“No, leave it like it is for now,” I told him, which was another thing he didn’t want to hear. “Especially with my aunt arriving,” I added, to make him feel better about it. “I’m thinking I might need my car after school if I have to pick her up.”
“I’d be glad to do that with you.”
“I know. I just . . . just want some time alone with her. We don’t see each other that often.”
“Okay,” he said, and started for his car. He looked so tentative, so unsure of himself suddenly. At this moment, at least, he wasn’t the Kane Hill everyone was used to seeing. I knew he was still regretting telling me about his parents and him. It’s the magic of the diary, I thought. It makes us tell each other secrets we otherwise wouldn’t.
I smiled and waved, and he smiled back. He drove off slowly, looking like he was still in deep thought. I hoped it wasn’t so deep that he would drive carelessly.
I felt like my emotions were stuck on a yo-yo. Upstairs in the attic, we were awash in dark, sad, and troubling events, and then, as fast as a yo-yo could come up, my aunt Barbara’s phone call raised me to ecstatic happiness. This would be a real Thanksgiving for us after all, with her and my father telling family stories.
I should do something to dress up the house, I thought, make it more festive. We had some Thanksgiving decorations from years past buried in a laundry-room closet. My father wouldn’t think of it, but I would create a centerpiece for our table. Perhaps Aunt Barbara would want to help me do that. I knew just where we could get some rustic elements like beeswax candles and gourds and then do a flower arrangement of roses, hydrangeas, some dahlias, and a few sprigs of fall greenery. We hadn’t put a pumpkin out this Halloween, but I thought I’d get one now.
I hurried to call my father. I knew how pleased he would be and how, for a while, at least, the holidays would ring true for us again. Even though Todd and his family and Mrs. Osterhouse were here, there were still those moments when everyone else talked about their families and he and I listened with frozen smiles on our faces, afraid to remember too much. I was really excited about this Thanksgiving now.
I knew Kane didn’t like it, but the Dollanganger children would have to wait.
They had waited so long. Another pause for another holiday wouldn’t matter now.
My father’s voice reflected the same joy I felt. He had tried not to show it, but I saw how disappointed he was when Aunt Barbara had told him she wasn’t coming. Now I wished that somehow Uncle Tommy could be with us, too. The last time I remembered the four of us together was at my mother’s funeral. “Weddings and funerals,” my father told me, “famous for bringing in the strays.”
“We have enough food for five more guests, probably,” my father said, “but I know she loves that marshmallow sweet potato dish. I wasn’t planning on doing it, so we’ll have to get the marshmallows later.”
“I can pick her up,” I said. “She flies in about a half hour after school ends.”
“Yes, that might work,” he said. “I have a few tricky things to do here before we think about breaking for Thanksgiving. I’ll be home soon. I’ve got those pork chops calling for hungry mouths.”
“Yes, I hear them screaming in the refrigerator,” I told him, and he laughed.
It was so good to laugh, to feel hopeful and happy. We were getting the Dollanganger children’s tragedy almost blow-by-blow from Christopher in his diary, but I still couldn’t imagine being shut up without the love of family for so long.
Even a day was too long for me.
* * *
Just as it was before most holidays, the excitement was explosive at school. Voices were louder, everyone walked faster, teachers could feel their students chafing at the bit, every bell that rang was drawing us all closer and closer to the one that would open the doors and let us all out, teachers, students, administrators, and janitors, all rushing toward good food and good company. I felt sorry for the building left so deserted and dark behind us. It looked like an orphan.
Just as they were yesterday, my friends and Kane’s were still curious about the way he was behaving. He was so much quieter. His smiles were rarer than his laughter, and even when he was with just me, he seemed somewhere else, his eyes vacant. He didn’t want to walk with anyone else or sit at a particular table with his buddies. When I was in the girls’ bathroom, Missy Meyer, who was in Kane’s English class, made a point of telling me how annoyed Mr. Feldman became when Kane’s response to a question was a sharp “I don’t know.”
“?‘You should know,’ Mr. Feldman told him. He acts like he’s angry at everyone for something. What happened to him? Did he have some big fight with his parents or something? Are you two going to break up?”
“No,” I said with surgical finality, and washed my hands quickly.
She hovered, persistent. “So what’s the matter with him? You must notice it, too.”
“Whatever it is, it’s personal,” I said. “Get on with your life.”
I wasn’t usually as curt or nasty with the girls in my class, even Tina Kennedy, but I didn’t know what else to say or how else to get them off the topic. I was certainly not going to tell them he was disturbed about things he had read in Christopher Dollanganger’s diary. However, that thought gave me an idea.
The next time Kane and I were alone and far enough away for anyone else to hear me speak, I told him his behavior was attracting unwanted attention to us both. He seemed genuinely surprised, like someone who was told he was sleepwalking.
“What behavior?”
“I see how you are, Kane, and I know why. Try to do what I do. Now, especially because of the details we’ve learned, I basically put the diary out of my mind until we go up to my attic. You can’t keep thinking about it, ignoring your classwork, ignoring your friends, even ignoring me most of the time.”
“I didn’t realize . . .”
“You’re making me regret reading the diary with you,” I said tersely. “Everyone thinks you’re sulking about something, and that perks up their curiosity about us.”