Ethan did not look pleased or surprised. He simply nodded once, his hand resting flat over his pocket where the brass key was hidden.
“I should finish my reading,” he said, turning back to his desk.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the posters of basketball players on his walls, the old sneakers piled in the corner, feeling the space between us growing wider. I walked out of his room and closed the door behind me, the sound of that key turning staying in my mind.
Downstairs, Chloe was sitting at the kitchen island, tracing her finger along the edge of the blue linen tablecloth that I had washed the day before. Her sketchbook was open, but the page was completely white. The kitchen smelled of lemons and old linoleum, a familiar scent that usually brought me comfort but now felt thin and empty.
“Chloe, have you noticed your brother acting differently lately?” I asked, putting a jar of peanut butter back into the pantry.
“Not really.”
