"Can I choose it?"

"Maybe."

"Pleeeease?"

Quincy’s laying across the backseat, hands drumming on her stomach. She doesn’t wait long before returning to the stereotypical roadtrip question.

"Are we there yet?"

"Yes," I say, slowing the car as we turn into the driveway of our new abode.

"Are we there-" She pops up, "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," I laugh, "Look out the window, doofus."

"Mean," she chides as she gazes out at the neighborhood.

"I know. Sorry. I’m just feeling a little funny moving into a new place and all."

Finally. We’ve made it. I put the car into ‘park’ and take my first real look at the house we’ll be calling home from now on. Imagine the most subdivision-y house you can, then multiply it by three. It pales in comparison to our previous dwelling, but it’s better than living in the car.

I crane my head around to look at her. She’s wearing an outfit I laid out for her this morning: sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. I’m dressed similarly — minus the ponytail, of course.

We’ve both looked better, but these are the perfect clothes for a lengthy trip in a tiny vehicle.

I clear my throat, "What about you?"

She looks at me, "Huh?"

"Do you feel funny? About moving?"

She puckers her lip, thinking. "Don't think so. Nope."

We get out. I hope no neighbors are watching; after several days of sitting wedged into stiff seats, we move around like zombies.

"It’s not blue," Quincy says, staring at the house.

I pat her on the head, "Somebody’s got her primary colors down."

"Or pink," she continues. "Or green, or yellow, or purple. Or any color. It’s just...white."

"Hey, white’s a color. Don’t discriminate."

She rolls her brown eyes. I pity her for having to experience what my sense of humor turns into after three days on the road.

We open up the trunk and start hauling out our luggage.

"Why are houses never pretty?" she asks.

I scratch my head, "Honestly, I have no idea. Maybe most houses are white or gray or another boring color because less people hate them."

"Whaaat?"

"Like, if a house was bright red, a few people might love it, but a lot would hate it. Intense color brings on intense emotions. Dull colors, on the other hand, people don’t have strong opinions about."

"Hmm."

I shrug, "That’s what two years of graphic design classes taught me."

Quincy lugs her backpack to the porch. I follow close behind, house key in hand.

I’m about to insert the key into the lock when an old, wrinkly voice comes from behind us.

"I thought I heard someone pull up."

Instantly suspicious, I turn around to see an elderly woman standing at the foot of the front step.

A huge grin spreads across her creased face, "I’m so happy you’re finally here!"

Thoughts race through my head; how did she know we were coming? I didn’t know until the day before we left. Quincy didn’t know until she woke up on the other side of the Rockies.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Alice," she tells us, smiling warmly.

"Um," I say, not sure if I should tell her anything. I try to catch Quincy’s eyes, but can’t.

"Mine’s Quincy," says Quincy, setting her backpack down on the peeling white paint of the porch.

There’s a brief silence before ‘Alice’ speaks again.

"And what’s your Dad’s name, Quincy?"

But Alice isn’t staring at Quincy. She’s staring at me. I get the feeling she’s reading my thoughts, even though impossible stuff like that only happens in weird paperbacks and comic books.

"Jacob," I say, before Quincy can answer.

Alice nods.

"Merle’s an old friend," she says, talking to me now. "He let on that he was selling the place, probably because he needed someone to give it a good cleaning." She laughs; a light, fluttering sound, like wind chimes. "So of course, I did."

She leans down toward Quincy with a sly grin, "Cleaning is what we old people do for fun."

Quincy’s eyes boggle.

I drop my guard a bit.

"I wasn't aware that he had told anyone about us."

"That’s Merle for you," Alice says knowingly.

"Good ol’ Merle," I agree, shaking my head.

Damn you, Merle, I think. Who else did you tell?

Quincy tugs at my sleeve, "Who’s ‘Merle’?"

"The guy we bought the house from."

Alice gestures to the house, "Everything should be spic and span. I’ve dusted all the furniture, vacuumed the floors, cleaned the gutters..."

I must be giving her a funny look, because she adds hastily, "Well, Phoebe helped with the gutters, since climbing ladders presents quite a challenge for my old legs."

"Phoebe?" Quincy asks.

