“Where would you like to sit?”
I looked around and then down. “The floor.”
“Ahh, sure. I’m going to warn you, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”
We sat on the cream carpet. I ran my hands over it, picking up little tufts instead of looking up at him.
“Isla, do you still remember the night you found your friend Marlow?”
“She’s not my friend.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “She isn’t?”
“Well not really.”
“It was a pretty scary night.”
“Yes.” I looked up at him. His beard looked thick and oily, in stark contrast to his shiny, smooth head.
“Do you remember what you were doing right before you found Marlow?”
“Yes. We ate noodles. They were a little spicy.”
“Was everyone in the cabin when you ate?”
“Yes. Moni. Mom. Dad.”
He popped a white Chiclet into his mouth. It crackled as he paused.
“Isla, did you notice anything different about that night?”
“What do you mean by different?”
“Anything out of the ordinary. Something maybe Mom, Dad, or your grandmother did that they usually don’t do.”
I shook my head. “We ate our last dinner of cabin week. Moni always cooks it.”
“Nothing else seemed a little weird or off?”
I could smell the mint and sweetness from his mouth.
“No.”
“All right, then. Good girl.”
He took a pink Chiclet from his pocket and handed it to me. I let it stay warm in my palm. It left a pink smudge. I opened and closed my fist, feeling its stickiness.
I looked up to see Marlow sitting cross-legged on the foyer floor. Copying my hand motions and staring back at me.
CHAPTER 10
ISLA
1996
“There’s a moving truck across the street!”
I pressed my nose against my bedroom window. Knees tucked in, I perched on the white wooden reading nook, leaning in to get a better look.
Marlow climbed up next to me. She placed both hands on the glass and stared out.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing to an elderly woman standing on the lawn.
She had dyed red hair as bright as a fire engine, her roots white so I could see them even from where I sat. Her hands were on her wide hips as she seemed to be saying something to one of the movers.
“Must be who’s moving in.”
We both looked to the left and then to the right, scanning for more evidence of who our new neighbors were.
“Isla! Marlow!”
Moni’s calls floated up the stairs.
I took Marlow’s hand and dragged her from the windowsill, her head craned to maintain her view.
My hand entwined with Marlow’s.
This had become the ordinary over the last eight months or so. She had remained with us, the guardianship extended. “Through spring,” Dad had said. The harsh winter solidified her presence more and more, like layer after layer of snow, packed in deep until it turned into an unmoving and glacial form.
