Dark Room Etiquette by Robin Roe

Author:Robin Roe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-07-23T00:00:00+00:00

Forty-Five

I slide a gray crayon from my pocket and sketch the faint outline of a scene. A lonely sailboat on a stormy sea. I wet my brush, dip it into the well of paint, and fill the ocean with choppy strokes. My feet are starting to itch. Time to make my rounds.

I stride down the hall to my bedroom.

Back to the living room, I circle the perimeter. Peer under the couch, along the shelves. I tug at the pocket door—and draw in a sharp breath.

The door moved.

It slid right into the wall, and now there’s a two-inch peek into the corridor. I’ve been pulling on this door for God knows how long, so maybe I finally wore down the lock.

Or maybe this is a test.

It’s possible Caleb left it unlocked to see what I’d do. If I move it any further, I bet an alarm will go off and he’ll come home and I’ll be in trouble.

My heart’s speeding wildly now. My pain sensors flash. I should leave it alone.

I return to the table, but my hand trembles as I dip my paintbrush into the water. Flipping to a clean sheet of paper, I draw a shaky blue line.

Slowly . . . slowly . . . my pulse begins to even out. Everything’s okay, no harm done. I didn’t do anything wrong, and when Caleb gets home, he’s going to see that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to do.

But there’s a needling thought. What if it was a mistake? Just a bit of carelessness on Caleb’s part? If it really was an accident, I may never get another chance.

I inch back to the door and do an awkward dance of indecision, my arm lifting, then dropping to my side, over and over again.

Just open it, I order myself.

But my hand doesn’t obey my head anymore.

Please, Saye. Please try. You can at least try.

My arm trembles.

My fingers quiver.

Then they listen.

They grip the indentation, push right, and the pocket door slides smoothly into the wall. Now I can see the entire corridor, but I don’t move any farther. Maybe the alarm won’t go off unless someone steps into the hall. Maybe it’s rigged just like the driveway.

Or maybe it’s not.

Move, Saye.

A suspicious-superstitious feeling falls over me as I cross the forbidden threshold. Bypassing both doors on the right, I head for the one that dead-ends the hall, and order myself to grab the knob.

This time my hand listens right away—only to find that the door is locked.

I give it a little shake. It’s flimsier than the other doors in the house. I might even be able to break it down. But some other voice says: You’d better not.

All the negatives flood my brain. What if it’s just a linen closet or some room with no windows or weapons and Caleb comes home and sees what I’ve done? No, I’ve got to be smart. I need to get through, but in a way he won’t notice. Just in case.

I examine the door closely.

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