Amy glances over my shoulder, and, when I turn, no one’s there. She looks worried, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But I have to know. Did she see the words too? Or, worse, did she write them?

“I was about ten, I think, when we moved in. Why are you asking?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I say, “And you had the same wallpaper for seven years?”

“I guess,” she says. “Are you redecorating?”

I nod and try to look behind her eyes, but, if she’s worried, she hides it well.

“There are words on the wall,” I tell her.

It happens so quickly I would have missed it if I’d blinked. But I see it: a flash of fear that leaves the slightest tremor in its wake. Amy doesn’t look calm anymore. Her smile wobbles at the edges. Her fingers fidget. Her eyes won’t settle on a single spot.

Eventually, almost in a whisper, she asks, “What did they say?”

“Help me. Was it you?”

Amy shakes her head. “Why would I write that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were in trouble. I can help…if you still are.”

She laughs and says, “It wasn’t me, Tom. I had no idea it was there.”

When I don’t reply, she says, “It was probably the former owner mucking about. Maybe he expected us to find it and freak out. But, instead, the joke’s on you.”

I stare at Amy until she looks away. Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like a joke. I want to believe her, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s lying.

“I can help,” I say again, just in case, and she smiles.

“Thank you. But I don’t need your help.”

I know what fear looks like. I saw it a thousand times in my mother, and I can see it, now. Amy’s scared. And she won’t look me in the eye, because she knows I can see it. Instead, she shakes her head and says, “I should go.”

I think about touching her hand or asking her to stay, but all I do is watch her walk away.

If she won’t be honest with me, if she won’t admit that something bad happened in her house before it was ours, I’ll find out another way.

25

Jay wanted to paint over the words the day we found them, but I said no. I pretended it was because I want to choose the color when, the truth is, I can’t let him cover up a clue. Those two words, scribbled over and over again, can’t be ignored. They can’t be dismissed as nothing. The locks might be gone, but this is different. Not even Jay can laugh this off.