The boy, looking worn for his age, speaks first. “We told you not to come back.” It’s said with exasperation rather than menace.
“You’re not still mad?” Jesse says. “He had it coming.”
“You broke his nose.”
Jesse shakes her head. “Then he shouldn’t have been acting like that. You have a sister, Kevin.” Jesse looks at the girl. “You should be thanking me.”
The girl next to Kevin studies the ground, not wanting to get involved.
Ella says, “We should go. I have a ride coming.”
Jesse doesn’t budge. In the firelight, she looks older. Harder.
“I’m not gonna say it again,” Kevin says. “Listen to your friend.” A shadow crosses his face.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Ella tells him. “We’ll stay over there…” She looks over to the old warehouse. It has a single bulb illuminating its front. The boxy structure has shattered windows and peeling paint.
The boy sniffs. “Just keep her away from us.”
“Fuck you, Kevin.” Jesse makes a threatening gesture, like she’s going to lunge at him, and the boy flinches. She wears a wicked smile now but lets Ella drag her away.
Ella catches her breath in front of the warehouse. They wait in leaden silence until the headlamps of the Uber miraculously appear on the desolate road ahead.
Ella is learning a lot about this girl. That she’s tough. Brave.
And has a violent side.
* * *
The Uber driver eyes them skeptically in the rearview. Ella wants to ask Jesse what she meant about lying to the police. Wants to probe. But Jesse closes her eyes and falls asleep—or pretends to sleep—the entire ride. Eventually, the car pulls to a stop at the wrought-iron fence of a grand estate on Beekman Terrace in Summit, New Jersey.
Jesse’s eyes pop open. “Where the hell are we?”
“My mom’s house.”
“You didn’t say you were, like, rich.” Jesse stares at the mansion in the distance.
“I’m not. I said it’s my mom’s house.”
Ella instructs the driver to push the call button on the security system outside the gate. She asks him to pull the car up so the camera can focus on the rear window, which Ella has lowered. She sticks her head slightly out the window so that her face is visible in the yellow glow.
A man’s face appears on the video monitor.
In a pronounced English accent, he says, “This is private property. What do you—” He stops. “Eloise?”
Ella smiles. The family’s longtime butler—or “estate manager,” as Charles prefers—has aged. More lines on his face, more gray hair. But still distinguished and decidedly British.
“Hi, Charles.”
The gate creaks open, and the Uber pulls down the long lane lined with old-growth trees. The tennis courts on the left are lit up. So are the stables on the right. The car maneuvers along the cobblestone circular driveway and comes to a stop in front of the porticoed entrance of the colonial revival that’s been in their family since the late 1800s.
Ella and Jesse are met at the front door by Charles. Even at this late hour, he’s buttoned up and looking 8 a.m. sharp.
“It’s been too long,” he greets Ella. “Shall I wake your mother?”
Ella cocks a brow like it’s an insane question.
“Yes, the morning’s better.” He looks at Jesse. “Shall I make up the guest room?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Charles.”
Charles disappears.
Jesse’s mouth is agape as she looks about the foyer. The high ceilings, chandelier sparkling even in the dim light. She wanders into the library with its expansive bookshelves and ladder attached to a rail that spans the length of the wall.
They sit in the two leather chairs. Ella’s dad would spend hours in this room, reading, thinking, seeking refuge from her mother.
Ella notices that Jesse hasn’t checked her phone for worried messages from her foster mother. Her heart aches at that. The girl survived an attack out of a horror movie, and she seems alone in this world.
They remain silent for a long while. Ella finally breaks the ice: “When I went back to school after what happened, I felt like a different person. Like I was in one of those alien movies—my body was the same but something had taken over inside.”
Jesse stands, walks to the bookshelf, pulls a leather-bound volume, and flips through it absently.
“But I’ll tell you,” Ella continues, “it gets better.”