Twig and I stay where we are, across the table from one another, a cold feeling creeping up my neck.
The lights go out in the dining room.
The music stops.
“Shoot! Sorry about that,” comes Mr. Calloway’s voice from below.
The light quickly returns.
The power in the kitchen, too.
Mrs. Calloway cheers.
The twins join her.
The radio, however, warbles with static.
Mrs. Calloway sweeps into the dining room to fiddle with one of the knobs. “Now why is this misbehaving?”
“Maybe because it’s from the ice age?” Kate suggests.
A burst of static explodes from the speaker.
The twins clap their hands over their ears.
Someone whispers my names.
I grab the back of a chair.
It’s Rafe—his voice cutting through the static which cuts through the Christmas jingle, barely loud enough to decipher.
“Get… me…”
Kate unplugs the radio.
“No!” I yell, taking a lurching step toward her.
Everyone stares at me.
I clear my throat and laugh sheepishly, heat pooling in my ears. “Sorry. I, uh, really like that song.”
Kate plugs the radio back in.
The song Ireally likereturns, as clear as crystal.
She looks at me the same way she’s been looking at me ever since Twig and I tried telling her the truth the day after Ivy’s vigil.
“Thanks,” I say. “For fixing it.”
Then, with a tight smile, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
“Rafe?” I whisper, gripping the sink. “Are you here?”
That cold feeling on the back of my neck returns.
But the lights hold steady.
I don’t know if he’s here.
