the wood with the knobby tip of her finger. “He carried it for luck.”

Arlo smiled. “I sort of figured he'd made it,” he said.

Ida stared at the carving a long time. “I suppose it's only right you should have it,” she said finally.

Arlo's heart speeded up.

“Promise you'll take good care of it?”

He nodded.

“Yes, I believe you will.” She placed the carving in his hand.

The wood was warm when Arlo slipped it in his pocket.

That night, he curled up in bed with the book Maywood had given him.
Ghost Stories of the Tidewater Country.
She said it was one of her favorites. Usually Arlo loved ghost stories. He liked the way they set his mind churning, conjuring up all sorts of weird things. But in a strange house, all alone late at night, it was creepy. Still, what else was there to do with Ida asleep and the house closed up? Arlo turned to the page Maywood had marked and started reading. Half of his mind was mulling over the idea of living here in Edgewater. What would he do if Ida asked him to stay? The question made his head spin. He tried to focus on the words of the story.

The fog was thick and blue over the swamp that evening. . . .

But his eyelids drooped, and then somehow the book was on the floor. And Arlo was dreaming. He dreamed of a monster made out of swamp mud, a monster who came to life and chased him through a murky bog. Every time Arlo thought he was getting away, another monster rose up out of the muck and made a grab for him. The monsters all had giant toothless mouths that yawned wider as they lunged toward him.

Arlo woke soaked with sweat. The book of ghost stories was sprawled open on the rug. He carried it to the dresser by the window and pressed it closed. It was bad enough to have Miss Hasslebarger chasing him. He didn't need mud monsters, too. What he needed was a home, with someone to take care of him. Why was that so much to ask?

“You're looking a little pale there, Skywalker,” Matthew said the next morning when Arlo and Ida walked into the café. “Maybe you need some fortification.”

“Matthew's asking if you're hungry,” Ida said.

“How about a Frog Creek Special?” Matthew said.

“What's that?” Arlo asked.

“Scrambled-egg sandwich with cheese on homemade bread. Plus a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice,” Matthew told him.

“Sounds good,” Arlo said. “I'll try it.”

“Good deal,” Matthew said.

“And I'll have my usual,” Ida said.

“One Frog Creek Special and one Darjeeling with a hazelnut scone.” Matthew took two eggs out of the small refrigerator.

Meanwhile, a sharp voice scratched the air behind them.

“Are you two going to stand there lollygagging all day, or are you going to come sit with me?”

Arlo recognized the voice without turning around — Augusta Stonestreet, jutting-out chin and all, glared at them from the front table. Her
usual
spot.

“Coming, dear.” Ida gathered her change and walked to the table. Steamboat followed and settled on the floor between them.

Meanwhile, Arlo watched Matthew crack eggs onto a hot griddle. Soon the smell of hot butter, eggs, and melted cheese wafted through the air.

“Know how long you're staying yet?” Matthew asked as he scraped the edges of the egg and blended it with the melting cheese.

“Not really,” Arlo said. “It sort of depends.”

“Waiting to see what happens with your grandfather, I suppose,” Matthew said.

“That's right.”

Matthew flipped the egg onto a slice of toasted bread and handed Arlo his orange juice. Arlo took the plate and started eating.

“This is good,” he said through a mouthful of food.

Matthew gave him a small salute. “Glad you like it,” he said. “How's your grandfather doing, anyway?”

Arlo shrugged.

“That good, huh? Sorry to hear it.”

“They say he's not any worse.”

“Well, that's something, I guess. Good thing you have Ida.”

“Yeah.” Arlo didn't mean for his voice to crack. Every time someone said something that made him think about staying in Edgewater, it was like a valve quit pumping in his heart, just for a second, but enough to put a catch in his voice. Is
that
what he wanted? To stay here? In a place he'd never known?

“Were you good friends with my dad?”

Matthew paused as he lifted the metal basket out of the coffee machine. “Wake and I played on the same basketball team. . . .”

“My dad played basketball?”

“Among other things. You didn't know that?”

“No.”

“That's a shame.” Matthew dumped the used grounds in the trash and then measured out a fresh scoop of coffee. “Wake was a good man.” He poured the fresh coffee grounds into the paper filter, then snapped the lid on the coffee canister. “I could tell you some stories.”

“I'd like that.” Arlo's heart pressed against the back of his throat. While the water heater on the coffee machine roared, he thought about the questions he might ask.

“You know,” Matthew said, lining up clean coffee mugs on the counter, “I've been telling Lucius that I could use an assistant on deliveries. Maybe you could help me out.”

“Really?”

“It would give us time to talk.” Matthew wiped his hands on a dish towel.

“You could tell me about my dad,” Arlo said.

“As long as you don't have other plans,” Matthew said.

“I don't have any plans.”

Matthew gave him a nod. “Good,” he said. “What do you say I talk to Ida?”

“OK.”

“Maybe we could start tomorrow.” Matthew looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I'd like that,” Arlo said. He carried his plate and glass around the counter to the small sink.

“Looks like you know your way around a galley,” Matthew said. “Had some experience, have you?”

“I do a lot of cooking at home.” Cooking was a glorified way to talk about the meals Arlo fixed, but it was true that he'd been in charge of the kitchen back in Marshboro lately.

“In that case, would you mind wiping off that table for me?”

“Sure.”

“Better wash your hands first. Ms. Nosy-Bones is watching us.”

Arlo followed Matthew's gaze to the front table, where Augusta Stonestreet was eyeing them intently.

“Bathroom's in back of the children's section.”

“Thanks.” Arlo smiled as he walked under the tree house. When he came back after washing his hands, Matthew tossed a dish towel to him.

“You and Ida haven't spent much time together, have you?” Matthew asked.

“Poppo and I live pretty far away,” Arlo said, wiping down the table. “He always promised we'd come here someday.”

“Just never got around to it, I suppose.”

“I guess that's right,” Arlo said.

Matthew filled the cream pitcher with fresh half-and-half. “You know, it's a good thing you came when you did,” he said.

“Why's that?”

“I don't guess Ida's told you about selling her house.”

The dish towel slipped in Arlo's hand, but he grabbed hold just before it hit the ground.

“Nice save.”

“Thanks.” Arlo carried the dish towel to the sink behind the counter, then rinsed it out and hung it over the side to dry. “Maywood mentioned something about it,” he said.

“Is that right?” Matthew kept his eyes on the reflection of Ida and Augusta in the mirror over the sink. “Did you ask Ida if it was true?”

Arlo nodded. “She told me she's found a place in Richmond, but she doesn't have to buy it unless she sells her house. She says she had to make plans since she didn't have any family close by.”

“'Course if she had some family around here, it might be a different story,” Matthew said.

Arlo felt Matthew staring at him. His stomach rolled.