Nora Goes Off Script(59)
Bernadette grabs the phone. “Ohmigod, Mom, Naomi looked so pretty. Could we do that with my hair?” There’s a skirmish of some sort, Arthur wants her to shut up and give him the phone. I lie back on my pillow, relishing both the love I feel for these kids and the fact that I can hang up anytime I want.
“Want to hear something crazy?” I say. “Naomi and Leo were never even dating. It was all publicity for the movie.” I’m not entirely sure why I feel the need to gossip with my kids. It’s possible that I just need to say it to someone.
Bernadette’s eyes go wide. “That’s so sneaky. And it worked!”
Arthur seems hesitant. His face fills half the screen, and I think about how I can so often read his mind. He’s running something through his processors; I can almost hear the click click click of it. Then again, one time I was sure he was being bullied at school, and it turned out he was just upset because I kept breaking the yokes on his egg sandwiches.
“Listen. Guys. Tell Penny I’ll be there tonight; I’ll come straight from the airport and maybe we can have a sleepover in her guest room—you guys, me, and Oscar.”
They erupt in cheers before going back to their fight.
CHAPTER 23
I am back in Laurel Ridge for twenty-four hours before the shit hits the fan. Looking back, I knew something was wrong with Arthur. I tried to tease his feelings out of him, but I didn’t try hard enough. I was in so much pain for so long that I wasn’t willing to make room for what was so obvious. There’s nothing more shameful than this retrospective knowing, because it reminds you how blind you can be to things that don’t jibe with the reality you’re trying to believe in. It was the same way with Ben and Vicky Miller. I knew before I found the underwear. I probably knew what Ben was going to do before he did. I just didn’t feel like knowing.
So when the school calls at noon and asks why Arthur’s absent today, I know and I don’t know. It’s the Wednesday after the Oscars. I’d dropped them both in the traffic circle in front of school like any other day. I say as much to the attendance lady, and she is silent. I imagine this doesn’t happen much at our school, which is why they’re comfortable waiting until noon to call. I confess that I don’t know where he is, but that I’ll call her back.
I text him: Arthur? Text me back please. It’s a full minute before he texts back: I’m fine Mom. I just need to do something. Don’t be mad. Me: Where are you?
No reply.
I remember that I can track his phone. I curse my fumbling fingers as I try to remember how to log in. Finally, my phone finds him. He’s in Harlem, and I go cold wondering what an eleven-year-old boy could be doing wandering around so far from home. I take a deep breath and pray to see with clearer eyes. I look again and see that he’s on a train. It’s moved already through 125th Street Station and is headed to the last stop, Grand Central Terminal.
It will take me ninety minutes to get to the city and anything can happen between now and then. I call Penny, and she doesn’t answer. I call Leo.
“Hey.”
“Arthur’s missing,” and I start to cry. “I need help.”
Leo is clearheaded and decisive, where I am in a loud red fog. He tells me to drive to his apartment. He asks me for the log-in information so that he and Weezie can track Arthur’s phone and get to where he is. I’m to go into his apartment and wait.
These things make sense. I say “thank you” a lot and head into the city. This doesn’t feel like running away. What could he possibly need to do? Is he being bullied? Has he joined a gang and needs to follow through on some kind of a dare? Is this, at long last, something to do with porn?
I call Kate on the way and ask her to get Bernadette after school. I fill her in on what little I know and tell her to make something up to tell Bernadette. My adrenaline reserves are running thin and I’m out of ideas.
I picture Arthur sneaking off from the school playground and walking to the train station. I imagine him buying a ticket on the train because he wouldn’t have a credit card to use at the kiosk. He would have chosen a two-seater and sat by the window, mustering up all of his courage for whatever it is he needs to do. It occurs to me that he’s found Ben, that Ben’s in New York and he’s going to confront him. More than anything, I think about how little I’ve done to help him deal with his feelings, glossing over everything that’s happened in the past two years. Self-correcting problem, my ass.
My phone beeps. It’s Leo: Got him. See you at my apartment.
I cry the tears of a person who’s lost everything and has had it casually handed back to her. Relief comes like actual waves and I find that I’ve slowed to forty miles per hour and people are passing me. I call Kate and cry until I’m over the Triborough Bridge.
I mop myself up as best I can, but I’m not overly concerned with my puffy eyes and red nose, a nose that I’ve been wiping on the sleeve of my peasant top for the past hour. Carole King with the flu. I am going to grab Arthur and smell his hair. I’m going to look deep into his beautiful eyes. And then I’m going to kill him.
The elevator opens, and I walk through the apartment door without knocking. Arthur is on the couch next to Leo, they’re watching The Office. Leo gives me a small smile, and Arthur looks like he knows he’s in deep trouble.