Secrets in the Attic (Secrets 1)

Mama just glanced at him. "He likes working hard," she muttered, but I knew and felt his fatigue was coming from some other source. Who knew what he had to contend with at work because of the Pearson tragedy and my involvement?

"I was thinking," Jesse told him when he returned and sat at the table, "that I would go with you and Zipporah to

morrow to see the police."

Daddy looked up quickly.

"She told me all about it," Jesse added.

"I don't think so, Jesse. It will look like we're worried about something. I'd like to make it as short and sweet as possible for Zipporah, but thanks."

Jesse glanced at me. He looked disappointed, but he didn't argue.

After dinner, he and Daddy went into the home office to talk, and I went up to do my homework after I helped Mama with the dishes. She kept telling me to go, that it was fine, but I was stalling, mainly because I was afraid of confronting Karen. By now, she surely knew Jesse had returned. The attic door was still shut tight. I sat in my room and listened as hard as I could but heard nothing, not even a creak in the ceiling. The tension was driving me mad. Was she cowering in a dark corner, frightened so badly she couldn't move? Was she racking her brain, trying to figure out what to do? Had she been able to get herself enough water, something to eat, before Jesse had arrived?

I couldn't stand it. It was truly as if I were the one hidden in the attic, suffering, not Karen. As quietly as I could, I went out and stood at the top of the stairway, listening. Mama was still in the kitchen. The dishwasher had been started. Daddy and Jesse were still in the office. I had to take my chances now or spend the night worrying. I wouldn't sleep. That was for sure.

It was better just to hurry up the stairs the way someone might walk over hot coals. I was hoping not to give the steps a chance to moan. I stepped as close to the corners as I could, since they creaked less that way. Opening the attic door, I peered into the darkness. The moon was sheathed in a thick cloud, so there was no illumination spilling through the windows. It took a moment for my eyes to get used to the pitch darkness I made out the usual silhouettes of furnishings, but I heard nothing

"Karen?" I whispered. "Karen, do you know Jesse's back?"

I waited in the doorway, keeping one ear turned toward the downstairs to listen for any sign of Mama or Jesse coming up. I heard nothing in either ear.

"Karen, I just have a moment. Please. Do you know? Are you all right?"

I waited but still heard nothing. Was she too frightened even to speak to me? Did I chance going in further, maybe putting on the dim ceiling fixtures? Would that put her into a greater panic and then expose us both?

"Karen?" I tried one more time, listened, and then backed out and slowly, as quietly as I could, closed the attic door. She probably had all she needed for tonight, I thought. She had probably decided not to take the chance I was willing to take. Perhaps she was smarter. What could I do if she didn't have what she needed now, anyway?

I practically tiptoed down the stairway, but I didn't have to. Mama, Daddy, and Jesse were all talking at once now in the living room below. I heard their laughter, too. For a long moment, I just stood there at the top of the stairway, listening, a smile on my face. It sounded like old times. I wanted so much to be part of it, to descend those steps and dive into the warmth of their love, to turn my back on the attic and all it contained. I felt guilty about it. I had this raft in the middle of this sea of turmoil, and I could swim to it and be safe. However, it would be truly as if I were leaving Karen out there to drown, deserting her to save myself. No matter which way I turned, I felt terrible.

The best thing to do was throw myself at my homework. I had lots of reading to do and a theme paper to write. It worked. I lost track of time and didn't look up until I heard Jesse come to my doorway and tap on the jamb.

"You all right?" he asked.

"No. I hate Mr. Whittier. He expects us all to be Hemingways."

Jesse laughed and came over to my desk. He glanced at my paper.

"Can I?" he asked, picking up a pen.

"Go ahead," I said. "Have a ball."

He circled words, found grammatical errors and spelling mistakes, and made some quick suggestions. "I'll never be good at this," I moaned.

"It's all right. Not so bad. You probably would have picked up most of it in proofreading, anyway. The trick is to do it early, first, and put it away. Whenever you look at something after time passes, you can see the mistakes clearly."

The way he was looking at me, I thought he meant a lot more than a school theme paper. I nodded, thanked him, and made the corrections.

"I'm going to do some chores around the house tomorrow. The back lawn is wild. Bushes need trimming, and I promised Mom I'd fix two shutters. Later, I'll ride your bike into the village for some exercise. Don't worry about the police thing. Dad's got it under control, I'm sure."

"Thanks," I said. I glanced at the ceiling. What

would Karen do now? She would have to wait for him to leave. His arrival meant she would be trapped up there for much longer periods of time, and our time together would be quite reduced.

It's over, I thought. This is coming to a fast end. It brought me a sense of relief but also a sense of deep sadness. I listened as hard as I could before I went to sleep, but there wasn't a creak that was unusual. She was probably asleep herself, I thought, and closed my eyes. The tension had driven me deeper into exhaustion than I had anticipated. In moments, I was drifting off, not waking until the first rays of morning light snuck through the curtains to twirl about my face and draw me back into reality.

Everyone was up early. Jesse was down before our parents, in fact, and had put up the coffee. He behaved like a starving student, preparing scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, some bacon, and a pile of toast. As if their laughter had been put on pause, Mama and Daddy broke into immediate hysterics watching him shovel the food into his mouth. I wished I had half his appetite.