“What are you doing?”

“Don’s looking for me,” she replies, still peering out into the hallway.

I frown. “Should I tell him where you are?”

“No,” she says. “Why would you do that?”

Don’s voice echoes emptily down the hallway, closer now.

I look around; we are in the den. I grab a chair for her to sit down, and she gratefully lowers herself. She sucks in a sharp breath, but before I can even ask, she waves me away and says, “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want Don here, why don’t you just tell him to go?”

His voice reverberates down the hallway, and I look questioningly at her.

Elizabeth stretches out her legs and leans back, trying to get comfortable. “For one, none of us are going anywhere—he still hasn’t managed to get the car out.”

Before she can get to her second point, a shadow falls over the room as Donovan steps into the doorway.

“There you are!”

Elizabeth smiles weakly. “Here I am.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He takes a heavy step toward us, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight, and Elizabeth cringes. He stops. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” she says. “It’s just a big house.”

Don looks at me, and I cross my arms. The ghost of a cigarette burn haunts my palm, even though it’s healed and doesn’t actually hurt. He turns back to Liz and speaks as if I am not in the room at all.

“You know, when you told me your weird sister was going to stay with us a while, I didn’t say one word about it. I made her feel right at home. I went out of my way to be nice to her. And now I’m here, and you’re all acting like I’m some uninvited guest.”

I realize he’s holding a tool in his hand, a metal crowbar it looks like, and I wonder where he got it, and I wonder what he will do with it.

“You know, where I’m from, we have a little something called hospitality.” He fiddles with the crowbar, and I see Elizabeth’s eyes dart toward it. “A little something called gratitude.” He throws the crowbar down by Elizabeth’s feet, where it clatters and rings metallically. “I just wanted to tell you that you put together that crib all wrong. All wrong. I’ve taken it apart. I’ll have to fix it.” As he turns to leave, he looks back over his shoulder and spits out, “You’re welcome.”

Elizabeth and I share a look. Her lips are pressed together; her face is white and shiny. I want to tell her I will help her get rid of Don. I want to tell her I will protect her. But these sound like such silly things to say, so I don’t say anything at all.

I make a mental note not to go near the nursery, if Don is in there destroying the crib I built. I won’t go near the Rose Room anymore, either. The rooms I am avoiding are starting to add up. I wonder if he has seen any children in the nursery, running around, playing.