“Have a conversation, like you were trying to do when I came in.”
“He’s so sweet with Yoda, I just wanted to … Oh well. Why did you come in?”
“Need my midday boost.” Turning to the fridge, Cleo got out a carton of yogurt.
“I don’t understand the correlation between yogurt and a boost. I wonder who he was,” Sonya murmured. “And what happened to him. Just a kid.”
“I don’t know when kids wore knickers. It might help to get a ballpark on when he lived here. He must’ve lived here.”
“He sure as hell died here. I’m taking Yoda out for a walk. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Are you talking to me or ghost boy?”
“Either or both.”
“I’m just here for the boost, then it’s back to the drawing board. Literally. See you at dinner.”
Sonya didn’t know if the boy joined them, but he didn’t make himself known. The walk convinced her despite the snow shower April meant business. Those brave bulbs poked up higher; the sun spread just a bit warmer.
The days, she thought, were getting noticeably longer.
And she was more than halfway through what she’d considered her three-month trial.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She glanced up at the third floor as she spoke. “I’m sticking.”
When she went in through the mudroom, Yoda’s box of treats stood on the kitchen island.
“You should give him one. I’ll go back up to work, and you give him one.”
Since Yoda didn’t follow her, she decided the boy made himself known there at least. By the time she settled back down to work, she heard the ball bouncing.
“What’s his name, Clover? Do you know his name?”
“Jumpin’ Jack Flash” rocked out of her tablet.
“Jack. Well, if you get a chance, maybe you could let Jack know I’m happy to share Yoda with him, and Cleo and I are happy to share the house.”
Not as if she had a choice, Sonya thought, but it made sense to keep the peace wherever possible.
She worked until five. Sometime during the work, Yoda made his way back upstairs and, clearly tuckered out by the play, snoozed by the fire.
When she rose, looked over at him, she saw the Poole family book on the table, open.
Yoda blinked his eyes when she walked over, thumped his tail.
She saw the facing page listed the children of Owen Poole—Agatha’s Owen—and his second wife, Moira.
Michael and Connor, twins.
Charles, born a year later.
Lisbeth, born the following year. Died at eighteen on her wedding day.
Alice, born three years after Lisbeth, married and moved to Virginia, where she lived until the age of sixty-nine.
And John （Jack）， born a year and a half after Alice, who died at the age of nine. Scarlet fever.
Poor kid, she thought.
Yoda rushed out; the doorbell bonged.
As she went down, she thought of the boy, suffering, maybe delirious. His desperate parents, his frightened siblings. For more than a hundred years he’d lived this … could it be called a half life?
And now he played with her dog.
She opened the door to another dog, and Trey.
“There’s Mookie. You’ve got a friend, Yoda. And you’ve got a key,” she said to Trey.
“For emergencies, not drop-bys.”
Nothing, she thought, just nothing like Brandon. And wrapping her arms around him, held hard.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just feeling down, I guess. I read about Jack Poole—the boy who plays with Yoda and opens the cabinets. I saw him this afternoon.”
“Saw him?” Trey drew her back to look into her eyes.
“What you’d call a fleeting glimpse. Come on, you can have a beer while I tell you.”
Cleo, already in the kitchen, smiled at Trey. “Excellent, another victim. I’m doing this pork thing and trying my hand at scalloped potatoes. Is it glass-of-wine time, Son?”
“It could be. Did you bring the Poole book into the library today?”
“No.”
“Somebody did. His name’s Jack. He died of scarlet fever. Nine years old.”
“Oh.” Cleo’s eyes went damp. “Poor little guy.”
“I need to backtrack for Trey.”
Once she had, Trey picked up the history. “I’m nearly sure it was Michael Poole who married Patricia—your bio great-grandmother. She’s the one who refused to live here. Michael was the oldest twin. She basically closed the place up.”