The House That Wasn't There Read online

  “We had moved by then,” Alder’s mom said. “To this house. I suppose we never filled out a change of address form.”

  “I meant to track him down, but time just goes so fast. And then,” Oak’s dad said, and his voice grew thick, “then, the next I heard, Canary had—he had run out of time.”

  Next to her, Alder slumped a little, and Oak put her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry your dad died, Alder,” she said.

  Alder sniffed, wiped his cheeks. “Thanks,” he said, tilting his head to rest atop Oak’s.

  “But now,” said Alder’s mom, “now, somehow, you’ve moved right next door.”

  “Right next door,” Oak’s dad said, his voice full of wonder. “Amazing.” And then he looked at Alder. “And even more amazing—I have a nephew.”

  Oak heard Alder gulp nervously. He sat up straight and nodded.

  “And I have a cousin,” Oak said. She looked around at her parents, at Alder and his mom. She listened to Canary’s voice—her uncle’s voice—as it wailed and sang. Maybe Canary wasn’t here with them . . . but maybe he wasn’t really gone, either. After all, like Mort said, energy never dies.

  “Alder,” her dad said, and he got up from the couch, came around to the other side of the coffee table, and knelt down right beside them. He put his hand on Alder’s shoulder, and Alder’s hand reached up to meet it.

  “Yes,” Alder said.

  They had, Oak saw, the same hands. The same long fingers. The same straight nails.

  Oak’s dad—Alder’s uncle—spoke. “I wasn’t the brother I wish I had been. I can’t change that now. But I have so much to tell you about your dad. So much to share. And more than that. I promise—if you’ll let me—”

  “Yes,” Alder said again. “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  Mort here, with a riddle for you:

  You can see it in the way someone looks at you.

  You can hear it in the way someone sings to you.

  You can taste it in the way someone cooks for you.

  You can smell it in the flowers someone picks for you.

  You can feel it in the way someone holds you close.

  Can you guess what it is?

  Alder and Oak and their grown-ups decided to build a third place, a shared space, between their houses. It wasn’t big, just the size of a small room. Oak’s mom drew up the blueprints, and they all pitched in to build it together, right where the old walnut tree used to be.

  Inside, there was a small table with two chairs, a few games, some albums, a tea set, and a row of books on a built-in bookshelf. That’s where I took up residence, right beside the record player.

  They built three entrances; two of them were cat-size tunnels, one leading from Oak’s house, the other from Alder’s. Through these tunnels, the cats could come and go as they pleased—because siblings shouldn’t be separated.

  The third entrance was an unpainted wooden door. Next to the door hung two brass numbers—a 1 and a 3.

  It’s a strange thing, love. It’s magic. It’s a house you can’t see, a third place between two people. It’s enormous, but it can also fit inside the smallest pocket. Once you build it, love is there, even if you turn your back on it, even if you walk away.

  It’s waiting for you to come home.

  Acknowledgments

  Sometimes, a story comes along that seems to know what it wants to become. The House That Wasn’t There was such a story . . . eventually. The first time I tried to write it, years ago, it came out all wrong, an entire book different from the one you read.

  Thanks to the good advice of my friend and agent Rubin Pfeffer, that version is not the book you are holding. Rubin, thank you for that advice, amid so much good advice over the years.

  In its second incarnation, The House That Wasn’t There entered the world much more smoothly. This time, it was surrounded by so many enthusiastic and supportive people. I’m especially indebted to my friend Martha Brockenbrough, who worked alongside me, whose energy and enthusiasm always buoys me; and my early readers, including my sisters Sasha and Mischa Kuczynski and my friends Nina LaCour, Laura Ruby, and Eliot Schrefer. The book is stronger because of the careful attention of each of you.

  The Walden Pond team is the perfect home for this book and, I hope, many, many more. I’m indebted to my editor, Jordan Brown, whose support and care meant that I was never rushed and that the important nuances of feline teleportation were always taken seriously. Debbie Kovacs, Donna Bray, Tiara Kittrell, Molly Fehr, Amy Ryan, Vaishali Nayak, Audrey Diestelkamp, Sam Benson, and Renée Cafiero all played invaluable roles in the development of the aspects of book-making that are beyond my ken, and I am deeply grateful to you all.

  Jessica Tickle, the artist who created the book’s cover, made magic by illustrating the house that wasn’t there in glorious negative space. Thank you so!

  And my own little family—Keith, Max, and Davis—as ever, you are the doorways and the keys; you are the house where I know I am always home.

  About the Author

  Photo by Melissa Hockenberger

  ELANA K. ARNOLD is the author of many books for children and teens, including A Boy Called Bat and its sequels, as well as Red Hood, the Printz Honor book Damsel, and the National Book Award finalist What Girls Are Made Of. She is on the faculty at Hamline University’s MFA in writing for children and young adults program and lives in Huntington Beach, California, with her husband, two children, and a menagerie of animals. You can find her online at www.elanakarnold.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Elana K. Arnold

  A Boy Called Bat

  Bat and the Waiting Game

  Bat and the End of Everything

  Copyright

  Walden Pond Press is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  Walden Pond Press and the skipping stone logo are trademarks and registered trademarks of Walden Media, LLC.

  THE HOUSE THAT WASN’T THERE. Copyright © 2021 by Elana K. Arnold. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

  Cover art © 2021 by Jessica Courtney-Tickle

  Cover design by Molly Fehr

  * * *

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020947622

  Digital Edition MARCH 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-293708-7

  Print ISBN: 978-0-06-293706-3

  * * *

  2122232425PC/LSCH10987654321

  FIRST EDITION

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