The Leaving(9)

Dad.

Dead.

Didn’t even know how to feel.

Losing something that had already been lost.

“I didn’t kill him,” he said. “You have to believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Ryan said, now covering his face with his hands, shaking his head. “It’s . . . insane! And I guess I have to call people and . . . what do I even say? ‘Well, there’s good news and bad news. Lucas is back but Dad’s dead.’” Then he looked up and said, “Actually, who do I even have to call? Dad’s parents are dead. Mom’s parents are dead. They were both only children. So I guess cross ‘making phone calls’ off the list.”

They had no one?

“I go for a bunch of tests tomorrow, so maybe someone can figure out what’s happening.” Lucas leaned forward, head tilting down, the dizziness starting up again.


CAROUSEL OCEAN GOLDEN HORSE TEETH


He tried to push past or through it. “They took blood and all, to check for drugs in my system. Because I actually do have one really vivid image stuck in my head, and I don’t know if it was a hallucination or what’s going on.”

“What?” Miranda perked up. “What is it?”


ROUND AND ROUND


“Riding on a carousel by the ocean.”

Ryan stood up. “You remember a carousel ride? But not who took you for eleven years? What about me? Do you remember me?”


FIGHTING BASEBALL WRESTLING RUNNING FROGS KIDS SUN


“Do you remember Mom?”


SMILING

SUNGLASSES





WHITE TEETH

FRECKLED SKIN





BLACK HAIR.





“And Mom dying ?”


METAL. SKID MARKS.

SIRENS.





“Do you remember Dad? Because I barely remember him before he went off the deep end with the rocks, myself.”

Lucas couldn’t form an answer.

The rocks.

The deep end.

Off it.


HORSE TEETH NEEDING POLISHING.


“What is it?” Lucas asked. “The rocks.”

“That’s Opus 6. Dad’s life’s work. His ‘song for the missing.’ He said he was going to keep building it in tribute until you all came home.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucas said, vaguely recalling that his father had been a builder and dabbled in sculpture. “Six?”

“For the six of you.”

“No.” Like someone was manually spinning his brain. “Five.”

“Who didn’t come back?” Ryan asked.

“How should I know?” Lucas near-screamed.

“This gets better by the minute.” Ryan shook his head and stood—“I always thought I’d be happy to see you”—and left the room.

After a moment, Miranda said, “He’ll come around.” Lucas lifted his head.

She turned to face him squarely, stared at him as if through clear glass holding back some exhibit of oddity on the other side. “You really don’t remember anything?”

She waved a hand in front of his face, like it might wake him from a trance.

“I’ll get sheets for you,” she said finally. “There’s a room down that hall.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I need a shower.”

“There’s towels on the shelf behind the door.” She walked off.

The water wasn’t hot enough to wash away the day.

The skin beneath his right hip bone burned when he turned to face the showerhead.

He looked down.

Saw blood.

Black ink.

Angry, puffy skin.

Had to sit down, afraid he might pass out.

Had to take a few deep breaths.

Then looked again.

And saw this:





AVERY



The sun arrived right on time, at least, and nosy-body Mrs. Gulden took her yippy dogs out for their early-morning walk and stopped at the foot of the circular driveway. “Everything okay?”

Avery smiled and waved. “Yes! Beautiful morning!”

She should call Ryan, to see whether Lucas had come back yet, but they hadn’t spoken at all these past few years—not since Avery had started high school and decided to try to reinvent herself and stop letting the past be such a part of her life.

They should probably call Dad, too, but maybe it’d be better to wait until it wasn’t a really ungodly hour out west, or to wait until her brother was actually there.

The mailman came and put a bundle in their pelican mailbox, but nei ther Avery nor her mom went to get it. Mom didn’t even get up once to put real clothes on or make coffee or use the bathroom or answer the phone, which rang a lot more than usual.

When it was a normal time, Avery went inside and popped some bread in the toaster—texting Emma about the weirdness while she waited and getting suitably shocked replies like:





OMG


and

WHAT???????????????

She brought her mom a piece of toast with jam. “You should call Dad,” she said.

“We’ll call him together”—she frowned at the toast—“when he gets here.”