Page 11 of What Happened to Lucy Vale
@kash_money:Idk. She seemed cool
@nononycky:the girl? Or the cat?
@kash_money:the girl. The cat seemed like a cat.
She hadn’t said why they’d moved. She hadn’t said why they’d moved to theFaraday Houseof all places.
We wondered if it was because the Vales were poor. Maybe they were too poor to afford anywhere else.
But Akash didn’t think so. They weren’t squatters. As far as he knew, they were official renters of southern Indiana’s most infamous residence, i.e., actually paying money to be there. He’d seen a Toyota hybrid in the garage and mountainous volumes of moving boxes on the porch. Plus, he’d noticed a price sticker stuck to the back of Lucy Vale’s T-shirt—for a forty-dollar garden gnome, no less.
He knew because Lucy had asked Akash to remove it.
The point was: What poor person shopped at Pottery Barn? What poor person would buy a forty-dollar garden gnome, even if it was a gag gift?Especiallyif it was?
We agreed that they would not.
We asked Akash if he was going to tell Lucy about the Faradays, in case she didn’t know.
@kash_money:Are you crazy? First off, I barely know the girl
@kash_money:And also, still no
We asked him if he was going to try and go inside.
@kash_money:of course not
@kash_money:See: “Are you Crazy” and “I barely know the girl” above
@kash_money:And also . . .
@kash_money:I’mnot frigging crazy.
Eight
Rachel
On their third day in the new house, Lucy entered with a potted philodendron.
“Someone left this at the front gate,” she said.
Rachel immediately thought of the neighbor Lucy had described—Cash something or other. Sikh, according to Lucy. A nice guy. Cute too.
But not like that, Mom, she’d quickly clarified, reading her mother’s look. They’d made a pact: no more secrets, and no boys. No dating at least. When Lucy was in middle school, just as Rachel and Alan’s relationship was collapsing, caving in like some slow-moving sinkhole, Lucy’s various romantic obsessions—her desperation to be liked, or loved, or at least valuable to someone—had almost consumed her. They’d agreed that here in Indiana, Lucy needed to focus on her schoolwork. Develop her interests. Find her friends.
“Is there a card?” Rachel asked.
Balancing the philodendron in the crook of one arm, Lucy excavated a card from her back pocket and opened it one-handed. A tumble of leaves cascaded down her forearm. Lucy’s cheeks were splotchy from the sun, her hair swept behind a knotted bandanna. She already looked healthier. More alive. The previous year, Lucy’s life force had seemed to leach away into her phone, as if some digitalparasite demanded constant feeding, tending, nutrition from its host.The Picture of Dorian Gray, with Bluetooth. Lucy’s skin had taken on a gray tinge, as if the upward-casting light from her screen had left it stained.
A nightmare. It had been, in the end, a nightmare.
“A small gift to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Lucy recited. “Looking forward to meeting you soon. Signed, the Steeler-Coxes.” Lucy looked up. “Steeler,” she repeated. “We saw that name on the golf course.”
Rachel said nothing. She hadn’t told Lucy about the Steelers and their stranglehold on this corner of Indiana. She had been hoping that things had changed. But change, she thought, usually followed money, not the other way around.
“Great. Just what we need. One more plant to take care of,” Rachel said instead. She took the philodendron from Lucy. “I wish they’d gotten us a hacksaw instead.”
Lucy giggled. “Or a machete.”
