28 • Gone

How do you say goodbye?

Amelia didn’t think she’d done it well.

Casey’s parents showed up at the studio and Amelia got a glimpse of his life—a life that had nothing to do with her. As his parents slipped back into his world, Amelia slipped out of it. It wasn’t a pleasant reunion. Casey rejected hugs from both his parents, standing rigid with an expressionless face. A face as blank as could be. Feeling like an intruder, Amelia whispered goodbye and awkwardly edged away with a gentle wave.

And just like that, Casey was gone, or rather, she was gone. And the sadness Amelia was left with was profound, because she had a feeling she might never see him again.

Throughout the afternoon, Amelia had the sensation that Casey had fallen through a trapdoor, and after dinner, when her father went to his study, she asked Mrs. O’Brien if she’d stay longer than usual to play cards because she wanted to be with someone. She didn’t want to be alone to wallow in her sadness. The stillness of the house at night made the sadness worse.

The kitchen was full of shadows, but at the table beneath the overhead lamp, Amelia and Mrs. O’Brien were enclosed by a circle of yellow light. The moon out the window was like a curl of neon—a bright flourish in the solemn darkness.

They played double solitaire. Between games, as they shuffled their cards, Mrs. O’Brien said, in a hushed voice, “You poor thing. From what you’ve told me, today was quite a day.”

Amelia nodded. “It was.”

“Maybe the boy—Casey—will come back soon.”

“Or maybe I’ll never see him again. The look on his face . . . He was so upset. . . .” Amelia wondered where Casey was at this very moment. Was he with both his parents? She wondered how the rest of the week would be without him. Lonely. That’s how it would be.

Mrs. O’Brien started setting up her cards for another game. “I have a feeling you’ll hear from him,” she said. “And, you always have Louise to keep you up-to-date.”

“I guess,” said Amelia.

The only sound was the rhythmic, soothing snap-snap-snap of the cards until Mrs. O’Brien asked, “What are you thinking about Hannah Barnes?”

The question surprised Amelia. She gripped her cards so tightly her hand hurt. She imagined the ghost of her mother whispering a proper answer in her ear. But her mother, Epiphany, and Hannah Barnes had become a confusing, complicated combination, a wispy presence she might never pin down clearly again. “Actually, I’m thinking that I’d like to meet her.”

“Your father said that was possible, right?”

“He did, but you know him. If I don’t remind him a million times, nothing will happen.”

“Do you want me to say something to him?”

Amelia’s fingers flickered across the tabletop as if she were working some magic over her cards, over her life. “Would you?”

“Of course,” Mrs. O’Brien said firmly. “I’ll be your go-between. Maybe dinner would be nice. Not at a restaurant. Here. I could cook.”