Why had she felt sick for two weeks, now? Her mother had taken her to the doctor, and she'd been put on antibiotics under the assumption that it'd been some sort of infection, but there hadn't been a definitive answer. It was all very frustrating because it was one of those illnesses that didn't make Cora feel all too terrible but that kept her out of school with an on-again-off-again low fever. The girl would've actually liked to go to school. Working from home, being alone all day every day, was boring, and it led her to do stupid things.

Like message Ben.

She knew she shouldn't have done it. Cora had cut him off after he'd gotten pushy, and she hadn't responded to the messages he'd sent her. They'd stopped altogether over three weeks ago, but something got to her in all the crushing boredom of being stuck at home, and she'd stupidly rekindled their messaging by saying out of the blue, "What's up? I miss you."

She'd been immediately furious with herself--first, for sending the message at all and second, for telling him she missed him. Because she didn't. Well, she did a little. Actually, it was more the attention that she missed. Brian was a good friend, but he worked all day. And Brian didn't say flattering things to her, get flirty with her. Cora selfishly missed Ben's compliments and demands, even if they'd simultaneously scandalized her. There was a safety in speaking with Ben, too: Cora knew she'd never see him again, so she could pretend she'd offer something with minimal fear of ever having to follow through. Maybe that was called teasing . . . and maybe it wasn't very nice (or very smart, for that matter). But who cared? It wasn't as if they'd see each other again. Besides, she'd figured he'd probably moved on from her, anyway.

If he had, though, his quick response hadn't indicated that. In fact, he'd apologized to her for his pushiness and subsequent anger. Cora had been shocked, pleasantly shocked. So they'd gone back and forth afterward, catching up, he keeping things calm and unprovocative, and she beginning to remember why she'd liked him in the first place. A few pictures from him--of himself looking amazing, of course--didn't hurt, either.

Cora had told him about her weird house. She hadn't told him everything, just flippantly sort of threw in that it was probably haunted, that someone had committed suicide in it, that neighbors thought it was creepy . . . that kind of stuff. He'd eaten it up, as she'd known he would, asking for the address so he could dig into and research its history for her. And part of Cora had felt a little guilty, sharing information with him, though she still wasn't sure why. It was almost as if she'd divulged secrets, as if someone would be disappointed in her to know she'd been blabbing on about the house. But who? Brian wouldn't have cared. Neither would her mother. So who? Who would've cared if she'd spoken irreverently about this weird little house that seemed a bit too eager to show its weirdness to her? Maybe there was a ghost after all; maybe the ghost would've been annoyed.

But she didn't believe in ghosts, she kept telling herself. And yet, that woman in the photograph . . . there'd been something about her. Had she lived here, a long time ago? Had she been the one to kill herself (if there was any truth to that rumor, anyway)? Cora had felt compelled to keep the picture, unsure exactly why but sensing it was of some importance. She'd wanted to go next door and ask Niecey about it, and she would, at some point, but lately, it'd been too cold outside, and Cora hadn't felt well enough to risk getting an old woman sick.

Brian was a different matter. He didn't care about being sick, in fact said only half-jokingly it'd be nice if he could take some time off due to illness. So on a Sunday he drove up the street in his white pick-up, had Cora get in, and then drove her back to his house, all because he refused to go into hers and didn't want her to have to walk to his. She was fine with that. It got her out of her bedroom, anyway.

They went into his house, the backyard being too cold. It was mid-November, now, and everything had snapped into winter right about after Halloween. The leaves had hardly had time to turn before frost settled in. At least there hadn't been any snow.

"What about your dad?" Cora asked, entering through the door Brian held open for her. "What if I get him sick?"

"He's not even here. It's fine."

Cora hadn't actually been inside Brian's house before. It was small, like hers, a similar layout, opening first into a living room, the kitchen and a dining area beyond it. A hall to the right probably led to bedrooms, but there was a hall to the left as well, and that was where Brian took her, then down some stairs into a basement. It wasn't like Cora's basement--it was actually nice. It was finished, carpeted, well-lit. There was a loungey area down there and even a small kitchenette beyond which were two doors, one open and appearing to lead into a bathroom, and another closed.

"This is like an apartment," the girl said, impressed, a little jealous, even.

"Pretty much. Alan and I hardly see each other. What do you want? You want me to make you something?"

"Like . . .?"

Brian went over to the kitchen, opened the couple of cabinets over a small sink. "Soup? It won't be fancy. Just a can."

"No, I'm fine." Cora felt suddenly a bit awkward.

He turned to look at her. "Ok, I'll make some hot chocolate. Or coffee, if you want that? Come on. Something warm. I don't want you getting sicker. I can even do tea, or--"

"Fine! Tea is good. Just stop asking."

