THANKSGIVING
That night I checked my e-mail on Natasha's computer about once every five minutes, but Taylor never wrote back. I hoped she was just busy with family stuff and that she wasn't avoiding me too. If she decided to avoid me, then I might never find out what was really going on around this place. That was not an option.
With everyone gone, having fled Easton for the airport or for the posh neighborhoods of various eastern-seaboard cities, Billings House felt eerie and still. No shouts and giggles, no music blaring, no fevered study sessions. It was a completely different place. I walked the carpeted halls, for the first time closely studying the photographs of former Billings Girls--until I started to feel as if their ghosts were watching me. Then, irrationally spooked, I went around and opened all the doors to all the bedrooms until the Billings housemother, Mrs. Lattimer, tracked me down and told me to kindly quit making so much noise. I finally retreated back to my room.
After a little while, I started to relax. Yes, the place was silent as
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a grave, but that also meant that there was no one around to walk into my room and demand something of me. No one to remind me of tragedy. Maybe alone was good. Finally, I settled in to catch up on my reading and actually got some work done. Every time thoughts of Thomas tried to invade, I just concentrated harder on taking notes. I ended up falling asleep with a book open on my lap and didn't turn out the light until my notebook hit the floor and scared me half to death.
On Thursday I slept late, called my brother to wish him luck at the homestead (he was in for the Boston Market feast, though I had no idea why), and talked to my dad as well--making sure he knew that I was perfectly fine and that no one else had gone missing from school. My mother took the phone for three minutes to give me a nonstop diatribe about how it wasn't safe at Easton and I should come home. Not because she was worried about me, but because she didn't want me to have anything I actually wanted. Then my father got back on to talk about my report card and wonder if straight B's and one A were enough to maintain my scholarship (which, by the way, they were). I couldn't get off the line fast enough.
Some time after noon I took a long run around the campus, taking in the deserted walkways and darkened windows. There wasn't a soul in sight. I took the time to admire the beauty that was Easton. Even with bare trees and flowerless beds, the campus was far more elegant than any block of land back home. Every inch of every building evoked tradition and pride, from the beautiful
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stained-glass windows set deep within the stone walls of the chapel to the columns marking the entrance to Easton Library. There was no trace of the modern world here. And without all the Bluetooth phones and PSPs and iPods around, I could almost imagine what it had been like to stroll these paths back when the school was founded. All tweed suits and school ties and leather- bound books. Back when things were simple. The longer I jogged, the more solitary I felt. I might as well have owned the place.
Apparently, even Detective Hauer had gotten Thanksgiving Day off. I kept expecting to see him lurking like I had the morning before, but he was nowhere to be found. I started to wonder if I'd imagined his presence in the fog the previous morning. Maybe I had been half-dreaming. Maybe it hadn't happened at all. And if it hadn't happened, I should stop obsessing about it.
For now, that was a tack I was willing to take.
That afternoon I checked my e-mail again. Still nothing. I shot off another missive to Taylor, telling her she didn't have to talk about anything she might not want to talk about. Telling her I just wanted to know that she was all right. Then I turned off the computer and promised myself I wouldn't check again until the next day.
By the time I arrived at the cafeteria that night for the scheduled seven o'clock holiday meal, I felt rejuvenated. I was going to sit down, have a nice dinner, and not think about Thomas, Taylor, Hauer, Rick the townie, or anyone else.
Anyone other than Josh, who was already seated at the end of a
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table in the center of the room. He wore a corduroy jacket over a blue shirt and looked so handsome I felt unworthy. Candles flickered along the length of the table and cornucopia centerpieces sat on beds of autumn leaves. There were a total of three tables set this way, all in the middle of the room. At the first sat Mrs. Lattimer, with a few other faculty members. At the second was a klatch of foreign students. Josh sat at the third, with a few other scholarship students at the far end, their noses buried in books as they ignored one another.
The place smelled amazing. Roasting turkey, gravy, freshly baked bread. I glanced behind me at the buffet line, but it was empty.
"What's going on?" I asked Josh.
I folded the skirt I had "borrowed" from Kiran's Closet of Dreams under me and sat. God bless the person who had opted not to put locks on our doors. Kiran didn't want to tell me the truth? Fine. Then for the next three days, her stuff was my stuff.
"Table service," Josh said. "Guess that's what happens when only twenty people are eating."
"Wow. It's like we're royalty."
Josh leaned across the table and glanced at the next one over. "Actually, I think one of those guys is royalty."
I laughed just as the kitchen doors opened, spilling forth a half dozen cafeteria workers and their trays. Soon platters of sliced turkey, bowls of potatoes, stuffing, and vegetables, and baskets of rolls were laid out in front of us. Already I could tell this was going to be the best Thanksgiving dinner of my life.
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"Once you're finished, we bring out the dessert," our server told us with a slight dip of the head. "Apple pie and ice cream."
"Thanks," I replied.
She was already on her way back to the kitchen, but she paused and smiled back at me, as though no one had ever said thanks to her before.
"Ready to feast?" Josh asked.
He was already holding a few slices of turkey over my plate with a huge fork.