The engine shuts off and both car doors fan open like the wings of a vulture. It must really be About To Go Down if Harold was brought along as backup. Deborah oozes out of the driver’s side, slim silhouette appraising the house. Even in the dark, I can tell she’s wearing a horrible frown. She’s going to tell Nicholas he has to move. Unacceptable home for my son. Unacceptable for my grandchildren.
“Let’s go,” Nicholas says urgently, grabbing my hand and darting around to the back door. “We can’t let them inside.”
“We can’t?”
“Never.” I’m taken aback by how vicious he sounds. But I get it. Maybe the logic is nonsensical, but if we let Deborah and Harold darken our doorway, all the peace we’ve established here is going to go up in smoke. They’ll taint it with their pessimism and judgment. When they leave, they’ll take the magic with them, and it won’t feel like our enchanted sanctuary in the wilderness anymore.
We run inside just as Deborah starts rapping on the front door. “Nicky!” She tries to turn the knob and knocks again, much louder this time. It’s the most irritated sound in the universe; she can’t believe we have the audacity to keep her out.
“Nicky, are you in there? Answer the door!” I’m reminded of vampires requiring permission to cross your threshold, and after you’ve let them in one time they’re free to come and go as they please. Deborah sees our warm-blooded shapes through the door in infrared and bares her razor-sharp teeth, pupils expanding to fill the whites of her eyes.
Nicholas and I watch the door warily, neither of us moving. “Your mom needs to learn how to call ahead,” I whisper.
“She called me three times while we were out back,” he admits. “I didn’t answer.”
“Ooooh, someone’s gonna be in trouble.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. I nudge him back.
“Nicholas!” Deborah’s using her I Mean Business voice. “Your father and I are here! Unlock the door.” Harold distantly grumbles. Deborah’s made him get out of his seat for nothing, and he hasn’t had to remain standing for this long in five years.
“What do you think she wants?” I murmur in Nicholas’s ear.
“She needs me to tell Dad he’s not allowed to eat foods that begin with the letter B.”
I cackle, then cover my mouth to quiet the noise. “It’s the dessert you didn’t finish last night. She’s here to spoon-feed you the rest of your cake.”
I notice the tension in his posture, how he tries to make himself invisible as he waits, almost audibly thinking Please go away. Just leave me alone. Stress lines his features and I want to reach out, smooth his problems away with my hands. Deborah is overwhelming even in tiny doses. Nicholas is exposed to her nagging and emotionally draining diatribes nonstop. He gets no downtime to recover.
“They’re not home,” Harold complains. “Let’s go.”
“Nicky’s car is here and all the lights are on. I’m not going anywhere till he opens up. If you want to leave, drive yourself home. Nicky will give me a ride.”
“Why on earth does he live all the way out here in the sticks?” We’re inconsiderate for making him travel a whole ten minutes.
For once, Harold’s made a point he and his wife can agree on. “This property is unacceptable,” she says briskly. (Called it!) “It’s too far from home. The yard’s a mess—we’ll need to get a landscaper out here to cut down all these trees. Nicky mentioned a pond. What does he need a pond for? It’s dangerous for small children. First thing tomorrow, you’re making calls to get a fence built around it. You see those crooked shutters? They’ll need to go, too. Honestly, what was he thinking? He must’ve let Naomi make the decision on this one. No wonder he hasn’t invited us over—he’s ashamed of it.”
When it’s beginning to look like Deborah will never leave, Nicholas sighs and takes one step toward the door. I can’t let him give in. He’s successfully ignored his mother for over fifteen minutes now and I want to keep the momentum going.
“Come on.” I take his hand and hurry toward the stairs, dragging him along after me.
“What are we doing?”
I lead him into the empty middle bedroom upstairs and open the window, which overlooks the front yard. Deborah and Harold hear the groan of the ancient pane and tip their heads back to gape at us. “What’s up?” I call