Growing quiet, Brian moved around a little, ran some water, used the microwave. Cora watched him as she plopped onto a sofa but looked away when she caught him glance over his shoulder at her.

"You look different," he said after joining her with a mug in one hand and a beer in his other. He sat on a lounge chair across from the sofa where she'd seated herself. The furniture was nice. It wasn't brand new or particularly expensive-looking, but it was comfortable, and it was clean.

Cora didn't know how to take his comment. Though she knew he was right, she wasn't sure what he meant by it. She was wearing dark leggings and an oversized oatmeal-colored sweater. She'd neglected all makeup, and the only jewelry she'd managed was a small pair of silver stud earrings. At least she'd brushed her black hair, which had grown a little and now hovered above her shoulders. "I've been sick."

"No I like it. I mean, you look normal." He caught himself. "Not that you didn't before, but--"

"Stop it. I don't care. I know what you're saying, and it's okay."

"I thought you had plugs." He pointed at her ears.

Cora raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I don't. Secret's out."

"And a nose thing--"

"Magnetic."

"Right." Brian dropped it. Sat back and started to look comfortable again. He'd kicked off his shoes, revealing thick socks that looked as if they'd been cut out of sweaters. He plopped his feet up onto the coffee table.

Cora wondered if she should say something but decided against it and laid lengthwise along the couch. She had a sudden desire to be in her nightgown but felt an almost instantaneous rush of embarrassment for feeling it, as if that attire wasn't meant to leave the bedroom. She shook her head slightly, shivered the thought out of her mind. "Who committed suicide in my house?"

"Uh--" Brian was taken aback by the sharp turn in conversation. "I don't know."

"Male? Female?"

"I really don't know. It's just a rumor. Why?"

Cora sucked in the corner of her mouth, frowned. "I found a photo of some woman standing in front of my house, from a long time ago. Like, her clothes were from the fifties or sixties. I thought maybe, if she lived there, it could've been her."

"Did she live there? Where'd you get it?"

"Niecey's trash. Eunice, I mean--my neighbor. I'm going to ask her about it at some point."

"Maybe it was her, in the picture."

"Who, Niecey?"

"Yeah. She's lived here a while, right? Otherwise, why would she have it?"

"Even Niecey isn't old enough to be that woman, though. What do you think--she's probably in her seventies?"

"All old people look the same age to me."

Cora began to scoff but then realized he was right--she had a hard time placing old people's ages, too. Grandmother Luce had always looked ancient to her, but obviously, she hadn't been.

Noticing Cora had fallen quiet, Brian lowered his brow. "Is this weird? Do you not like being down here?"

Cora smirked. "Apparently it's not as weird as my basement."

"Yeah, that's true."

"My basement is weird, though. I just wish it would stop smelling." Cora inadvertently shivered.

Brian got up and walked to the closed door, went through it and flipped on a light. Cora saw the end of an unmade bed, leaned a little to try to see more, but then he came back out, and she turned away.

"Here. You got to take care of yourself." He threw a fleece blanket onto her lap.

Though she didn't really need it, Cora spread it out over her legs so Brian wouldn't feel stupid. "You're nicer than you look."

The boy laughed, brushed his shaggy dark blond hair out of his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. When I first saw you with that girl--Maddy? Abby?--I just figured you were an asshole."

Brian grinned, gave Cora a look she couldn't quite read. "Addy. And maybe I am an asshole; you just haven't figured it out, yet."

"It's true. I have no idea what you do the other six days of the week."

She'd been joking, but the look Brian gave her was somewhat unsettling. Cora might've thought more on it, but then her phone buzzed at her hip, startling her so that she sat up a little quickly and spilled some of her tea. Brian jumped up to help her clean the mess, adding, "Go ahead--answer it. I got this."

And as flustered as she was, the girl swiped and said hello without even checking who was calling, sure it was her mother because literally nobody else ever called her. So when a deep, familiar, masculine voice on the other end responded, she froze.

"Hey, beautiful. How's next weekend looking?"

Cora pulled the phone away from her face to double-check the name; her reaction caught Brian's attention. "What? Who is it?"

She put the device back to her ear. "I--Ben--I didn't expect--"

"It's time, anyway."

"Wh-what do you mean? Time for what? What are you talking about?"

"Time to visit. I'm coming up next weekend."

Cora's mouth fell open; her eyes widened. Brian mouthed "what?" but she could only stand there in complete bewilderment.

"I want to see you," Ben's low voice added, sending ripples through Cora's stomach. "And I want to see that house, too."