Tristan
I dial Fletcher’s number. “Hey, Tris.”
“Hey, buddy, he’s home,” I say.
“Are you kidding me?” he growls. “I’ve been riding around all night looking for him. I’m going to kill him.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks. Hey ... your mom is freaking out. Can you come home?”
“On my way.”
I hang up, exhale heavily, and look out over the street.
Where was he? I glance down and see his dirty backpack dumped next to the door, and I pick it up and go through it.
Everything is sopping wet. Where the fuck was he?
Did it rain here overnight? A sweater, a bottle of water, some wrappers from chocolate.
I undo the zipper of the side pocket and pull out a crumpled, wet packet of cigars.
What?
I read the label. Not just any cigars—expensive ones.
Where the fuck did he get the money for these?
He smokes?
Jesus, what next?
He said he lost his phone. Is that a lie too, or did it just get wet? I dial his number again. “Hello,” a woman answers.
I frown, surprised. “Hello, I ...” I hesitate, unsure what to say. “You found my phone?”
“Yes, dear,” the woman replies. She sounds elderly.
“Thank you so much.” I hesitate. “It’s actually a friend’s phone. Can I come pick it up?”
“Of course. I am at Sixty Napier Street.”
“Whereabouts is that?”
“Suffolk County.”
I screw up my face. Suffolk County ... that’s at least fifteen miles from here. “Where did you find it?” I ask.
“On the street, in the gutter, just half an hour ago.”
“Was it raining there last night?”
“Yes, poured all night. Luckily the phone was in the ziplock bag.”
What?
This isn’t making any sense at all. “Okay, see you soon.” I hang up, scribble the address down, and walk inside to Claire. “I’m just going to the grocery store. I’ll need to take your car. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.” She sighs heavily, as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I take her into my arms and softly kiss her. “He’s home now, babe. You can relax.” I brush the hair back from her face.
She smiles up at me. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Feels good hearing that. I smile and kiss her again. “Back soon.”
Half an hour later I pull up to the address and knock on the front door. “Hello,” the lady answers.
“Hi, I’m here for the phone. Thank you so much for answering my call.”
“Oh, that’s okay, dear.” She smiles warmly. “I’ll just get it.” She disappears inside and then returns and hands it over. I stare at the phone in my hand. Carefully placed in a ziplock bag.
“Where did you find it?” I ask.
“Up on the corner of Elm and Second.”
“Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it.” I walk out and get into my car and put the street names into the GPS.
What are you up to, Wizard?
I pull the car up slowly at the corner of Elm and Second and stare at the huge black metal gates in front of me and read the sign.
S UFFOLK C OUNTY C EMETERY
My heart drops. There’s only one person I know who may be here.
Wade Anderson.
He was coming to see his dad.
Sadness fills me as the pieces of the puzzle click into place.
With a heavy heart, I turn the car on and do a U-turn. I need to get back.
It’s just around six o’clock, and I finish up the dinner I’ve cooked for us—spaghetti bolognese. I need some carbs before I curl up and die. Claire fell asleep on the couch watching a movie, and Patrick and Fletcher are sitting on the bench talking to me.
My mind isn’t here with them; it’s up with Harrison in his room.
He’s grounded, and I’ve listened to Claire take his every privilege from him this afternoon.
It’s none of my business, and I can’t intrude ... but I feel for the kid.
I dish him up a large bowl of dinner, slather it in grated cheese, and put some garlic bread and a drink on a tray.
He’s not allowed out of his room. I’ll take him dinner before Claire wakes.
I make my way upstairs and knock on the door.
No answer.
I slowly open it to see him lying with his back to the door.
“I brought you some dinner, Wiz.”
No answer. He ignores me.
Hmm ...
I walk in and close the door behind me. I place the tray down on his desk and put my hands on my hips as I watch him. “You all right?” I ask.
“Get out.” He sighs sadly.
I sit on the end of the bed, trying to work out what to say. “I found your phone.”
His eyes flick to me.
“A lady found it, and I went and picked it up.”
His eyes drop to the floor.
“Why don’t you tell your mother that you go to the cemetery?”
He clenches his jaw but remains silent.
“Is that where you are whenever you go missing?”
His eyes meet mine, and I know that it is.
“How long does it take you to ride out there on your bike?” It’s fifteen miles—must take him ages.
He stays silent.
“You got a flat tire last night, and you couldn’t get home?” I ask. “And then it poured rain, and you were stuck in it for hours as you walked home?”
He still doesn’t answer me.
