“Did you read any more of the diary without me?” he asked as we drove off to school. He narrowed his eyes with suspicion when he turned to me. “Is that why you didn’t sleep well?”
I didn’t answer him. I was still thinking about reading the diary in the attic, with him playing Christopher and me being Cathy. He was so casual about everything. Why should I believe he’d take the diary as seriously as I did? This is too big a risk, I told myself. You’ll regret it.
“What’s wrong?” His hazel eyes darkened with concern. “Did you read something that bothered you, something terrible? I really want to do it with you. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” He looked about as sincere as he ever was about anything.
This was it, I thought. I would either deliver my fabrication and end the diary reading or go on with it. I had to take that big risk. I had to believe in someone else besides my father, didn’t I? Otherwise, I’d lock myself in a different kind of attic, but it would still be avoiding the world. I had to go on with it. I really wasn’t a good liar, anyway. I was often compared to a fish in a bowl, with all my thoughts visibly swimming about. My father bragged about that, telling people, “Deceit’s not comfortable sitting on her face.” That was certainly not true for Corrine Dollanganger, I thought. If anything, she was certainly a good liar. Were selfish people naturally better liars?
“Nothing’s wrong. I didn’t read any more of the diary.”
“Good. That gives me a chance to catch up. What about this afternoon? What time does your father usually come home? How much time will we have?”
“He’s going to be late today, maybe the rest of the week.”
“Perfect. Isn’t it?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Kane, really sure?”
“What? How can you ask? Absolutely. I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night. I’m excited. Besides, I remembered that I always thought my father might know more about what happened at that original Foxworth Hall fire than he admits. He’s learned lo
ts of things about Malcolm Foxworth and his family from his older customers. I just never cared much about it until now.”
“Did you tell him about the diary?” I asked, my voice on the verge of panic.
“No, no. I promised I would tell no one, and that’s that. I won’t.”
“What do you mean, your father might know more than he admits?” I asked, sitting up more. “What does he know? How do you know it’s more?”
“Easy,” he said, smiling. “My father and mother know we went up to Foxworth to have that picnic.”
“So?”
“He asked me about the site, what your father was doing, and I asked him what he really knew about the original fire. This was before you told me about the diary. He said what he heard was that the first fire definitely wasn’t accidentally caused by a servant or some electrical malfunction or gas leak. He said that the story of how it happened that some firemen describe was right.”
“Which story?”
“The one about the daughter deliberately setting the fire. She had gone mad and deliberately set the fire. He said she was whisked away before anyone could ask any more questions and apparently put in an insane asylum or something.”
“He definitely said ‘the daughter’? He believes that to be true?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask him her name?”
“I didn’t want to ask him too many questions and get him suspicious.”
“That was probably a good idea. Why would she have done that?”
“Who knows? Considering how long ago that was, I’m not surprised there are so many theories and so few facts. He said no one really cared that much about them or what had happened to them. He said from what old-timers told him, Malcolm and Olivia Foxworth weren’t particularly liked and were considered rich, raving, religious maniacs. It was easy to believe they were capable of doing weird things to their children and grandchildren. That’s why what you found is so exciting, Kristin. We’ll know the truth. We’ll learn all the secrets, secrets more than fifty years old.”
“I’m not really sure we should jump to conclusions about anything in the diary. We can’t treat it as gospel.”
“What do you mean? You said it was found on the property. It’s the diary of the boy who was imprisoned there, Christopher, right?”
“Right, but we are getting the story from Christopher. Maybe . . . maybe he’s not telling the truth. My father once suggested that after I had begun to read it.”
Kane thought a moment and then nodded. “I’ll know pretty quickly once I get into it,” he said confidently. “But people don’t usually lie in a diary, anyway. That’s why I never kept one. I don’t want to be caught telling the truth.” He gave me that James Dean smile and shrug that he had become famous for in our school.
“That I believe. So how will you know so quickly if he’s lying or not?”