Chapter 35
Clay switches the phone from one ear to the other. “What do you mean, Brae?”
“I felt bad that everyone’s out looking for Teddy,” says Braedon through the phone’s small speaker.
“Everyone except for me. So I thought maybe I could help if I did a reverse-image search for Teddy on my computer. I thought maybe he somehow got his picture posted online since he disappeared. But I didn’t find any pictures of Teddy other than some Instagram posts.
And then I remembered I have that picture of my mom… ”
It hits Clay that Braedon refers to his mother as my mom.
Not Mom. He’s never met her. Never spoken to her or written her.
Never addressed her in any way. She is a mythical creature to Braedon like my fairy godmother or my guardian angel.
Clay shuts his eyes and rubs his forehead.
He knows where this is going. He feels another squeeze from Zoey.
“Dad … Dad…”
“Yeah, bud?”
He’s crying again. “She has another family in England. The kids are younger than me. And she has a husband. And they live in a fancy house and … and … She looks, in the pictures, she looks really happy. Like her life is perfect.”
Braedon cries hard for a solid minute and during that time, Zoey slides over to Clay and presses her shoulder into his.
“Can you come pick me up?” says Braedon. “Please? I want to come home.”
After Clay fills Zoey in on Braedon’s call, he kisses her good night inside the house with a tenderness that hopes for more.
His heart has nothing to give her at this moment but he tries to make up for it with his eyes.
The two of them will have to pick up where they left off on another day. Because Clay must go to Braedon. Now.
“Get out of here,” says Zoey with a smile on her lips and in her eyes. Both hands holding Clay’s. “I’m going to stay here and go through your stuff.”
Clay would laugh on any other night. But tonight he just pulls her into a hug and whispers, “When you get to the refrigerator, please throw out anything that smells funky.”
Seven minutes later, Clay pulls in front of Sue and Carol’s house and is surprised to see he’s not the only one.
Judd’s car is in the driveway. Judd, who was going to spend the night at Mei’s up in Rochester.
Sue waits for Clay just inside the screen door.
As Clay starts up the walk, he says, “How is he?”
“Big night for the little man,” says Sue. “He’ll get through it. You did.”
Not the same situation, thinks Clay, but he understands what Sue’s saying.
She pushes open the screen door and leads Clay into the living room where Braedon sits next to Judd on the couch.
Mei sits in one of the wing-backed chairs, and Carol sits in the other.
Clay takes a seat on the other side of Braedon, puts an arm around him, and pulls him tight.
“How you doing?” says Clay.
Braedon shrugs, and the tears reappear.
Clay lets him cry it out for a bit, then says, “I’m sorry, buddy.
It sucks. And it’s brutal. And not fair.
And very wrong of her. Not that she met someone else and had kids with them.
That’s okay. Can’t blame her for that. But it’s wrong that she’s chosen to not be in your life, and I don’t blame you for feeling hurt. I would, too.”
Braedon nods through his tears.
“I told him,” says Judd, “that she’s only hurting herself. That she’s going to regret making the choice she did. And that frankly, she can go to hell.”
Clay wouldn’t have used those words but at least Judd is being supportive. Clay says, “You don’t have to make any decisions right now, Brae. It’s okay to just sit with this for a while, see how you feel.”
“What do you mean?” says Braedon. “What kind of decisions?”
Clay hesitates. He’s not sure of the best way to answer that question. Sue sees his hesitation and the wanting in Braedon’s eyes.
“Well,” says Sue, “you can contact her if you want to. Tell her about yourself. Your life. See if she responds. She might. She might not. You could do that now or anytime in the future. Or maybe never. It’s up to you.”
“I don’t know…” says Braedon. “I don’t know what I want to do.”
“I think talking to a therapist might be a good idea,” says Mei, “before you make any big decisions.”
“That’s a good idea,” says Carol. “Because if you contact your mom, you might not like the answer you get. Or you might not get any answer at all. And you need to be prepared for that possibility. A therapist can help with that.”
Braedon lifts his head and scans the room.
