her snickering. But sticking up for myself didn’t pay off. I was punished severely. My mother wouldn’t let me have any friends over for tea after that, and I was accused of being “unpredictably dangerous” by teachers. “Freaky Fingers” and “Edward Scissorhands” were added to my repertoire of nicknames by the mean girls. So when I arrived at my next school, a few years later, I devised a cleverer, more integral way of dealing with the bullies.
I folded a T-shirt of Dan’s, my hand smoothing it into sharp, vertical creases. “That feeling of claustrophobia has never left me,” I told Kate. “I hate elevators, public toilets, anywhere small and closed in. In New York, I always took the old-fashioned service elevators when I could—you know, the birdcage kind?—because there was air. And see? Notice how I’ve left the laundry door open? That’s why I love Cliffside so much. The way it’s exposed to the ocean makes me feel free. I never pull the blinds or close the door to my bedroom. I’d rather someone see me naked than draw the curtains, pull a blind, lock a door.”
Kate thought about what I’d said for a beat. “Dan and Jen and I feel the same way about Cliffside. Our friends would get freaked out of their minds when they stayed over. Said they were being watched. Got spooked by the trees, said they moved, that their roots had legs and their branches arms. We just laughed at them.”
“I’m so glad I’m able to share your old home with you three. To share Cliffside with like-minded souls. My mum also gets negative vibes from this place—says it’s eerie. For me it’s heaven on earth. I’d never ever want to leave Cliffside.”
“Never, ever?” Kate lifted her gaze to mine almost as if her eyes—now a slatey-green—were searching for some change of heart.
“Never,” I said emphatically. “Not as long as I live.”
Silence. Kate looked down at the floor and chewed her lip. I almost felt as if I’d insulted her. I steered the conversation back to the architecture of the house. “The architect did a great job. Cliffside’s as functional as it is beautiful. Although I have to say, I feel very claustrophobic in here with just that slit of a window, whose only purpose is to let in air, so I usually like to get things done as fast as possible or get Mrs. Reed to do the washing. In fact, I haven’t been down here in ages.”
“I love it down here,” Kate said. “It used to be my secret bolt-hole. Dan used to hate it like crazy though. Never sets foot in here.”
“Men hate doing washing, don’t they?”
“It’s not that.” Kate’s face flushed a little.
“What then?”
“When he was out of control, Mom used to lock him in here.”
“Time out?”
“Yeah, but she was pretty harsh sometimes. You know, overnight and stuff. Sometimes she’d lock us all in the house. Once Dan tried to smash one of the glass doors with a hammer. He didn’t get very far. They’re totally smash proof.”
I tried to picture the scene. A sort of Mommie Dearest? Or just an exhausted single mum trying to do her best? It was strange that this laundry room could be locked at all. Most houses didn’t have locks on laundry room doors. Or even bedroom doors. But Cliffside had locks everywhere. I had gathered up the keys—two sets—and tied a different colored ribbon on each one, then stashed them all in two biscuit tins, one hidden in the garage, in a toolbox, and one in a kitchen cupboard, well out of the way. “It can’t have been easy for her bringing up three children as a single parent, all three of you the same age,” I said. “You must’ve been pretty wild at times.”
“Dan could be a real pain in the ass, you know? He’s better now but was a very dominant child. Jen and I had to learn how to stick up for ourselves, kick his ass once in a while.”
“Well you’re both strong and intelligent young women because of it,” I pointed out, careful not to take sides. I thought of Dan and his latent temper and identified. In his case he needed a father figure. In mine, I had the opposite problem: an authoritarian, domineering tyrant. “My dad did things like force me to have ice cold showers in winter,” I told Kate, “so I wouldn’t be a ‘sissy.’ Or if I made him a cup of tea, he’d hurl