"Phoebe," Alice says. "My granddaughter. She’s twelve. She lives with me, since her mother is…well, she’s not with us anymore."

"I don’t have a mom, either," Quincy says. "But I’m only eleven."

Way to go, Q. Just tell her our entire backstory while you’re at it.

"Oh, Phoebe has a mom," Alice replies hastily. "She just doesn’t get to see her much."

"We were just unloading the car, but would you like to come in?" I ask, unsure of how to perform the required social graces, and eager to divert the conversation.

"No, no," she waves a hand as if to shoo my offer away. "I’m only here to invite you both to my house for dinner tonight. I know it’s hard, putting a meal together in an unfamiliar kitchen."

I’d been planning to eat at McDonald’s or something, but a home-cooked meal sure sounds good after days of greasy burger wrappers and overcooked french fries. I glance at Quincy, who makes a begging face.

"You wouldn't want to miss one of my dinners," Alice goes on. "Everyone in the neighborhood loves my cooking. I’m not bragging," she says righteously, "that’s just the truth."

"Alright," I give in. "That sounds lovely. Thanks."

"It’ll be ready around six; how’s that sound?"

"Great."

We say our goodbyes and I watch as she trundles back up the drive and onto the sidewalk.

"She seems nice," I comment.

"Yeah."

"Buuuut," I slowly swivel to face her, "I bet your new room will be even nicer!"

I open the door, shudder at the high-pitched creaking, and step across the threshold.

"Let’s get everything unloaded first. Then I’ll give you the grand tour."

We’re both pretty tired (funny how just sitting in a car will do that), but the excitement of the new house refuels us, and we finish the unloading licketysplit.

Ten minutes later, all our earthly possessions are piled on the living room floor. Two suitcases of my stuff, one suitcase (and a backpack) of hers. Plus a small shoulder bag containing shampoo, toilet paper, etc. You know, the things humans in the twenty-first century like us can’t live comfortably without.

The front door leads right into the living room. It’s medium-sized, and lacks decoration. There’s a TV stand (no TV) and an ugly couch with a low table in front of it. Beige carpet makes up the floor while a white fan graces the ceiling.

"It gets pretty warm here in summer," I say.

"Hmm," Quincy replies. "Does it get really cold in the winter?"

I shrug, "Guess we’ll find out in a couple months. Ready to explore?"

She fidgets, "I need to pee."

"Better hurry and find the bathroom. Can’t have a stain on our new carpet!"

"Ew," she giggles. "I can hold it."

A hasty walkthrough discovers the bathroom attached to the first floor bedroom.

"Is this mine?" Quincy asks while hopping towards relief.

"It could be," I say. "Unless you’d rather have an upstairs bedroom."

"Upstairs!" she yells, swinging the door shut behind her.

"There’s only two bedrooms," I speak up so she can hear me. "One downstairs and one upstairs."

"That’s perfect, ‘cause we’re only two," she says in a muffled voice.

I inspect my new room while I wait for her. There’s a bed, with fresh sheets folded into a square on top of it, ready to be spread out. Thanks, Alice! There’s a threadbare chair in the corner, and a window with dark curtains. The room is painted a deep, drab color, but luckily I’ve never been one to bother about how a house looks. Who cares what color my bedroom is, as long as I can get some quality sleep in it!

"Hands?" I ask as Quincy exits the bathroom.

"Washed!" She displays her wet hands apologetically, "But there’s no towel in there."

Towels had not come to mind during my panicked packing.

"We’ll pick some up tomorrow. Right now, let’s climb!"

"It’s really big in there," Quincy tells me as we find the staircase. "There’s a shower and a tub!"

"Good, ‘cause that’s the only bathroom we’ve got."

"What? Why don’t I get one?"

"It is yours."

"But it’s in your room."

"True. Just the price of living upstairs, I guess. You sure you want-"

"Yes."

The stairs are plain wood, which looks strange to my eyes. But Quincy likes them.

"It’s like we’re climbing a tree, but not!" she beams, taking the steps two at a time.

"Doesn't it make you sad?" I ask. "Someone killed this tree just to put it in a house, and now we’re walking all over it..."

She gives me a funny look, "No?"

"Heartless," I sigh.

