Under His Roof

CHAPTER X

I stayed in bed until the heavy thud of the front door echoed through the floorboards, followed by the rough rumble of Zeke’s truck pulling out of the driveway.

The silence that settled over the house felt strange. Too quiet.

I checked my phone. Seven in the morning.

My stomach was already tied in knots as I lay there, staring at the faint water stain on the ceiling.

A few minutes later, two soft taps sounded at my bedroom door.

I sat up and opened it.

Lucky stood in the hallway wearing gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. He glanced over his shoulder toward his parents’ room before leaning closer.

"Mom and Dad are already at the shop," he whispered. "Zeke's gone until five. If we're going to do this, we need to do it now."

My heart started beating faster.

Standing outside Zeke's room felt wrong. It was his private space, and I knew that. But then I remembered the scratched photograph, the notes written in blue ink, and the way everyone kept telling me to stop asking questions about something I couldn't even remember.

I nodded.

"Okay."

Zeke's room was at the end of the hallway, past the narrow bathroom. Lucky pushed the wooden door open with a quiet creak.

The room was surprisingly neat.

A simple twin bed sat against the wall beneath a plain navy blanket. A small wooden desk held several thick mechanical textbooks, a desk lamp, and a metal tray filled with loose bolts and washers.

There were no posters or decorations. Barely anything personal at all.

On top of the dresser sat a dusty wooden picture frame.

I walked toward it before I could stop myself.

The photograph showed Zeke at eleven years old, standing on a wooden porch with a huge smile on his face. His eyes looked warm and relaxed, completely different from the guarded expression I had become used to.

I stared at the picture for a few seconds.

He had actually looked happy.

"Over here," Lucky whispered.

I turned.

He was kneeling beside the small closet in the corner, moving aside a pile of winter coats and work boots.

Something dark was tucked behind them.

A metal trunk.

It was secured with a brass padlock.

"Where's the key?" I asked, crouching beside him.

Lucky reached underneath the lowest closet shelf and felt around.

"Zeke thinks he's clever."

His fingers caught on something.

He pulled out a small silver key attached to a piece of old tape.

"He hid it here years ago. I saw him put it back once."

He handed it to me.

The metal was cold against my palm.

Lucky looked at me.

"You sure you want to do this?"

I looked at the trunk.

"No."

He gave me a nervous smile.

"Good. Because I don't think I'd trust anyone who was completely sure."

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

Then I slipped the key into the lock.

Click.

The padlock opened.

I lifted the heavy lid.

A dusty smell drifted up from inside, mixed with old paper and something that reminded me of damp earth after rain.

The trunk was filled with pieces of Zeke's past.

A frayed camp wristband.

A water damaged notebook.

Several photographs lying face down.

A pair of old canvas sneakers still stained with red mud.

Then I saw the jacket.

It was folded carefully across the bottom.

I reached in and pulled it out.

The dark blue water sports jacket was stiff with age. A circular yellow patch was sewn onto the sleeve , showing two crossed oars over a pine tree.

The same symbol from the photograph.

My fingers moved over the fabric until they found a tear near the right pocket.

"Why would he keep this?" I asked.

Lucky shook his head.

"I don't know."

He paused.

"But I remember the night he came home from camp. He had that red cast on his arm, and he looked terrified. Dad asked him what happened at the lake, but Zeke wouldn't say anything."

I looked down at the jacket.

"He never told anyone?"

"Not that I know of."

I slipped my hand into the torn pocket.

My fingers brushed against something hard.

I pulled it free.

A plastic card.

I wiped some of the dust from the surface and looked down at the faded photograph.

A pale boy with dark hair stared back at me.

My stomach tightened.

Then I saw the name.

Thomas Brown.

I looked at Lucky.

"Who's Thomas Brown?"

He leaned closer.

"I don't remember anyone named Thomas."

"Neither do I."

I stared at the photograph again.

The boy looked familiar.

Not familiar enough to place, but enough to make something inside me feel wrong.

Then it hit me.

He was the boy whose face had been scratched out of the photograph from the lake.

My throat went dry.

Before Lucky could say anything, a loud thud came from downstairs.

We both froze.

Then came the unmistakable sound of heavy boots crossing the floor.

My heart dropped.

"Zeke," I whispered.

Lucky's face went pale.

"Quick."

He grabbed the jacket and shoved it back into the trunk.

I pushed the lid down and locked it as quickly as I could while Lucky hurriedly returned the key to its hiding place.

I pulled the coats back over the trunk.

Footsteps started climbing the stairs.

My hands were shaking.

I shoved the ID card into my back pocket just as the bedroom door swung open.

Zeke stood in the doorway.

He was wearing his canvas jacket, his dark hair messy from the morning wind. A small paper box filled with engine parts rested under one arm.

He stopped when he saw us.

His eyes moved from Lucky to me.

Then to the closet behind us.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

"What are you two doing in my room?"

His voice was quiet.

That somehow made it worse.

Lucky cleared his throat.

"I was just showing Daphne where Dad keeps the extra blankets. Her room was cold last night."

Zeke didn't even look at him.

His eyes stayed on me.

I tried to keep my expression neutral.

He walked toward the closet.

My heart hammered.

He moved the coats slightly, checking the space.

I could barely breathe.

After a few seconds, he turned around.

His eyes met mine.

"Get out."

Lucky immediately headed for the door.

I followed him, keeping my head up even though my hands were trembling.

I made it back to my room and quietly shut the door behind me.

Only then did I pull the card from my pocket.

I sat on the edge of my bed and turned it over.

A thin strip of yellowed tape covered the back.

I peeled it away.

Underneath was a handwritten date in faded blue ink.

July 14, 2018.

The date stared back at me.

My stomach dropped.

July 14 was the day the camp ended early. The day my father came to pick me up. The day my memory of the lake disappeared.

Thomas Brown wasn't just another name from an old camp.

He was there when everything went wrong.