You'd Be Home Now (90)

“I don’t have a car. My parents are—”

“Then you better figure out how to get one, Emmy. And ticktock, ticktock, time’s wasting.”

The phone goes dead.



* * *



—

Nana glances up as I walk back into the room. “Is everything all right, Emory? You look pale as a ghost. Come sit.”

Don’t let her see me shaking. Don’t let her hear my voice trembling.

“It’s nothing, Nana. Just my friend. He’s…having a problem. I might go out for a little while with him, talk it out. Okay?”

Normal voice. Normal face. Pretend like nothing is wrong. Don’t make her suspicious. Don’t mess this up like I’ve messed everything else up.

“Well, all right, if you have to. I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m just going to go change.”

Nana turns back to the cooking show and I cross the room like I’m going upstairs, but go to my father’s den instead.

In the den, I stand in front of the safe. Basic, Luther said. Parents are basic.

This isn’t a safe like in old movies, the round combination kind. It’s digital. What if there’s a mechanism, like if I fail too many times and it sets off an alert to the police or something? I try my birthday, my fingers trembling as they punch the keys. A little screen flashes error.

    I can get Joey back, if only I do this. He’ll be home.

I close my eyes.

Basic.

My father was happy once. I remember. He played with us. Read to us. Built Legos and splashed in the pool. It was only later, after Joey started having problems, that he stayed away more and more. Started smoking in the car after a shift. Made the hospital his home when we needed him here.

But he was still there for me sometimes, late at night, when I had nightmares, when I called out from my bedroom; he sang to me, my head against his chest, his heart thrumming in my heart, just us in the dark.

What would my father choose?

Special corny shit, Luther Leonard said.

My mother said, “That silly song, Neil. My god, I can’t believe you sing that to her.”

He would laugh. “I can’t help it. I love it. It’s from my childhood. First song I knew by heart.”

My eyes fly open.

Jenny I got your number

Jenny don’t change your number

867-5309

There’s a beep and a click and I pull the door open.

There are rolls of cash, a watch case, accordion folders full of paper, and the boxes of jewelry my mother stashed in here before Joey came home from Blue Spruce. Because he might be a thief.

It turns out, the thief is me.



* * *



—

    “Nana.”

She swivels around on the couch.

“I’m leaving now. I’m going to wait for my friend on the porch. Watch the trick-or-treaters.”

“Okay, dear. It’s nice you’re helping your friend.”

I say bye and head out the door.

At the end of the front stoop, I pull out my phone. Daniel answers on the first ring.

“Hello, you. Are we going out with pillowcases to score some candy? I might have a funny fake mustache around here somewhere.”

“I need you,” I say urgently. “I need your car. Like, right now. I can’t explain. I don’t have time. I just need you to come get me right now.”

“Emory, what’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious.

“Just come right now.” My voice cracks. “Please.”



* * *



—

When he pulls up, I walk around to the driver’s seat and open the door. “Move over,” I say. “I’m driving.”

“Such attitude,” Daniel says. “I like it.” He scooches over the gearshift, landing awkwardly in the passenger seat. I throw my backpack on his lap.

“Ow,” he says. “What’s in here? It’s heavy.”

“Buckle up,” I tell him. I toss him my phone. “And when this rings, put it on speaker, but do not speak, do you understand?”

“Emory, what’s happening? You’re acting like we’re about to rob a bank or something.” His voice wavers a little. “I mean, are we? I would have worn my best scarf.”

    “Actually,” I say, turning the ignition, “I kind of already did.”

I start driving.

“Emory, tell me what this is, right now. I didn’t give up a night of candy for weird espionage. I mean, that’s cool and all, but you’re kind of freaking me out.”

“We’re going to get Joey,” I say.

“What?”

“Luther Leonard. He’s with him. He said…he said if I brought him stuff, he’d give me Joey. He said he’s ready to come home and this is the deal. So here we are.” I laugh nervously, glancing over at him.

His face is grim.

“Emory,” Daniel says slowly. “We should call the police. This sounds sketchy.”

“No,” I say sharply. “He said not to do that, or it was off. I talked to Joey. He’s ready to come back.”

“I’m calling the police,” Daniel says. “This isn’t right. It’s not safe. It’s…it’s weird.”