Brant, age 6
“You’re still a fartknocker, Brant Elliott.”
Wendy sticks her tongue out at me while we wait at the bus stop as her brother, Wyatt, snickers under his breath. The Nippersink twins are dreadful.
I ignore them both as we all stand together at the end of the cul-de-sac with Theo’s parents and Baby June. Theo is playing with his Gameboy, sitting beneath a vibrant maple tree, while red and orange leaves float and flutter down around him.
June wiggles her arms around inside the stroller, messing up the fuzzy blanket I had carefully wrapped her in. “Aggie.”
My smile blooms to life, prompting me to pat the stuffed elephant’s head that rests beside her. “Aggie’s right here, June. He’ll play with you while I’m at school today.”
Wendy sneers in my direction. “Babies can’t talk, Brant. Don’t be stupid.”
Theo’s mom is bickering with Theo’s dad about who was supposed to bring the garbage to the curb. I’m supposed to call them Samantha and Andrew, but my mom always told me that we don’t call grown-ups by their first names—it’s rude.
I kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk, raising my eyes to Wendy. “I’m not stupid.”
“You’re pretty stupid. You’re talking to a baby who can only drool and cry.”
“You’re wrong. She does lots of things.”
June learned how to roll over last week, from her tummy to her back. It was incredible, and I saw it with my own eyes, but she only did it that one time. She does other things, too—she smiles at me a lot, she flaps her arms like a baby bird, and she says two words: Aggie and Ga. I think she’s the smartest baby in the whole world.
“Whatever,” Wendy shrugs, tugging at her ponytail. Her hair is brown like mine, but underneath the autumn sun, I see glimmers of red. Red like the Devil, probably.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, so I glance up to see Mrs. Bailey smiling down at me with warm blue eyes. She’s pretty, just like June. I wonder if June’s eyes will turn light blue like her mom’s, or morph into copper like her dad’s. Right now they look dark navy, mirroring the gloomy October sky.
“Are you excited for your classes today, Brant?”
I’ve been back in school for a little while now, and summer has faded into fall. We’re learning about pumpkin farms. “I guess.”
“Something tells me you’ll have a great year, kiddo,” Mr. Bailey adds, bumping me on the shoulder with his fist. I quirk a smile in return. “I need to get going, hon. Another day, another dollar.” He then bends down to plant a kiss against Mrs. Bailey’s yellow hair, his eyes dancing with love. They look so much different than my dad’s eyes. Even when Theo’s parents argue with each other, it never feels bad like it did when my parents fought. It doesn’t make my heart gallop like a wild stampede, or make my belly swish with panic.
Mr. Bailey is really nice. He walks us to the bus stop every morning before going to work at the computer office with his mug of coffee. It’s never in a paper cup with a lid like some of the other parents’ when they wait with us, and I often wonder how he never seems to spill a drop. It’s brimful, piping hot. Steam rolls off the top like little plumes of smoke. Mr. Bailey loves coffee, almost as much as he loves Mrs. Bailey.
Lifting his hand with a wave, he retreats back down the cul-de-sac, calling out, “Have a remarkable day.”
He always says that. He never tells us to have a good day, or even a great day—it’s always remarkable.
I wonder if he had told my own dad to have a remarkable day on the day of The Bad Night, everything would have been different. It’s hard to do bad things when someone wants you to be remarkable.
The bus roars to life around the corner, causing Wendy to hop up and down, her ponytail bouncing with her. She loves school, a lot more than me. It’s probably because she has so many friends. I used to have more friends, but when school started up this year, all the kids looked at me funny. Same with the teachers. I guess everyone had heard about what happened to my parents. Maybe they think that if they get too close to me, it will happen to them, too.
Theo jumps up from his perch beneath the glowing maple, handing off his Gameboy to his mother. She stuffs it into the diaper bag draped over her shoulder, then leans down to give him a hug.