The stairs wind around, leading us to a nearly pitch-black hallway. Even though it’s still light outside, it’s difficult to see. If there are windows, they must be covered. We move closer to each other.

"Where’s the lights?" Quincy says in a shrill voice.

"They’re around here somewhere," I assure her. "Otherwise, you’ll have to carry a candle to bed every night."

"That might be fun."

"Until you drop it and turn our new house into a pile of worthless, charred ashes," I tousle her hair.

"Hey!" She pushes my hand back and wriggles away, "I wouldn’t do that."

"Of course you wouldn't. And I wouldn't buy a house without electric lights," I say, flipping a switch.

"Good job," she says.

The hallway leads to a playroom at the end. Obviously, Quincy wants to see her room first, so we pause halfway down at a white wooden door.

She reaches for the knob, then stops and gives me a look.

"Can we paint the door?"

"It is painted."

"You know what I mean."

"We didn’t pack any paint."

"Fine," she says, "I’ll do it right now." She pretends to pull a brush out of the pocket of her sweats and starts splattering invisible paint all over the door. Once she’s finished, she surveys her work. Then she looks up with a satisfied grin and says in a knowing whisper: "I used imaginary paint."

"Are we gonna go in or not?"

She yanks the door open and zooms in. I follow, less zoomily. This room is tinier than the downstairs bedroom, but much brighter. Multiple windows; no curtains. There’s a small wireframe bed, a desk, and a closet. That’s about it.

I hope she isn’t comparing it with her old room. "I know it’s not much for first impressions, but we can-"

"It’s perfect."

I cannot exaggerate the importance of these words. I remember how I felt moving to a new town at her age, so I’ve been preparing for a struggle.

We investigate the playroom, which is really just a large, empty area. Then we head back down to the living room to begin the arduous process of unpacking everything we’d carefully packaged just a few days prior.

We’ve just begun opening them up and distributing the goods when a strange noise emanates from the kitchen. It sounds like a cross between a birdcall and a fire alarm.

Quincy and I stare at each other for a moment before I, as the adult, take control of the situation.

"Stay calm; I think it’s the phone. I think I saw one hanging on the kitchen wall."

"But who’s calling?" she furrows her brow.

"Who else could it be?"

"Hmm," she nods.

Sure enough, it’s Alice. We speak for a few moments before I hang up and rejoin Quincy in the living room.

"She says we should be ready to go in fifteen minutes. Oh, and wear something kind of fancy, maybe," I add. "We want to make a good impression."

"So a dress?"

"Not necessarily. Just…not sweats."

She heads upstairs to change as I heave the last of the luggage into my bedroom and collapse on the mattress. After everything that’s happened in the last month, I feel like taking a week-long nap. Possibly two weeks.

But I know Alice is expecting us, and I doubt she keeps food hot for dawdlers, so I dig around for something to wear. I settle on a nice pair of khaki’s (wrinkled, admittedly) and a sea-green cardigan.

Quincy comes down wearing jeans that cling to her beanpole legs and a blouse that is slightly less wrinkled than my khakis.

"Fancy enough?" she asks, giving a whirl.

"Works for me. Change your socks?"

"Yep."

"Underwear?"

She falters, "No..."

"Me neither. C'mon."

I lead the way onto the porch, making sure to lock the door behind us.

"Feels good to have a door to lock again," I sigh, leaning against the porch railing.

"Aren’t we going?" she asks, copying my posture.

"Do you know where her house is?"

She frowns, "Don’t you?"

"No," I tell her. "That’s why Phoebe’s coming to pick us up. Y’know, Alice’s granddaughter."

"What?" she sounds panicked. "You didn't tell me that."

"Um, yeah, I just did." I try not to laugh at her expression. "Sorry. But don’t worry. You’ll probably be chatting it up like best friends within five minutes."

She exhales.

"Just be nice to her and she’ll be nice back."

"What if she’s not?"

"Then she’s not a friend worth having."

"You make it sound easy."

"Just be your charming self," I grin, "because look, here she comes now."

The girl walking toward us is a little taller than Quincy. She’s wearing Converse with a skirt. Big, black-rimmed glasses. Oh, and she has fiery red hair.

"She doesn’t look too bad," I nudge Quincy. "Right?"

