Their father stared.
Confusion moved across his face, then suspicion, followed closely by disbelief. He cleared his throat. “What happened?” he asked slowly.
Billie lifted the spider proudly. “Winnie knows bug secrets.”
“Oh.” He stared at the spider. “Is that so?”
“She’s not scared of Gerald.”
Mr. Lawrence blinked slowly. “The spider’s name is Gerald?”
“Obviously,” Billie said.
CJ folded his arms, studying me with increasing interest. “She knew his scientific classification.”
I rose smoothly. “Gerald appears to be quite polite.”
Billie looked deeply emotional hearing this. “Most people hate him.”
I patted her shoulder gently. “Most people are shortsighted.”
Mr. Lawrence stared at me for longer than necessary. There was caution in him now, yes, but something else underneath it too. Curiosity perhaps. Maybe confusion over why his children suddenly looked less defensive than they had all morning.
Poor man. He was so accustomed to managing tension that he didn’t seem to know what to do when it disappeared.
“We should continue the tour,” he said eventually.
The children followed us much more closely after that. Billie attached herself directly to my side, occasionally swinging our joined hands even though I’d never actually agreed to hold her hand in the first place.
CJ asked increasingly elaborate questions clearly designed to test me. “If you could only eat one food forever, what would it be?”
“Pomegranates.”
“That’s incredibly random.”
“They’re delicious.”
Bianca narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Pomegranates are nutrient-dense powerhouses, packed with dietary fiber, vitamins, and powerful antioxidants.”
The girl really was a clever one. I liked her immensely.
As we moved through the upper floor, I noticed more pieces of the family. One bedroom had children’s drawings taped on the wall, while the toys were almost unnaturally neatly organized in baskets beneath the window. Children who feared making messes when grief was already messes often learned to prioritizecleanliness. Another room held a half-finished puzzle that had been untouched long enough for dust to gather at the edges.
The wife’s office remained perfectly preserved. That stopped me briefly. It looked as though she might return and sit behind the desk at any moment. Pens were neatly aligned beside legal pads, and a cardigan was still draped over the chair. A framed photograph of the children sat next to the lamp, and there were a few more arranged on the bookshelves.
Mr. Lawrence noticed me noticing and took a protective stance. “I haven’t…” He stopped. “I just haven’t gone through everything yet.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
His shoulders loosened slightly at the lack of judgment.
The children had grown quieter, more subdued. Billie reached for her father’s hand as Bianca stepped closer to him. CJ was pointedly not looking at the room.
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The children didn’t merely misbehave when separated from him; they unraveled. Every time he stepped away for a phone call or drifted mentally toward work or adult responsibility, some invisible panic moved through the house.
This was a very lonely family.
We finished in the upstairs playroom where Billie showed me an extremely alarming collection of rocks she’d hidden inside a dollhouse.
