I slammed the door and headed for Moses’s house, not caring if I was being a nosy neighbor. I wanted to get the photo album, and now I wouldn’t have to face Moses again in order to do it. He’d asked me about Eli’s pajamas . . . his Batman pajamas. I thought for a minute he was trying to wound me. But he couldn’t have known Eli died in those pajamas. He couldn’t have known. But it had shaken me, and I hadn’t lasted very long after that. I wondered if Moses had continued turning pages after I’d gone.
The front door was unlocked and I called up the stairs as soon as I entered.
“Hello?” I thought I could hear water running. “Hello?”
The water shut off and a woman’s voice shouted back down to me. “Just a minute!”
“Lisa? Is that you?”
Lisa Kendrick rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, wiping her hands on a rag, her hair frizzing out wildly from her head.
“Oh my gosh! Georgia, you scared me!” She fanned her face with the damp rag. “This whole house gives me the creeps.”
“Did you let Moses take your van?” I asked, ignoring the comments about the house. The whole town needed to get over it already.
“Yes. I did . . . Should I have said no?” The teenager immediately started worrying her lip. “His friend took his truck, I guess. He just needed to get into Nephi, and he offered me $500 bucks. But my mom will kick my trash if anything happens to the van. But he said he’d bring it right back! I shouldn’t have let him take it. He gives me the creeps too, actually. He’s hot. But he’s creepy. Kind of like Johnny Depp in Pirates? Totally hot, but way freaky.” She was babbling and I was already bored.
“I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t let me get in your way. I just stopped by to grab something I left last night.” Lisa’s eyes widened, and I could see that she really wanted to know what I could possibly have left in the creepy house of a freaky hot guy, but she restrained herself and turned back to the bathroom, albeit slowly.
“I don’t mind you sticking around. I don’t like being here alone,” she added. “My mom told me I couldn’t take this job. But when I told her how much he was paying, she gave in. But I’m supposed to call her every half hour. What if she stops by and the van isn’t here?” Lisa’s voice rose in alarm. “I am going to be in so much trouble.”
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” I repeated, waving as I ducked through the arch and away from the girl. It amazed me that people were still talking about Moses Wright. Clearly, Lisa’s mom hadn’t shared the fact with her daughter that Moses and I had been involved at one point. I’d gotten my fair share of talk when Eli was born. People had quickly spread their conclusions about my baby’s parentage. But maybe because I never talked, because I kept my head down and just lived, the talk had died and people stopped starring at Eli when we were out. I foolishly thought I would never have to talk about Moses. But then Eli had turned three, gone to pre-school, and suddenly, he had his own questions. And my son was as stubborn as I was.
“Is Grandpa my dad?” Eli had asked, spooning up mac ‘n’ cheese, and trying to get it in his mouth before the little noodles escaped. He refused to let me help him, and at the rate he was going, he was going to starve.
“No. Grandpa’s my dad. He’s your grandpa.”
“Then who’s my dad?” And there it was, the question that had never once come up before. Not in three years. And it hung in the air, waiting for my response. And no amount of head ducking or holding my tongue was going to make it go away.
I shut the fridge calmly and poured Eli a glass of milk, stalling, stalling.
“Mommy! Who’s my dad?” Eli had given up on the spoon and had scooped up a handful of noodles. They were squishing out the sides of his little fist, but so far there were none in his mouth.
“Your dad is Moses,” I answered at last.
“MO-SES!” Eli laughed forming each syllable with equal emphasis. “That’s a funny name. Where is MO-SES?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
Eli stopped laughing. “How come? Is he lost?”
“Yes. He is.” And that fact still made my heart ache.
Eli was quiet for several seconds, filling his hands with more pasta. I thought maybe he’d already lost interest in the discussion. I watched as he finally managed to press several orange noodles past his lips. He grinned, pleased with himself, chewed happily, and swallowed noisily before he spoke again.
“Maybe I can find him. Maybe I can find MO-SES. I’m a good finder.”
He brought me back, Moses had said. Maybe Eli had found him after all. The thought made me stumble, and I shrugged the memory off as I walked through the kitchen and snagged the photo album from the counter. I paused for a moment, considering whether I should leave something for him. I knew there were duplicates, or pictures that were close enough that I could part with one of a similar shot. But I didn’t want to start pulling my book apart. And I didn’t want to leave the precious pictures in a stack on the counter for Lisa to see and for Tag to thumb through. I couldn’t do that. And then I knew what I would do. I would make Moses a book too. I would make copies of the pictures I didn’t have duplicates of, and I would write descriptions and dates and paste them alongside the photos so he would have the details he claimed he wanted.
Having reached a decision, I scooped the book up in my arms and turned back toward the front door. As I did, my eyes glanced off the living room walls, and my gaze stuttered and caught. In the middle of the back wall, about three-fourths of the way up, the paint was peeling. And it wasn’t just a little bubble. It was a circle about the size of my palm, and the white edges were bubbled back, revealing dark swirls beneath.