half-afraid that Drew might have taken advantage of her absence to make an escape.
But no. He was still there, perched on the side of her bed, looking grim. She went to the small stack of boxes in the corner, found the one with Outerwear scrawled on it and got him her old hooded anorak. “Here. Put this on.”
He rose and trudged to her side. She handed him the anorak. He tugged it over his head as she yanked on her boots and donned her trench coat. “I don’t know what to do about your feet,” she said, shaking her head at his slippers.
“It’s okay. Let’s just go.” He was peering up at her. He had to tip his head way back to see, since the hood of the anorak covered all but the tip of his nose. She had to hide her smile at how cute he looked.
He demanded, “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”
You look adorable, she thought, knowing that if she said that aloud, it would thoroughly insult him. “You look fine.” She marched over and got her flashlight from the bed stand drawer. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the wind had died. The lightning and thunder seemed to have stopped. But the rain was a cold curtain of water, coming down so hard and thick it poured off the branches of the pines and the hawthorns in relentless small streams. From the back porch of the main house, lights showed on either side of the patio, bright enough to light their way.
Tucking her unneeded flashlight beneath her arm, Ronni flipped up her coat collar and hunched her shoulders. “Let’s run for it.”
They bolted across the patio, through the small back gate and down the long driveway that ran between the guest cottage and the gracious two-story brick colonial where Ryan Malone and his family lived. At the back of the main house, they went through another gate, across a now-soaked stretch of lawn, to the back door. Ronni reached for the door handle.
“Wait,” Drew said. “It’s locked.” He lifted the hem of the anorak, dug in the pocket of his robe and produced a key.
The door opened onto a large service porch. Drew shoved the anorak’s hood back off his head as he closed and locked the door behind them. Ronni flipped her collar down and brushed at her wet hair. Through the darkness, she could see tall pantry doors on one wall and the big, square shapes of a washer and dryer. A small light shone on a panel of buttons right next to the door: the alarm system.
Drew saw where she was looking. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I turned it off when I went out.”
She whispered back, “You can work that thing yourself?”
He gave a small snort. “Ronni. I’m nine years old.” He seemed to think that explained everything. And maybe it did. For “the oldest” in the family, a bright, too-responsible boy who had lost his mother—when? About two years ago, Ronni thought Marty Heber had said.
Sympathy moved through Ronni, bittersweet and tender. She did understand this boy. She had spent most of her childhood feeling like a miniature adult, herself.
“Okay.” Drew’s whisper had turned bleak. “What are we gonna do now?”
Good question, Ronni thought as they stood there dripping water on the service porch floor. Whatever they did would be awkward at best. She probably should have led Drew around to the front door. Ringing the doorbell and giving the dignified Mr. Malone a chance to throw on a robe and come down to answer would be marginally less awkward than having to seek him out in his bed.
But they were already inside and it was pouring out there. Her hair was drenched and poor Drew’s house shoes were soaked through. Neither of them needed to get any wetter.
“Well?” Drew demanded, his whisper edged with impatience now. Clearly he thought that if she wanted to run things, she ought to know what she planned to do next.
An idea came to her. “Show me to the front door.”
“What for?”
She sent him a put-upon glance as she turned on her flashlight. “Drew. Please. I’m doing the best I can, all right?”
He looked at her sideways for a moment. “Why are we whispering?”
And why did kids always ask so many questions? “I don’t know. We can stop.”
He thought about that. “No. We can whisper, it’s okay. And I guess if we turn on the lights, it will only scare everyone.”
“That’s pretty much what I was thinking.”
“Actually, Ronni, you could just go on back to the little house now, if you wanted, and I could—”
She gave him a look similar to the one she’d given him when he’d suggested coming back here alone.
He stared at her stubbornly for a moment, then complained, “But if we have to wake them up, anyway, why can’t we just…” He must have read her expression correctly, because he let the sentence fade away unfinished. He decided to try bargaining. “At least give me the flashlight, since I have to go first.”
Oh, right, she thought. Great idea. Give a flashlight to a nine-year-old. He’d be shining it everywhere but in front of them.
Still, he did have to take the lead. She handed it over.
Drew’s slippers made soft squishing sounds as he led her through a huge kitchen and a dining room with a big cherry table and a gleaming parquet floor, into an expansive living room with Oriental rugs on the floors and artfully draped curtains framing the windows. The whole way, Drew never once sent the flashlight’s beam anywhere it didn’t need to be. Again, Ronni found herself feeling tenderly toward him—so young to be so grown-up.
Finally, they reached the spacious front foyer, where a curving staircase led up to the second floor. The front porch light glowed softly through the beveled glass windows on either side of the big door.
“Okay, we’re here.” Drew turned the flashlight on her, shining it right in her face, proving himself to be a bona fide nine-year-old, after all. “What do we do now?”
“Give me that.” She took the thing from him and turned it off.
“Well? What do we do now?”
“Just wait.”
“For what?”
“Until I can see again. You blinded me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Right.” By then, her eyes had adjusted somewhat. She tiptoed to the door, where she disengaged the dead bolt and pulled the door open.
The bell, tucked into the door frame, had a little light inside it. She pushed it. A melodic, startlingly loud series of chimes rang out. Both Ronni and Drew winced at the sound. When the chimes faded, Ronni rang once more for good measure, then shut and locked the door and went back to stand beside Drew.
“He’s not gonna like this,” Drew warned, still whispering. “He works really hard and he needs his sleep.”
“You should have thought of that a little earlier.”
Drew
