After dinner, Mr. Watson led Peter on a tour of the house. “Books, books, books!” said Peter, staring up the main staircase and the shelves lining one wall of it. “How did you get so many?”
“Forty years of shopping in used book stores,” Mr. Watson replied.
“Have you read them all?” Peter asked Rosemary.
She snorted. “No!”
“I haven’t read them all, either,” said Mr. Watson. “Almost as intense as the joy of reading is the joy of just having a book. They may be able to put books on the computer these days, but it’s not the same.” He pulled out a thick tome with a dust jacket: All The Strange Hours by Loren C. Eiseley. “Here, feel the weight! Feel the quality of the paper!”
“I read it,” said Rosemary brightly.
Peter flipped through the pages and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “This is a book about geology.”
“Rosemary is an avid reader of science books,” said Mr. Watson. “I hardly ever see her in the fiction section. Which reminds me: Did you remember to bring your English homework home this time, Rosemary?”
She drooped. “Yes, Dad.”
“What is it?”
“Another two chapters of The Outsiders.”
Peter studied her face. “What’s wrong with The Outsiders?”
“Only that it’s the grimmest book on the planet!”
Peter chuckled. “Wait until they make you read That Was Then, This is Now. Talk about dreary.”
Mr. Watson laughed. “I once heard Ms. Hinton say that the ending of That Was Then, This is Now made readers throw the book against the wall. She seemed rather proud of that. But be that as it may, Rosemary, if two chapters of Hinton have been assigned, then two chapters shall be read.”
She sighed. “I can’t read A Midsummer Night’s Dream again?”
“You don’t get credit for reading the same book over again. Come on, Rosemary, you’ve got to build an appreciation for good literature.”
“Why do people have to die to make it good literature?”
He blinked at her, then mussed her hair. “It’s not always like that.”
“It’s like that a lot!”
Just then, they saw lights turn into their driveway. Rosemary brightened. “Mom’s home!”
They ran for the door. Shamus beat them to it, his tail banging into an umbrella stand. Then he stopped. He whimpered once and shied away.
Rosemary frowned. “Shamus, what’s wr—”
Mr. Watson yanked open the front door. The squall had broken, but snow was still falling. Two figures stood on either side of a station wagon, recognizable even as silhouettes.
Rosemary’s mother darted towards her husband. “Alex!”
“Kate,” said Mr. Watson. “Kate, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Theo!” said Kate Watson. “Alex, there’s something wrong with Theo!”
CHAPTER TWO
BEHIND THE SHELF
“That’s how it started. That’s how it went until she stopped.”
— Marjorie Campbell
Theo walked past his parents, his attention captured by a book in his hands, a paperback with a painting of a book on the cover. “Mom, I’m okay,” he said, without looking at her. He moved like someone half in another world: a sleepwalker, or a scuba diver, or someone in a lot of pain.
Mr. Watson, his breath fogging, touched his son’s arm. “Theo?”
Theo paused. He turned. He focused. “Hello,” he said. Then he stepped into the house. They followed him in.
“He’s been like that ever since I saw him in his residence,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I found him staring into that book, and I had to shout to get him to acknowledge me. It’s like he has tardive dyskinesia — flat affect.”
Peter blinked. “Huh?”
Rosemary tugged at Theo’s sleeve. “Theo?”
Theo gave her a smile, but his eyes were vacant. “Hello, Rosie,” he said. Then he turned back to his paperback book. Rosemary frowned at it, tried to see if there was a title. She caught sight only of an image of smoke emanating from an open book before he walked away, into the kitchen.
“Drugs?” Mr. Watson blanched.
“No,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I took him to the hospital. That’s why I was late. I had them run toxicology tests. Physically, he’s fine, but I don’t know, Alex, I don’t know. Who’s he?” She stared at Peter.
“Rosemary’s friend,” said Mr. Watson.
“Rosemary brought home a boy?”
Rosemary huffed. “He’s just a friend!”
Peter shifted on his feet. “The squall’s let up a bit. Maybe I should go home?”
“I’ll drive you,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s get our coats on.”
Rosemary stood in the living room, torn between Peter and her father preparing to leave and her brother in the kitchen. After a moment, she settled on her brother, but froze at the kitchen door. Theo stood, facing the refrigerator, staring at the jumble of coloured-letter magnets as if he expected them to change and spell something. Her mother stood behind him, still in her winter coat.
I’m not supposed to be here yet, Rosemary thought, and she turned back to the living room.
Peter and her father were ready for winter and stepping out the door. Rosemary stopped Peter in the foyer. “Wait!” She clasped his hand in a sort of handshake. “Thanks for rescuing me.” She pulled a face.
“I wasn’t rescuing you, I was rescuing Leo.”
She scowled at him. Then her mouth quirked. She snorted and broke out into a grin.
He smiled at her. After a moment, she sobered. “Thanks,” she said again. “I guess ... see you Monday.”
“Yeah, at school,” he said. “Not much to do till then. You doing anything this weekend?”
She started. “I’m ... I’m working!”
“You work? Where?”
“At the library. I volunteer.”
“Isn’t the library closed on Sunday?”
Rosemary spluttered. Mr. Watson called from the idling car. “Ready?”
Peter nodded. Then he turned back to her. “Your brother’s going to be okay.”
She looked away. “How would you know?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
He turned away, leaving her staring, and got into the car. A moment later, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the snow-covered road. It crept carefully into the distance.
Rosemary stared after it for a few seconds, then closed the front door. She started for the kitchen, but hearing her mother’s calm, measured tones that Rosemary knew were a few steps away from breaking, she hesitated. Then she went to the closet, pulled on her boots, coat, and hat, and went outside.
Her father had made a rink in the backyard with a garden hose. The ice was covered with new snow, but Rosemary was able to entertain herself with running slides. Her mind went over the day