The Hiding Place

Chapter Thirty

Ashleigh looked at the photos from the box under her bed. There weren’t that many, which surprised her. Did people take many pictures back then? Her mom once explained that taking photographs used to be expensive. You had to bring the film to a place that developed it and then wait for the pictures to come back. You bought them whether they were any good or not. Sometimes her mom talked like she grew up in the nineteenth century.

But there were maybe only fifty photos total of her uncle. Some were posed portraits, the kind they took at the mall. Others were candid-birthday parties, Christmas. Ashleigh studied the portraits, trying to see a resemblance. But she’d seen the man on the porch for only a few minutes-and from a distance. What was she going to be able to see?

Someone knocked on the door again. Ashleigh sighed and threw the pictures back in the box, then slid it under the bed.

“Hold on,” Ashleigh said.

She made sure the box was hidden and opened the door. Except it wasn’t her mom-it was her grandpa. He stood there in the hallway looking as uncomfortable as he always did when he came to her room. Ashleigh didn’t know why he acted so weird about coming near her personal space-he’d raised a daughter before. But the old guy always looked afraid when he stood in the doorway of her room, like he was expecting a training bra or a tampon to leap up and bite him on the neck.

“Hi,” Ashleigh said. “Is something wrong?”

“Your mom asked me to check in on you.”

“I’m fine,” Ashleigh said.

She thought that would be it. Ordinarily that would be it, but for some reason her grandpa lingered around the door as if he wanted to talk or something. Except he didn’t say anything. He stood there, hands in pockets. Ashleigh didn’t know what to do.

“Are you watching the Reds game?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Seventh inning. They’re winning. Do you want to watch the end of the game?”

“Um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t. I know you’re not a big sports fan.”

“I guess I was going to read something,” Ashleigh said, although, in truth, she didn’t have a new book to read and needed to go to the library. She just really didn’t want to watch baseball with the old man. She’d done it before, and even with the game on to provide a distraction, sitting there with him felt awkward.

“That’s okay.” But he still didn’t turn away. “Hey,” he said, “I meant to ask you. When that man today tried to, you know, touch you?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re telling the truth that nothing else happened, right?”

“I am, Grandpa.”

“Because that shouldn’t happen to a young girl like you, and I just wanted you to know that it’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“If you want to tell me anything else.”

Ashleigh’s cheeks flushed with warmth. She understood. The old guy was looking out for her. He was being protective. “It’s okay, Grandpa,” she said again. “I told everything there is to tell. He didn’t hurt me.”

He nodded, and Ashleigh thought she saw his shoulders lift a little with relief. “Good,” he said.

“Grandpa?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I got away?”

“How?” he asked.

“Remember you taught me once how to get away if someone grabbed me from behind?”

“I do,” he said. “You used that?”

“I swung my arm back and hit him in the gut. And then, when he doubled over, I kicked him in the face.”

Her grandpa smiled bigger than she had ever seen him smile. “I didn’t even teach you that.”

“I know. I just did it.”

“Great.”

Then they didn’t know what to say to each other again.

“Well,” he said.

He went back down the stairs. Ashleigh went into her room but didn’t shut the door. She didn’t return to the bed or look for a book to read. Without thinking of it too much, she left and went downstairs, following in her grandpa’s wake. He was sitting in his chair, the baseball game playing at high volume. He looked up when she came into the living room, his face showing surprise. He appeared even more surprised when she sat down on the couch and looked at the TV, but he didn’t say anything.

Ashleigh tried to decipher the action of the game. She read the score in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. The Reds appeared to be playing and beating a team from New York, one that wore orange-and-blue uniforms. The Yankees? Or was it the Mets? They were from New York, right? Otherwise, she couldn’t follow beyond the basics-balls and strikes, outs and hits. When the players ran around the bases and things happened, she lost track of what it all meant.

During a commercial, her grandpa said, “Your mom never liked baseball.”

“I don’t really like it either,” Ashleigh said.

Ashleigh knew what he was thinking: Then why are you sitting here? But he didn’t say it. During the next round of commercials, Ashleigh said, “Grandpa, what do you think happened to Uncle Justin?”

He didn’t look away from the TV. “He’s dead, Ashleigh.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She’d expected some debate, some hedging of bets based on the events of recent days. But there was none of that-just a flat statement of fact.

“How can you be sure?” Ashleigh asked.

He still didn’t look away from the TV. “It’s been so long,” he said. “I just know it.”

The game started again, and one of the batters for the Reds did something impressive because all the fans were cheering. When it quieted down, Ashleigh said, “Do you mean that because Uncle Justin is your son, you can feel if he’s alive or not?”

“I’ll say something about all of this.” He used the remote control to turn the volume down a little but didn’t look at her. “I have a feeling we’re going to learn something in the coming days, all of us. Too many people are nosing around and getting worked up.”

“We’re going to learn something about who really killed him?”

“Just something,” he said. “Your mom told me tonight before she left the house that we were in the middle of all of this and we couldn’t avoid it.” He turned the volume back up on the TV. The crowd cheered more. Someone had hit a home run. “I think she’s right.”