"I like her shoes," she admits.

"Ditto."

She pokes my arm, "Buy me shoes like hers."

I pretend to consider this, "I’ll have to see how much money is left in the ‘buy Quincy new shoes’ budget after subtracting the gas and the food it took to get here. Oh yeah, and the brand-spanking-new house we bought."

"Yikes," says Quincy.

"Welcome to my world, kid."

We walk down the stairs and meet Phoebe. She looks us over, "Hi! You guys must be the new neighbors."

"I’m Jacob. This is Quincy."

"Hi," squeaks Quincy, giving a little wave.

"I’m Phoebe," says Phoebe, smiling at us like an old friend. "I hope you guys are hungry, ‘cause Grandma’s been cooking since last week."

Quincy and I laugh.

"I’m not even kidding."

We stop laughing and start walking.

"So," Phoebe clears her throat, "Where did you guys move from?"

Quincy doesn't volunteer our life story, for once, so I volunteer a vague answer.

"Up north. The winters were rough. How are they here?"

Phoebe frowns, but doesn’t press for more. "They’re good! We usually get a few inches in the beginning of December, and then it’s gone by April."

"You get a white Christmas?" Quincy asks. (It’s her all-time favorite Christmas song.)

"Yup," Phoebe nods, then pauses. "We cross here. That’s our house!" She points to a trim little home with a white fence surrounding a pristine yard.

Phoebe starts crossing without checking for traffic. Come to think of it, I haven't seen a single car drive by since we’ve arrived.

"Wow," I shake my head. "I’m bad with directions, but I don’t think we needed an escort."

"Gran thought it’d be nice to meet you at your house," says Phoebe. "More neighborly."

A giant welcome mat sits in front of the screen door.

"Do we take our shoes off?" Quincy whispers at me as our escort pulls the door open.

She overhears, and shakes her head, "You don't have to. Although personally, I find it way more comfortable to walk around in socks."

"Me too!" Quincy giggles, and strips her shoes off, revealing bright pink socks.

Phoebe unlaces her glorious Converse and sets them carefully on the porch. Her socks are green.

Both girls look at me expectantly.

I exhale slowly, asking myself why I wore socks with holes in them.

I’m saved when Alice comes to the door. I yank my shoes off while the girls are distracted.

"Come on in," Alice is saying as she holds the door open. "I just set the food on the table."

"It smells wonderful," I tell her.

"Yeah," Quincy echoes. "What is it?"

"Gran’s famous pot pie," Phoebe replies, leading us through a well-decorated living room. "Eat as much as you want; she always triples the recipe."

"More food is better than less food," Alice chuckles, following behind. "That’s what I always say."

"Can't argue with that," I laugh.

Alice takes her place at the head of the coffee-colored table, with Phoebe to her left.

"Sit by me," Phoebe tells Quincy, patting the seat beside her.

I sit across from Phoebe, on Alice’s right.

"Phoebe, would you please say grace?" Alice asks.

Quincy catches my eye. We aren't used to saying grace.

Alice and Phoebe close their eyes. We follow suit.

"We thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to receive," Phoebe recites. "Thank you for the blessings you’ve bestowed upon us, and for our new neighbors."

Squinting, I notice Quincy staring down the pot pie. Steam floats off it and fills the air. The room seems large for just Phoebe and Alice. I bet they often have visitors for dinner. There’s a window on the wall opposite me, and I can see the sun beginning to start its descent.

Once the prayer is finished, Alice serves each of us a steaming hot helping of pot pie, mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy.

We dig in.

Alice, however, has more than food on her mind.

"Now, Jacob," she says after a single bite. "Tell us what brings you to our neighborhood."

"Well," I stall, wondering if I should make something up on the spot or not. "Quincy and I were looking for a change of scenery. This area seemed nice, plus I’ve got an old friend who lives here." I stuff my mouth full of dinner, hoping this will excuse me from answering more questions.

"It is nice here," Alice agrees. "Have you been to the park yet? Oh, of course you haven’t. But I’m sure Phoebe could show it to you sometime."

Phoebe nods vigorously, "It’s never crowded, so it’s always clean. We could go tomorrow!"

"What do you do for a living, Jacob?" Alice asks.

