Page 140 of Not Quite Dead Yet

They crossed from deck to grass, through the side door into the laundry room. Jet almost forgot again, went back to lock it.

Through the kitchen and living room to the front door, Reggie leaving a trail of pawprints, only dirt this time.

‘Love you,’ Jet said, opening the door.

‘S-sorry?’ Billy stuttered.

‘Talking to the dog. Bye, Reg. See you later.’

They walked out onto the drive, past Jet’s truck. Billy had parked it at a strange angle, but Jet wasn’t allowed to criticize now, was she? Onto the street and across the road to the fence outside Billy’s house, through the little gate.

‘Your dad’s at work,’ Jet said, looking at the small driveway to the side of the house, no cars.

‘I know you’re into your breaking and entering at the moment.’ Billy smiled at her, pulling out his ring of keys. ‘But I’ve actually got a key. Sorry.’

Billy unlocked the front door. The entrance opened straight into their living room. Jet had always thought the Finneys’ house was more like a home, too much stuff in some corners, too little in others, too plain or too bright, tidy but not neat. A yellow couch with a collection of unmatched cushions, still fluffed, the top corners pointy but inviting. The stairs in the far corner painted periwinkle blue, the paint chipped off in a few places, showing the original white underneath.

‘Come on,’ Billy said, leading her up.

He stopped on the landing, glanced up at the hatch in the ceiling.

‘Two seconds.’

Billy went over to the big closet, grabbing the pole for the attic. ‘You always used to hide in this closet,’ he said, ‘when we played hide-and-go-seek.’

‘I was just thinking that. Hey, if we have enough time, I’ll rematch you.’

Billy raised the pole and slotted it into the catch, turning it to lower the entrance, the ladder sliding down with a metallic hiss. ‘I’m six foot two now, can’t hide anywhere.’

‘Don’t just let me win because I have forty-eight hours to live.’

Hours now. Couldn’t even count it in days anymore. Billynoticed too, tried to move past it, not let it in. He glanced at the ladder, then back to Jet. ‘Do you need help?’

Jet scoffed. ‘I can do a ladder with one arm.’ She put her foot up on the first step, to prove the point, hooking her left elbow under to take her weight. It was slow – one foot, second foot, then shift her arm – but she was still climbing.

‘I’m right behind you if you fall,’ Billy said.

‘I’ll crush you.’

‘I’ll catch you.’

And Jet was sure he would, actually.

She reached the top, onto the chipboard flooring, and stood up. She didn’t even need to duck her head under the low beams, but Billy had to, bending double, flicking on a lamp, yellow and dim.

‘Over here,’ he said, crouching lower, heading toward a collection of cardboard boxes.

It smelled musty up here, old, like if time itself had a smell.

‘So … this is her stuff.’ Billy pulled one box off a teetering pile. ‘That looks like the clothes she left behind.’

‘She didn’t take her clothes?’ Jet stepped closer, speaking loudly over the guilt, so Billy couldn’t hear it.

‘Not all of them, just one suitcase.’ He sniffed. ‘Obviously in a real hurry to leave. Took the important stuff, left everything else behind. Us too.’

Billy grunted, lifting the box of clothes off the pile, placing it down. But there was something else too, on top of the folded shirts and jeans. A small leather-bound photo album. Jet bent to her knees, behind Billy’s back, flicked through it with her working hand while he searched.

The face of the boy she’d known so well, Billy back then. Holding hands with his mom in a pumpkin patch, scribbled words beneath:Halloween 2006.More and more, Billy growing older with each turn of the page, cheeks sharpening, halfwaysmile. Jet stopped at a double page, one side empty, just the corners of tape where the photo used to live. Underneath it said:Me and Billy eating ice cream Summer 2009.This must have been the photo Billy had in his apartment, the frame he’d hidden when she moved in.

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