I can’t help but flash back to standing on my old front porch with Mom. That was the last time we ever hugged beneath a golden sky. Memories burn me, scents and feelings. Mom smelled like taffy apples at the summer carnival, and her love for me was just as sweet. I miss it.
I miss her.
The bus rolls up, tearing me away from the memory. June squeaks out baby noises that sound like gibberish, flailing her arms around beneath the awning of the stroller. It almost looks like she’s waving goodbye to me.
I can’t help but smile.
“Bye, June,” I say, dashing toward the school bus, my backpack slapping against me as I run. I turn around at the last second, calling out, “Have a remarkable day.”
I’m sitting at the dinner table that evening, feeling dejected. I didn’t have a remarkable day, even though I tried—in fact, it was a really bad day.
Wyatt gathered all of his friends up, and together, they teased me on the playground.
They called me an orphan.
A stray.
A loser.
I spent so long in the bathroom crying in one of the empty stalls, that Principal Seymour came in searching for me and brought me to his office. He gave me a little paper cup with water and a lollipop, then told me to sit down in his oversized rolling chair until I felt better.
The lollipop was purple.
I dropped it into the garbage can when he wasn’t looking.
Principal Seymour called Theo’s mom, telling her all about what happened. She picked me up from school early, and we rode the whole way back to the house in silence as June squeezed my finger beside me in her car seat. It was the only thing that made my heart hurt a little bit less.
It’s still quiet at the table as I mush my cottage cheese with a fork, only pretending to eat it. I wonder if it’s so quiet because Mr. and Mrs. Bailey are mad at me for going to the principal’s office.
Theo’s voice bursts to life beside me as he shovels bites of chicken into his mouth. He talks through his chews, announcing, “I’m the student of the week. I have to make a poster board all about my life.” He kicks his legs back and forth underneath the table. “That’s pretty cool, huh?”
Mrs. Bailey dabs at her mouth with a napkin. Her hair is pulled up into a giant bun with a pen sticking out of it. There’s always a pen in her hair, sometimes two or three. She says it’s because she’s always misplacing them, and you never know when you might need a pen. “How exciting, sweetheart. I’ll pick up the supplies tomorrow and take the disposable camera in to print out some photos for your board.”
“Can you take a picture of me and Brant? Since he’s my new brother?”
I frown as my utensil clamors against the plate. “I’m not your brother.”
“Yes, you are. Mom said so.”
“No, I’m not. I’m your friend, and I’m just sleeping over for a while until I can go live at my house again.”
Silence settles in.
Theo makes a weird face, then shrugs his shoulders, taking in another mouthful of chicken. I glance up at his parents, and they’re both staring at their plates, looking like they want to say something but don’t know what.
Mr. Bailey finally clears his throat. “Brant… you won’t be going back to your old house. Nobody lives there anymore. Your new home is here, with us.” He says it gently, but the words sound so sharp and callous. So final. “Do you understand, son?”
Son.
No, that’s not right.
“I’m not your son, Mr. Bailey. My parents are Caroline and Lucas Elliott.”
Theo’s mom chews her bottom lip with her teeth, then pulls the pen out of her mound of hair, twirling it between her fingertips. She doesn’t write anything with it. She just spins it in circles, back and forth, like it’s helping her think. “Brant, honey, I know this is difficult. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you—”
“Can I be excused?” The question spills out of me, and I push my uneaten plate away.
They glance at each other before Mr. Bailey gives me a small nod.
I leap from my chair and race down the long hallway to the room I share with Theo. June is taking a nap in her rocker, so I slow my steps when I pass her nursery, sparing her a quick peek. She looks so peaceful, so innocent, and I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Maybe her dreams are filled with visions of bluebirds flying high over the rainbow, just like I used to dream about whenever Mom would sing me that lullaby song.
I wonder if she’s dreaming about her parents who love her—who are still alive to tell her that they love her—and I wonder if maybe she’s the one flying high over the rainbow, as free as a beautiful bird, without any worries or fears.