"Oh, this and that. Some freelance graphic design work online. That sort of thing."

She wrinkles her nose.

I continue, "I won't be retiring anytime soon, but it pays the bills for the two of us."

"I see."

Just as I’m about to take another bite, a flash of movement at the window catches my attention. When I look, there’s nothing there.

"Is something wrong?" Alice asks, noticing my expression.

"Huh? Oh, no. I just thought I saw something moving outside."

"Maybe it was Nat," suggests Phoebe. "He’s really excited about having new neighbors."

"Nat?" says Quincy.

"You told people we were moving in?" I say.

"Not really," she replies. "Just Nat. Nathaniel. He lives a few blocks away. Not many kids our age around here, so we hang out a lot." She turns to Quincy, "I’ll introduce you tomorrow."

We chat a bit more as dinner progresses. Dessert is brought out: a chocolate cake piled with whipped cream. I convince myself that it’s worth enduring Alice’s questions for her cooking.

After we’ve finished eating, I offer to help Alice clean up. She’s surprised, but doesn't complain.

I motion to Quincy, "You can help, too."

"Actually," Phoebe says sheepishly, "I was going to show her my room."

"You young people and your excuses," I grin.

I grab Quincy’s plate, walk into the kitchen, and immediately get assaulted by Alice.

"I’m sorry," she chuckles, stepping closer, "but I’m afraid I don't remember your last name. What did you say it was?"

I didn't.

I take a deep breath, "Richardson. Jacob Richardson." That sounds respectable. What the hell; I’ll go with it.

"Oh, that’s right," she replies, showing me to the sink. "So, Jacob, have you spoken to the school about getting Quincy registered? It’s going to start sooner than we imagine," she gives me a knowing look.

"I haven’t really thought about it. Is there a school nearby?"

"Mhmm," she says as we finish clearing the table. "It’s a good school, too. Not like those schools on the news." She makes a distasteful noise, "Shootings these days. Can you believe it?"

"It’s awful."

Once we’ve finished, Alice makes me an offer.

"If you’d like, I could take her to be registered on Monday," Alice says. "I’m going up to the school anyway, so it would be no trouble."

The thought of school hadn't even crossed my mind before now. I wonder what Quincy will think.

"Nah, that's okay. I’d like to do it myself. Y’know, so I can get a look at the school with my own eyes."

"That’s understandable," she purses her lips. "You’ve got to keep a close eye on the schools these days to make sure they're educating children properly. I used to be a teacher, you know."

"Oh?"

"Almost forty years. I taught at the high school. Lived here my whole life. Phoebe has, too."

She relates a little more of her life story (married twice, but only produced one kid: Phoebe’s mom), and then I make my getaway.

"Well, we’d better be moving along. It’s getting dark out and we still have unpacking to do. Lots of unpacking."

"Alright," she says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks for coming by."

"Thank you for dinner."

She leans closer, and lowers her voice, "I’m glad you’re here, for Phoebe’s sake. She hasn't really had a girlfriend before. I’m sure those two will be great friends."

"I’m sure they will."

I move in the direction the girls disappeared in, "I’ll go grab Quincy."

The walls of their hall are littered with framed pictures, most of a young woman and a little girl.

I hear the youths talking and slow my pace.

"Your dad looks really young," Phoebe is saying as I walk (okay, creep) up. "And you don't look alike." She laughs, "Are you sure you two are related?"

I feel Alice’s dinner coming back up.

Quincy replies honestly, "I don't know how old he is. He and Mom had me when they were young, and I guess I look more like her."

I raise my knuckles and knock on the open door. "Time to say goodbye, Quincy."

"Hey," Phoebe springs up from her bed and comes over to me. "You should let her spend the night."

A quick glance towards Quincy confirms my answer. "Sorry. She hasn't even slept in her new room yet. Don't worry, there’ll be plenty more chances for sleepovers. Just not tonight."

Quincy offers me an appreciative smile, then hugs her new friend goodbye.

Phoebe and Alice walk us out.

"Can she at least come over tomorrow morning?" Phoebe begs.

I roll my eyes, "We’ll see."

Alice herds Phoebe back inside, "Bye bye now."

I let out a sigh of relief as the door swings softly shut.