“I’m not against you here, Wiz. I’m on your side.” I put my hand on his foot. “I’m trying to work out what the fuck is going on with you. Why wouldn’t you just ask your mother to take you there? Why do you lie about where you’ve been?”
“Because whenever she goes there, she cries for a week, and I can’t stand seeing her sad.”
God.
I drop my head, and we sit in silence for a while. “Where did you get the money for the cigars?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me in horror.
“You’re not in trouble.”
He stays quiet, and then eventually he replies, “I saved my allowance for six months.”
I frown in confusion.
He turns away and looks at the wall. “They were for Dad,” he whispers softly.
I close my eyes as a sadness fills my chest.
Poor fucking kid.
“Just tell your mom where you were. She won’t be angry at you,” I urge.
“What for? She’ll just haul me back to the psychologist. I would rather her be angry than worried. I’m done with the shrinks.”
We sit in silence for a while, and I don’t know what to say. “Have your dinner, and then why don’t you come down, and we’ll build our spaceship for a few hours.”
He stays still, staring at the wall. “No, thanks.”
I put his phone on the bedside table. “Here’s your phone.” I turn toward the door.
“Tristan.”
I turn back to him.
“Can you not tell her?”
I nod. “Sure thing.”
I trudge down the stairs with a heavy heart and walk out to find Claire packing up the spaceship model and Fletcher standing nearby. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Putting this in the Goodwill bin.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s lying, and I won’t tolerate it. I’m not taking his crap anymore, Tristan. I’m done with it. There is no excuse for his behavior.”
“Leave it on the table,” I say.
“Tristan.”
“I said leave it,” I snap. How the fuck do I defend him without telling her what I know?
“Why are you suddenly on his side?” she snaps back. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Just fucking ease up on him, will you?” I sigh. “Have your dinner, have a shower, and go to bed. The boys and I will clean up. Leave Harrison alone for the moment. You’re tired and emotional. Things will seem better tomorrow; deal with it then.”
Fletcher gives me a lopsided smile.
“Tricky, you ready for dinner?” I call.
Patrick comes bouncing in from the living room. “Yes, my favorite.”
I sit in my car and watch Harrison as he walks up the road. I’m outside his school, it’s just around three o’clock, it’s finished for the day, and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
Well, I do, but I’m pretty sure Claire would go postal if she did.
Too bad ... I have to do this. It’s been eating at me all day. I drive the car up alongside him. “Wiz,” I call.
He turns and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“Get in.”
“No.” He keeps walking.
“Get in, or I’m telling her,” I threaten.
He glares at me, exhales heavily, and walks around and gets into my car. “What?”
I hand him a packet of cigars, just like the ones that got wet. He frowns as he looks at them in his hand.
“Do you want to go see your dad?” I ask.
His eyes search mine, and he drops his head and stares at the cigars once more.
That means yes.
I pull out into the street, and after a very silent car ride, I park the car at the cemetery.
He climbs out, and I tentatively follow him through the tombstones. It’s beautiful here, with green lush lawns, and immaculately kept.
WADE ANDERSON
B ELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
F OREVER LOVED, SADLY MISSED
I put my hands into my suit pockets as I look on. Harrison wipes the nameplate clean with his shirt and straightens the flowers, and I can tell that he comes here often.
Alone.
I get a lump in my throat as I watch him.
With a shaky hand, he opens the packet and gets out a cigar and carefully places it on the grave.
“Here they are, Dad,” he whispers. “Your favorite.”
I clench my jaw. This is too much.
He takes one out and holds it in his hand, and then he passes one to me.
I frown in surprise.
I take it, pull out a lighter from my pocket, and flick it on.
He stares at me for a moment, shocked. I bend and light my cigar and inhale deeply, and then I hold it alight for him.
He does the same. He takes in a big breath and coughs as he chokes, and I chuckle as I blow out the thin stream of smoke.
I hold the cigar up and look at it. “Not bad.” I smile. “You got good taste,” I say to the tombstone.
Harrison fights a smile as he takes another drag. He puffs the smoke out like a dragon, and I can tell he doesn’t normally smoke.
“This is Tristan,” Harrison says to the tombstone.
I smile and dip my head in a greeting. “Mr. Anderson.”
Harrison looks at me for a moment and then touches the tombstone. “You can touch it.” He pats it, as if to entice me.
He wants me to shake hands with his dad.
I walk over and put my hand on the top of the cold hard stone.
Goose bumps scatter up my arms, and a weird emotion overwhelms me.
In some strange way, I feel like this is the changing of the guard.
The family he loved ... is now with me.
In my care, for me to love.
“Nice to meet you, Wade,” I whisper.