Dreamland

But Co

“Just be grateful it isn’t snowing.” She crossed her arms and her Windbreaker squeaked, a tiny farting noise. She quickly uncrossed them. “Last winter, Toby got out and nearly froze in a drift. Thank God his ears are so long. Otherwise I would never have found him.”

Co

Dea reached into her bag and took out Co

“Hey, thanks. I was about to put out an Amber Alert.” Co

“That’s why I came by, actually,” she jumped in. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

She already had, of course. But she plunged on, “I do. I’m sorry. I freaked out.” Then, without pla

“What happened to him?” Co

“He died.” She had a bad taste in her mouth, like the lie had soured there. But she dismissed the feeling of guilt. Her dad probably was dead. Might as well be, whoever he was.

“I’m sorry,” Co

The idea flashed: now they had something in common. The second she thought it, she felt ten times worse. What kind of fucking person was she?

“I’m sorry,” she echoed.

“Thanks.” For a second, Co

“Are you trying to pay me back for yesterday?” she asked.

He smiled, and his face did that puzzle-piece-rearranging thing again. Click, click, click, and it was perfect. “I can’t promise you Ohio’s largest corn maze,” he said. “But I can promise you an excellent view of a whole lot of boxes.”

“Sounds great,” she said, happy for the excuse just to stay a little longer.

They moved through the downstairs, which was big, and seemed even bigger with hardly any furniture. Everywhere, Dea saw signs of a normal family growing out of the soft, mulch-y boxes, the way mushrooms sprout from dirt. And the more she saw, the more she wished that what she’d said about her dad was true; and the more she wished it, the more she could imagine it. Her dad. A lawyer. No—a doctor. A cardiologist. Flattened by a heart attack one day. Ironic. He shouldn’t have worked so hard, but he just loved saving other people.

Co

“What’s with the ketchup?” Dea asked. The house phone had started ringing—a shrill, startling sound—but Co

“You can never have too much ketchup,” he said. “I think that’s written in the Constitution somewhere.”

“Hmmm. I don’t remember that part from history class.”

The phone stopped ringing, but a second later the voice mail kicked on, making Dea jump.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice said; amplified by the speakers, her voice seemed to be coming from several places at once, “this is Kate Patinsky again, from the graduate school of criminal justice at Howard Jay University. I’ve tried several times to reach—”

Co

“Where are your parents?” she thought to ask. They left the kitchen and started up the stairs to the second floor.

“Church,” Co

“You got off the hook?” she said. Everyone in Fielding went to church, at least on Christmas and Easter. Everyone but Dea and her mom.

“I don’t believe in God.” Co

“You believe in ghosts, but you don’t believe in God?” She tried to make a joke out of it. She didn’t know whether she believed in God—but the way he looked, with his face carved out of darkness, and his hand gripping the banister, made her suddenly uneasy. “‘There are more things on heaven and earth’ . . . ?”

“I don’t believe in heaven, either.” For a second, his voice sounded alien. Then he reached out and turned on a light, and his face reappeared. Now he was smiling. “Plus, I like sleeping in on Sundays.”

She thought of Co

“Welcome to Casa Co

There were boxes heaped on the ground. One of them was filled with old sports trophies and swim team medals, another with video games and wires and a few water-warped books. Clothes were piled on the desk—mostly balled-up sweatshirts and jeans, from what she could tell—and the room smelled like new paint and pine trees. Dea nearly burst out laughing when she saw navy blue fla

The idea came to her, immediate and overpowering: she needed to walk his dreams again. Tonight. As soon as possible.

But she had already disturbed the course of his dream—touched something, made something. Walking a person’s dream more than once was majorly against the rules.

Who cares? a little voice in her head spoke up. Why does it matter?

“What’s so fu

Instead, she stood, stiff-backed and awkward, by the door.