Following Fake Man by Barbara Ware Holmes

Author:Barbara Ware Holmes [Holmes, Barbara Ware]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48498-7
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2001-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

an, this is wild.” Roger's eyes were like saucers. “Homer, if you were here before, and our mothers knew each other, then we might have been friends as babies. And doesn't that make this all freaky, like destiny? I mean, here I was following Fake Man, and then he leads you out to the cabin, and now maybe that cabin's connected to you, and maybe we were connected as babies!”

Fake Man. Uh-oh. “Roger, there's something I haven't told you.”

“There is? What?”

“Well, there probably is a connection between me and the cabin, because I think my mother knows Fake Man.”

Roger blinked. “Knows him? Knows him as in— how? You mean like—they're friends or something?”

“Well, yeah, or enemies.”

Roger just stared at me.

I told him everything—how we were riding along in the car, how Fake Man's face had appeared in the fog—all of it, shooting it out in one big long breath, hoping he'd just jump right in on the mystery and not worry about the whys or the whens of the telling.

No such luck. Roger's face, well, let's just say that it didn't look friendly.

“I know, I know,” I admitted. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Gee, now why would you think that? Just because we've been talking about the man since the second you got here? Or no, since the second you told me that you'd never been here before. Yeah, since then.”

I felt myself turning red. “Roger, I meant I didn't remember I'd been here before. Which I didn't. And anyhow, I only found out in the car on the way up here how I'd been here when I was a baby and how we own the house and all that. When I met you, it still wasn't feeling real. It still doesn't.”

“How you own the house and all that?”

I sighed. “I guess I forgot to tell you that also. But, Roger, it was like your not telling me about the captain. You know? Some information just sounds so crazy that you don't know what to do with it. Sort of like, where to put it inside of your brain. So you don't put it anywhere. Or you throw it into your suitcase and let it just sit there.”

“Your suitcase?” But now he did what I'd hoped he would do. He stopped looking mad and fell into the mystery. He squinted up at the ceiling. “Homer, think about all of this. Your mom owns a house and she never comes up here. Never tells you about it. Then, when she does come, she tells you not to go talking to people—people like me, whose mom has, in fact, been asking questions. Plus she knows a man who wears a disguise? And she looks scared when she sees him? Those are pretty bizarre facts!”

I nodded. No need to tell me that the facts were bizarre. But hearing them lined up like that, hearing them said by another person, well, let's just say the lid on my suitcase was up, it was just plain up.

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