“Peter?” Mom squinted her eyes at me as she leaned in the doorway. “What are you doing awake? It's one in the morning.”

“Where did you come from?” My eyes couldn't tear away from her appearance. My mother rarely wore heavy makeup. Yet she had black mascara and sparkling light blue eyeshadow. Her smeared lipstick was what made me curious.

She glanced to her right. “I was… honey, I was out drinking… with other mothers from the neighborhood.”

“Okay.”

She set her heels inside the closet right beside the bathroom near the archway of the kitchen. “Just don't tell your father.”

“Okay.”

She turned to me. Her eyes darkened. “I mean it, Pete. Don't tell him.”

“I won't.” I took a step back from her. She smelled like strong cologne. “Goodnight.”

A smile crept along her face. She came close to me and wrapped her arms around me. “Goodnight, sweetie. I love you.”

My nose crinkled up at the smell. “Love you.”

She pulled back. Her lips parted, but she shook her head and slowly crept along to the stairs.

I tried not to think about it and grabbed a glass of water before heading off to bed.

The next morning was particularly hard. The temperature outside dropped again. This time the wind carried the snow parked on roofs off and blew it like flurries in the wind. It was mornings like these when kids like me stared longingly at the TV screen, the only time any of us younglings would watch the news, for any decision for a snow day.

My sister happened to be up at the same time I was. I sat on one end of the couch while she occupied the other. Both of us wouldn't talk or look at each other. It was probably for the best, anyway. I'd smack her again if she said anything else.

“Schools are closed today in the following districts-”

The two of us were at the edges of our seats. Literally. After about a few minutes our district scrolled on by with the others.

“Yes!” My sister jumped to her feet. “I am going back to bed.”

I glared at her as she jumped over the couch and ascended the stairs. That only left my mother, who was leaning back against one of the chairs, and Grace who was breastfeeding. “Pete, could you help me today?” She asked, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “God, I have a hangover.”

“Where's dad?”

She glared at me. “At work. Where else would that baboon be?”

“Where did you go last night?”

“I told you. With other mothers from the neighborhood.” I watched as she bit her lip. “Just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay…” I got to my feet. “I'm going to do some homework.”

“Fine.” She waved me off.

I climbed up the stairs. Without thinking I pulled my phone out to check the time, and to see if Malory had texted me. Nothing.

It would have been nice to investigate Lucas’ room while his mother and father were out of the house. His dad was a little less scary, but the last interaction I had with his mother made me think she wanted to kill me. According to Malory that hadn't changed, but I didn't want to discover it first hand.

I closed my bedroom door. I grabbed the piece of paper that had been inside the pen and kept reading it. It was a long digit, maybe seven numbers. I turned it over and even shined a light under it to see what would happen. Nothing. It was just a torn out piece of notebook paper with a strange decimal written on it. And, for whatever reason, my family name written in the corner.

“What does this mean?”

I flinched when my phone went off. “Hello?” I asked after swiping the call button.

“Pete? It's Malory.”

“Oh. Good morning.”

“Morning.” She sighed. “Okay, um, I couldn't find anything else but mom and dad left for work. Your school has off today too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you come over and look?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Text me when you get close and I'll unlock the door. Bye.”

“See you later. Bye.”

I had a strange feeling. It'd been a long time since I was even five yards of their house, let alone inside it. According to Malory, his mom left it in the same state as when he killed himself, too.

Without taking too much time to think about it, I decided. I needed to know if he hid something else and if it had any significance.