You'd Be Home Now (77)
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#heywoodhigh #heywoodhaulers #heywoodhypocrisy #metoo #gagegalt #millhaven SZ1789 Nate Rabinowitz GiGi Carl Granger FrancesP Tucker Michaels MandyMandy Allan Jefferson PristTine Roly Martin LzySusan That janitor fall of 2019. The handsy one.
HelenOfJoy Allan Jefferson, Chris Munoz
32
I’M SITTING WITH NANA on the couch and deleting messages on my phone. Most came in earlier, when I was doing homework, but they seemed to trickle off. I can’t believe kids are still messaging me nasty stuff, but they are. I don’t even read what they say, I just delete and block. I almost miss Joey’s text in the flood of mean messages. He sent it an hour ago.
I am truly sorry
I never meant to hurt you or cause everyone so much pain I let you down
I know you tried
It’s just too hard
It’s okay, I text back.
He doesn’t answer. I call and leave a voice mail and wait a few minutes, but he doesn’t call back.
“Joey sent a weird text,” I say to Nana, my voice tentative. “He sounds strange. And he’s not texting or calling me back.”
“He’s probably feeling ashamed,” she says. “Call him at work. He should be there now, yes? He can’t not take a call at the hoagie shop. He’s the one who answers the phone!”
But it’s Hank who answers, his voice clipped and professional. “Hank’s Hoagies, here to help with your hunger needs.”
“Hi, Hank, it’s Emory, Joey’s sister.”
“Oh, hello there, Emory. I hope Joey’s feeling better. He wasn’t looking too good.”
“Wait, is he there?”
“No, he said he felt sick. I sent him home.”
“When?”
“About two hours ago. Is everything all right?”
“I’m at home, but he’s not here.”
A pause. “Well, I sent him home because he said he felt sick. He looked sick.”
My brain is moving slow and fast all at once. “Sick like what?”
“Oh, a little sweaty. Dazed. Fluish, or something. Moving slow. Lots of people getting sick this time of year. Always happens.”
I click off.
It’s just too hard, Joey texted.
Nana turns the television down. “What? What is it?”
“Joey left work early two hours ago. He said he was coming home.
“Mom!” I yell, jumping up from the couch and running into the kitchen. “Mom!”
* * *
—
My mother’s hands are clutched together as the police take notes in our living room. Nana has called my dad and he’s on his way back from the hospital.
My mom is giving them Joey’s work outfit description, his height and weight, hair color. They ask if he’s been having any problems lately, something that would make him stay away from the house. “Teenagers, am I right, Mrs. Ward? It’s always something. Maybe he’ll cool off, come back tomorrow. You might want to try contacting his friends. See if they’ve heard anything.”
“He’s in recovery for opioid addiction, Ted,” my mother says. Sometimes I forget she knows everyone in this town, practically. “I think that should be an issue here. We did have an argument earlier today.”
She told him she was disappointed in him, I think. I let you down, he said.
I’m standing off to the side, by the front picture window. I want to be right here in case he drives up.
“I understand. We can make the rounds of some places. Make some inquiries. Is there anyone who might know where he went? Someone familiar with his patterns?”
“He kept a low profile,” my mother says. “We tried to keep him busy. We didn’t want him associating with those people anymore. We did put a tracker on his phone.”
The two cops look at each other. “That’s good. We can work with that,” says Ted.
“Maybe someone from his past? A close friend he might turn to?” That’s the shorter policeman.
No one knew Joey like Luther Leonard. I get up and walk into the den and text Jeremy.
Jeremy
Oh my god are you ok? It’s been a crazy day.
I know. Listen, Joey’s missing. Can you call Luther? Is that a thing? And ask him where Joey might have gone? He might have an idea. The cops want to know.
…
Emory, I’m sorry. I can’t.
Why???
…
Because Luther got out last week. He turned eighteen. He got his release packet and we haven’t heard from him. At all.
Oh, god. Oh, no. Not Luther Leonard. Joey wouldn’t.
Would he?
* * *
—
“Mom,” I say, coming back into the room.
“Emory”—she holds up her hand—“I’m speaking with the officers.”
“Mom.”
“What, Emory?”
“Luther Leonard got out of juvie last week. He turned eighteen. And he’s the only one who might know where Joey is, only no one knows where Luther is.”
Ted, the tall cop, rubs his neck. “The Leonard kid? I should think he’d be long gone. Boy made some pretty big enemies last June.”