And then I wonder…
Why, oh why, can’t I?
A nightmare found me.
A terrible, ugly nightmare found me in the middle of the night, one that scared me so much, I climbed out of my bed, soaked with sweat, and did a bad thing.
I took June.
Mrs. Bailey lets her sleep in her rocker or swing some nights. She says it’s because June will wake up if she’s placed inside her crib, and then she’ll never go back to sleep… and Mrs. Bailey really likes sleep.
Luckily for me, tonight was one of those nights.
I made sure my footsteps were small and quiet as I ventured my way down the hall and into June’s nursery. She was already awake, but she wasn’t fussing. She was just lying in her rocker, kicking her feet, and making sweet little sounds I couldn’t decipher. Her eyes were big and round, and I swore they lit up just for me when I hovered over her. “Don’t be afraid, Baby June. I’ll protect you.”
It took me a few minutes to unclasp the buckle, but when she was finally free, I gathered her to my chest and picked her right up. She sure was heavy for being such a tiny thing. Carrying her down the hallway to the front door caused me to sweat even harder. It made my breath come fast and quick, too. My heart pounded inside my chest.
I remembered to bring her pacifier with us—Theo calls it her nom-nom—as well as her favorite pink blanket to keep her warm. My arms were too full of June to grab Aggie, so I’ll need to go back for the toy later.
June was a real good baby. She hardly made a peep when I set her down on the welcome mat to slip on my sneakers and a light jacket, and open the front door. She only cooed and gurgled when I clutched her to my swiftly beating chest, then hauled her down the short sidewalk as a mild breeze followed alongside us.
And she only smiles with her gums when we finally land in front of my old house.
“This is where I live, June,” I tell her, bouncing her softly up and down like her mother does.
June chirps back, “Ga!”
Theo’s dad said that nobody lives here anymore, but that’s not true. This is my house. I live here.
There’s a sign stuck to the front lawn with big letters and a picture of a strange man’s face. He’s happy and smiling, and I wonder if he’s trying to steal this house from me.
Setting June onto the grass on her back, she squirms amongst the long blades, watching me as I skip away to the front porch. It’s dark outside, and the porch light isn’t on, but I notice a box attached to the doorknob that looks like some sort of lock.
The door won’t budge.
How will I get inside?
This isn’t right. This is my house, and I should be able to open the door and walk right into my own house.
Sadness crawls all over my skin, so I scratch at my arms, my mind racing with possible solutions. June still looks content, tickled by the early fall breeze as she clasps her fingers around a tall weed. She doesn’t appear to be cold, but I pace over to her and tighten the blanket around her wiggly body just in case.
Straightening, my eyes skate over the yard, falling upon the mailbox.
Dad’s beloved rocks stare back at me, and an idea blossoms.
My heart skips.
And before I can second guess myself, I jog the rest of the way over to the mailbox and grip a ruddy rock inside my palm.
You shouldn’t do this, Brant.
This feels wrong.
Oh, but I must…
My thoughts battle it out as I traipse back to the front of the house and come to a complete stop, facing the main window.
I swallow down my fear and glance over my shoulder at June, muttering the three words that have haunted me ever since The Bad Night: “Cover your ears.”
Then I twist back around and throw the rock right through the window with all my might.
Glass shatters. I jolt in place. June starts to cry.
“It’s okay, June. I’ll be right back for you.”
Darting up to the porch, I start to climb through the broken window, instantly slicing my hand on a jagged piece of glass when I pull one leg over the ledge. Blood oozes from the wound. My head feels light and dizzy.
Keep going. Keep going.
Ignoring the stab of pain, my body rolls the rest of the way inside until I hit the floor, landing on my back. It takes a moment for me to catch my breath, but then I’m on my feet, heading toward the front door and successfully swinging it open. I race out into the yard to collect a shrieking June and hobble my way back inside, shutting the door behind me.