In his heart he knows that the love from these people is enough to make up for the rejection by his mother.
He can’t articulate that, not even in his thoughts, but he feels it and it gives him strength.
“Yeah…” says Braedon. “Maybe … I don’t know what to do about talking to a therapist either. ”
“You don’t have to know what to think,” says Clay.
“Just sit with this for a while. There’s no rush because now you know your mom’s name.
You know her husband’s name. Her kids’ names.
If she moves or if her family gets off social media, you’ll still be able to find her.
You may want to wait until you’re older.
Or not. But I agree with Mei, you should talk to a therapist.”
“What do they do?” says Braedon.
“Therapists?” says Clay. “Mostly they listen. You talk about what’s going on in your life and your feelings and they help you sort through it all.”
“Have you ever been to one?” says Braedon.
Clay feels Judd’s eyes on him, as if an admission of seeing a therapist might show weakness.
Even though Judd’s girlfriend is the one who suggested the idea.
Clay decides to ignore his father’s opinion—what’s new?
—and tell Braedon the truth. At least about seeing a therapist. “Yes, Brae. Lots of times.”
“Really?”
“Sue brought me to one after Grandma Pam died.”
“She did?” says Judd.
“I ran it by you first,” says Sue. “You said no, so I took matters into my own hands.”
“I had no idea,” says Judd.
“It was very helpful,” says Clay.
“Really?” says Braedon.
“Yep. And when I played professional soccer, most teams wanted the players to see a sports psychologist so our brains could be as fit as our bodies.”
Judd’s phone rings. He gets up, walks out of the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen where he takes the call. “Hey, Mike. What’s up?”
“I just pulled over Wags Becker. Followed him out of Knut’s and he was swerving all over the place.”
“Yeah?” says Judd as he lowers his voice to just above a whisper.
“First thing I do is ask if he’s been drinking,” says Mike. “Wags says he’s had a couple. Maybe three. But he swears he’s fine. So I know he’s drunk as hell.”
“Yep,” says Judd.
“The only thing that can screw up this bust is me. So I play it by the book and ask for license and registration.”
“That’s the way to do it,” says Judd. “Hey, Mike, can we talk about this in the morning? I’m with my grandson right now.”
“I really think you’ll want to hear this tonight,” says Mike.
“All right. Make it as quick as you can, then.”
“Will do. So I ask for license and registration and Wags says they’re in the trunk.
Who the hell keeps their license and registration in the trunk?
No one. So I step back and ask him to get out of the car, go back there, and get them.
He doesn’t say a word. He just opens the car door, gets out, and walks around back to the trunk.
He pops it open, and boy, oh boy, Judd, I wish you could have seen his face. ”
“What happened?”
“Son of a bitch was so drunk he forgot what he had back there.”
Judd sighs. “Give it to me, Mike.”
“He tried to shut the trunk so I told him to step back. Figured I didn’t search his trunk without permission. He told me his license and registration were back there. He opened it. So I’m in the clear.”
“Probably,” says Judd.
“But he didn’t listen. He started to close the trunk when I stepped in and stopped him. And guess what I saw.”
“Don’t got time for guessing now, Mike.”
“Right. Sorry. It was a big box of catalytic converters. Nine of ’em by my count.
But I played it cool. Like the catalytic converters were no big deal and I just wanted his license and registration.
Dumb shit really did have ’em in the trunk.
I don’t know what the hell he was thinking.
So I walked him back to the front of the car and asked him if he wanted to blow into a tube or walk the yellow line.
He chose the tube. Idiot blew a .16. I cuffed him, took him back to the station, and locked him up. ”
“And why do I need to hear this tonight?” says Judd. “You remember I’m not the chief, right? Maybe you’re blowing a .16.”
“Come on, Judd,” says Mike. “You know why. Teddy was stealing those converters for Wags, and Wags was selling them for the rare metals. I think Wags knows what happened to Teddy. And if he hadn’t passed out on his cot, I’d know, too. But you might want to be here when he wakes up.”