The Leaving(30)
Lucas was flipping through a binder of clippings of some kind.
She went to the whiteboard that was divided into six boxes. Each box had a name in it, and Avery’s eyes landed on the box for “Scarlett.” She’d been over this board many times before—so many times that she could almost recite by heart the bullets under the photo of five-year-old Scarlett that was taped to it.
? SAID SHE WAS GOING “TO THE LEAVING”
? PRIOR CONTACT WITH ABDUCTOR THAT SHE MIGHT RECALL?
? MOTHER, TAMARA, SUSPECTS ALIEN ABDUCTION
? WHERE IS HER FATHER? [FBI CLEARED HIM. LIVES IN JERSEY. NEW FAMILY.]
Next to that was the box about Lucas; she knew these bullets well, too.
? ACCORDING TO RYAN, ONE WEEK BEFORE IT HAPPENED, LUCAS SAID THEY WERE BEING FOLLOWED BY A MAN CARRYING WRAPPING PAPER. THEY WERE COMING HOME FROM THE BALL GAME.
“Do you remember being followed?” she braved. “The week before?”
“No.” Lucas came to her side and stood there quietly for a second, then said, “Who knows if it was anything anyway, I guess?”
Lucas stood very close to her now—so close that she could smell his sweat, see his pores, imagine what his skin would feel like.
Sam wouldn’t like any of this, wouldn’t like how much she liked it.
She didn’t care.
It wasn’t going to be like that.
She couldn’t let it be.
She read her brother’s bullets:
? MOTHER, JILLIAN, DEPRESSED.
? FATHER, PAUL, TRAVELS FOR WORK. MOSTLY TO SEATTLE. WORKS FOR A TECH COMPANY.
? SISTER, AVERY. ONE YEAR YOUNGER.
She didn’t like seeing her name, still there in Will’s notes after all this time, didn’t like that he’d kept caring long after she’d stopped.
“What was he like?” Lucas said. “Max. Do you even remember?”
Avery turned to him. “Yes and no. I just remember everything being happier, you know? Everybody just . . . normal?”
He nodded. “We used to all be friends?”
“Me and Max and you and Ryan, yeah.”
She remembered a fort they’d built out of sheets. Flashlights under there on a rainy day, shadow animals.
“What about Scarlett?” he asked. “Were we friends, too?”
Oh please no.
“. . . and the others?”
No no no.
Because why would he ask about Scarlett first? Why would he separate her from “the others”?
They’d been standing so close in that playground.
Hadn’t they?
Were they . . . involved?
She said, “We knew Scarlett. I remember being sad about her being gone, but I’m not sure about the others. Why?”
Why else?
“Just wondering.” He looked away. “I remember certain things from before . . . like my dog and my brother . . . but I don’t remember any of the others in any specific way, really. You said Max and I were best friends?”
“Yeah. You were at our house a lot. I remember being annoyed about it. Because you were boys and you didn’t want me around.”
“What did we do? Me and Max?”
She felt like she was digging deep and hitting stone. Then felt a strange panic about how much she had forgotten, just in the course of a normal life. People who were gone only lived on in your memory if you had memories. Why hadn’t she held on tighter?
To Max.
To everything.
She said, “You made forts and tents. You played with LEGOs and action figures. All that stuff is still there if you can believe it. His room. My mother turned it into a shrine.”
“I don’t think they saved anything of mine.” He nodded up toward the house.
“Sorry,” she said. “Your father. I guess he wasn’t the most sentimental guy. Not in the traditional way.”
“Did you know him well?” he asked.
Did she? Not really. What had she been doing all this time?
“Only really through your brother. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Seeing all this research, and Opus 6. It’s better than old toys, right? And it shows that he . . .”
“Loved you,” she said, and her face pulsed hot.
He nodded and turned away from her and sifted through some clippings. She faced the whiteboards, overwhelmed with useless facts.
“Did you really mean what you said?” He had moved over to a small desk and was riffling through the papers there. “That you think we’re hiding something?”
Avery looked at him, felt him transforming before her eyes—from an alien fake person into a real-life boy. Someone not to fear or distrust. Someone, maybe, to . . . pity? Or love?
“I’m really sorry I said that,” she said, pretty sure that she meant it.
“Why the change of heart? Why trust me now?”
Why.
Why.
Why?
She wanted a good reason.
She said, “I guess if you really were hiding something, you’d come back with a better alibi—not this crazy story about not being able to remember anything.”
He nodded.
She nodded.
Some kind of agreement.
They both went back to looking around.
But she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t hold her tongue. Needed to know whether he was with Scarlett without actually asking . . .