“Maybe a little more,” I kidded.
“I’m not as ambitious as he’d like, and he thinks I waste time on too many ‘unprofitable’ ventures. He never stops complaining about my enthusiasm when it comes to my future. He thinks I should be just as aggressive and ambitious as he was at my age. He never misses an opportunity to say it. His favorite expression is ‘Youth is wasted on the young.’?”
“That’s what most parents say.”
“Not like he does. But from what my relatives say, he wasn’t always this intense. He’s like someone who wins the lottery and turns from Jekyll to Hyde. Don’t quote me, especially in front of my father or my mother, but money changes you and not always for the best.”
“I fear Christopher might come to that same conclusion, even though that’s all they’re dreaming about in that attic, lots of money.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Kane said, smiling, as he pulled into my driveway.
Now that we were about to start, I really wasn’t sure how we were going to do this. Was he going to read it like a bedtime story? Were we going to stop to discuss things the way we might when we were studying a book in school? Was I just going to sit there and listen the whole time, or was I supposed to take over and read to him?
I headed for the kitchen first.
“What are you doing? Let’s get started,” he said, practically leaping at the stairway.
“I thought I’d get us something to drink and eat first. Don’t you want a snack? I have—”
“Just water,” he said. “Nothing else. That’s all they had most of the time. We’ve got to try to replicate their situation to really appreciate what he writes when I read it.”
I felt a flush come over me. It wasn’t excitement, exactly. It was as if he really believed we could do it, that we really could become Christopher and Cathy while we were up in my attic. He saw the look on my face.
“Didn’t you ever hear the expression ‘stay in character’? That’s all I’m saying.”
“Okay.”
I poured two glasses of cold water, handed him one, and led him up the stairs to my room. After I plucked the diary out from under my pillow, I looked at him. Now that we were about to do it, I half expected him to start laughing and say it was all just a joke, a reason to get me alone with him after school, but he stepped back instead to let me pass.
I led the way to the attic stairs. When we reached the door, I hesitated. Those creaking steps, those dark shadows, everything made it seem as if I was opening this door for the first time. It wasn’t simply a door to an attic; it was a door to the past. When I did step in, I paused as if I was expecting to see the four Dollanganger children waiting for us.
“Perfect,” Kane whispered, coming up beside me. “There’s furniture and old things. It really is a miniature Foxworth.”
“Not quite,” I said, looking at my mother’s wardrobe. “It’s not all other people’s leftovers and such. My mother’s clothing is in here,” I told him, putting my hand on the wardrobe.
“Oh.” He looked guilty suddenly. “I didn’t know. You didn’t say anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested we come up here.”
“It’s all right. I’ve been up here often. I even wore one of her dresses, remember? That was the night you took me to the River House.”
“Oh. Right. But everything else here . . .”
“Nothing with any real memories for me, and the rest of it is stuff left by the original occupants.”
He went over to the small windows and looked out. “Should I open one of these?”
“A little, but let’s not forget to close it before we leave,” I said.
He opened one and then turned and sat on the sofa.
“Come on,” he said, obviously even more excited now. “Let’s begin.” He held his hand out for the diary. I gave it to him and sat beside him. He thought a moment and then got up and moved to the chair across from the sofa.
“Why did you do that?”
“Better this way,” he said.
I smiled at him. “Why?”
“It’s more like when Christopher read to them or something. Don’t worry. You’ll understand after we get started,” he said, as if he already knew more about the Dollanganger children than I did. He opened the diary.