We’re alone.

"That went…better than it could have."

Quincy nods, then frowns, "You thought something bad would happen?"

"Remember ‘Murphy's Law’? I told you about it on the way here?"

"I may have been sleeping," she confesses.

I give her a quick refresher.

The night is almost upon us, and I’m glad the walk home will be short. I can't wait to collapse into my new bed. Hopefully it’s more comfortable than my last one.

"You two seemed to get along," I remark.

She hops over a crack in the sidewalk before answering.

"Yeah! Phoebe is nice. Really nice! I like her."

"Good. Because I doubt we can get rid of her now," I smirk. "Oh, by the way, it’s ‘Richardson’. Sorry, I was going to let you pick, really, but Alice asked me, so..."

She lets out a little squeak of alarm and screeches to a stop.

"What?" I turn to face her, "You don't like it?"

"I-I told Phoebe it was ‘Park’. I’ve always loved that name, and she asked when we were in her room, and-"

I burst out laughing. Quincy, relieved I’m not angry, joins in.

"‘Richardson-Park’, huh?" I shake my head. "Sounds fancy."

"We are fancy!" Quincy insists.

Cue my laugh.

"Well, we could be. Someday!"

We continue walking. She yawns, which causes me to yawn.

Her voice is slow and tired, "Why didn't you tell Phoebe’s grandma about the job?"

I pause a second before answering, "Because it’s not a sure thing yet. I haven't even interviewed for it. Heck, she still doesn't know I’m in town."

She considers this, then shrugs and starts skipping alongside me.

"That makes you happy?" I ask, a little upset.

"Everything will be okay," she tells me. "This is our new home now, no matter what."

"Right. No matter what. Speaking of home, here it is."

I notice a porch light and point it out to Quincy. "Now that we have one of those, we’ll have to remember to turn it on in the evenings."

"Can I do it?"

I’m dubious, "Every day? You won't forget?"

"Nope," she stands at attention. "I promise."

"Fine by me."

We get inside where it’s warm and she starts looking for the light switch.

"Hold it," I tell her. "Not now. We turn it off at night so it won't burn out."

She looks pouty, so I remind her that she has her own, brand-new room to sleep in.

"Go on up and get ready for bed. We’re too sleepy to finish unpacking tonight."

"Oh, good," she smiles thankfully, then bites her lip. "But what if I get scared up there?"

"Don't turn out the lights yet. Look around, get settled in, and I’ll come up in a little bit to say goodnight."

She agrees, scampering up the wooden stairs, calling, "Don’t forget!"

I make my way to the downstairs bathroom, where I brush my teeth. After that, I hunt for some pajamas. We didn't pack many clothes (not that we had many to begin with), but I find a pair of sweatpants and a plain old t-shirt.

Making my way through the downstairs, I pull the curtains closed and lock the front door.

I don't wanna be forced to move a third time.

I’m drawing the shades closed on the final window, in the kitchen, when I see something glint outside. Squinting, I think I see something moving in the bushes. Then…nothing. The glint is gone.

As if I wasn't already paranoid enough.

The thought of finally getting some sleep is alluring, so I hurry upstairs.

Her door isn’t closed completely, but I still knock.

"Come in," calls her slightly-muffled voice.

Quincy finishes pulling on a thin white nightshirt as I enter.

"I’ve checked the house for monsters. We’re perfectly safe," I inform her, trying to forget about the glinting bushes.

She doesn't look amused, "I’m too old for monsters."

"Sure you are. Hey, your birthday’s coming up pretty soon."

Her eyes widen, "Have you gotten my present yet?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"We should start planning my party," she says. "I’ll invite Phoebe. And maybe Nathaniel, once I’ve met him."

"You can dream about party-planning under the covers" I tell her.

She hops into her new bed, which is surrounded on three sides by iron bars which occasionally form hearts. It looks like a cute prison.

I tuck the covers up to her chin and give her a peck on the forehead. "Goodnight, Quincy."

She smiles sleepily back, "Goodnight, Jake."

I turn off the lights on my way downstairs.

I drop like a stone into my bed and quickly fall into a deep sleep.

I wake up around midnight, drenched in sweat.

My favorite nightmare is never far away.