“Shh… don’t cry, Baby June. You’re okay. I got you,” I hush her, rocking her in my arms. Blood stains her favorite pink blanket, and my eyes pop in horror. “Oh, no…”
There’s so much blood.
The gash on my palm looks deep and angry, and I can’t stop the rush of red from seeping out. June must sense my unease because she wails even louder, her arms extended and tremoring.
I have to be brave. June needs me. My house needs me.
Placing June onto the fresh new layer of carpeting lining the floors, I unwrap the blanket coiled around her and use it as a bandage for my hand. Dad used to watch shows with lots of blood, and the people did this sometimes. They would wrap their wounds in towels or cloth.
Satisfied with this remedy, I bend over June and stroke her silky curls with my uninjured hand. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
She calms a bit, her lips quivering as her cries quiet to soft whimpers. I wonder if she’s scared… I sure hope not. I promised I’d always protect her, but how could I protect her if I’m here, and she’s in a different house?
I had to take her; I just had to.
When I’m confident June is happy again, entranced by the carpet fibers tickling her fingers, I trudge up the staircase to my old bedroom in search of Bubbles. I’d take June with me, but I don’t think I can carry her all the way up the stairs. My arms are too tired. Instead, I’ll just have to bring down some blankets and pillows for us, as well as Bubbles and my favorite nightlight to keep the shadows away.
I make my way up the steps and around the hall, my heartbeats slamming loud and hard against my ribs. A giddiness possesses me, carrying my legs the rest of the way, eager to see my old room for the first time since The Bad Night.
Only… the excitement is snuffed out the moment I breech the threshold.
My breath catches.
Tears coat my eyes.
It’s gone.
My room is gone. It’s nothing but an empty shell.
The walls are stark white. The bright blue color that reminded me of a summer sky has been painted over. My furniture is missing. The posters have been torn down, leaving behind no evidence that they were ever there at all. Even my bed is gone.
Bubbles has vanished without a trace.
Bubbles, where are you?
I collapse to my knees, sucker-punched with grief. Everything is gone. Wyatt and his friends were right—I’m just an orphan, a loser. I’ve lost everything.
June’s little cries cut through my tears, and I remember that she needs me.
I haven’t lost everything… I still have June.
Making my way back down the stairs, sniffling, I run the back of my wrist across my face, erasing the rest of my sadness. “I’m sorry, June,” I whisper raggedly, lowering myself beside her on the carpet. My hand throbs with pain, but I force it away. “I didn’t mean to leave you so long.”
She makes a “ga-ga” sound when I tuck my arm around her middle and pull her close. We lie there together in the middle of the living room, in the exact same spot I found my parents. Another tear sneaks its way down my cheek, and I glance up at the ceiling, just like Mom did whenever she said her prayers at night. “I’m here, now,” I say out loud. “I’m home.”
I wonder if Mom and Dad are flying high over the rainbow, waiting for me. Maybe they couldn’t find me because I wasn’t here—they didn’t know where to look.
I’m here, now, my mind echoes, over and over again.
Maybe they will finally come back for me.
Maybe they’ll fly home.
My parents never found me, of course, but somebody’s parents did.
Gary Keebler’s parents, to be exact.
They lived next door and were awoken by a suspicious sound that night. It had been me, chucking a rock through the window like a miniature Butch Cassidy in the making.
The Keeblers brought us home, much to Samantha and Andrew’s horror.
Samantha was hysterical. Absolutely hysterical. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve only seen Samantha Bailey cry three times, and that was one of them.
The second and third times came much later.
I needed stitches in my left hand, but, miraculously, Baby June came home without a scratch on her. I promised I would keep her safe, and I kept that promise. I kept it for a long time.
I kept it for as long as I possibly could.
But… I should have known, no one can keep a promise like that forever.
Not even Mom.
But I’ll get to that. First, you should know, that night triggered a new chapter for me and the Baileys. Not only was it the last time I ever stepped foot into my childhood house, but it wasn’t long before I left the Bailey’s house, too.
Less than two months later, we moved.
