What They Always Tell Us (25 page)

“You could still be good at sports,” Alex says. “I just started running. And you’re a lot younger than I am.”

Henry doesn’t respond to this, he just keeps on talking: “Sometimes I’d fall asleep thinking that when I woke up, he’d be there. Back from wherever he was. Maybe even back from the dead…. I know that’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“And then Mom would be happy again, all the time.”

Alex nods. But he wants to tell Henry that no one can be happy all the time. That being happy all the time might even be boring.

“I can’t believe my dad is Mr. Pembroke.”

“Well, he might not be. But even if he is…” Alex stops because he doesn’t know what to say.

That’s when they hear Henry’s mother calling his name. “Henry! Henry?”

Henry looks at him. “I should make her think I ran away.”

Alex doesn’t disagree with this, but he can see his own mother looking over at them, as if making sure they heard, too.

“That would really show her,” Henry says. And for the first time that day he smiles. But instead of hiding or sitting still, Henry hops off the swing, picks up his dictionary in the grass, and starts walking toward the gate, slowly but with purpose. “I’ll see you later, Alex,” he says.

Mom orders pizza for dinner, and they sit in the den eating and watching TV. A Sunday-night movie is on, something hokey that Mom picked out. When a commercial comes on, Alex says, “You know, Henry told me his mom is making them move again.”

Mom is sitting on the other end of the couch, a magazine folded on her lap. She is filing her nails—even during idle time, she is always doing multiple things. “Yeah, Laura mentioned that to me. She said she may have a good job offer in Charlotte.”

“I bet that’s a lie,” he says, feeling bold and angry.

James, who’s plopped on the other end of the couch, turns and looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“What makes you say that?” Mom says, stopping her filing.

“Well, I think she’s leaving because Henry’s starting to figure out who his father is.”

Dad, who has been reading the paper in his chair, folds it down and looks over at his mother, then at him.

“And who might that be?” Mom asks.

“Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t. It’s none of our business,” she says.

“Yeah right,” Alex says. Because in this town, everything is everyone’s business, whether you like it or not.

“Your mother’s right, Alex. It’s none of our business,” Dad says, then lifts his paper again.

Alex wonders how much his parents truly know. Would Henry’s mother have confided in them, or have they only heard through gossip?

“Well, I think it’s shitty,” Alex says.

“Alex,” his Dad says, “watch your language.”

“But it’s true. Moving Henry near the end of the school year? Never staying put? Did you know that she told Henry his dad is dead? And we all know that’s not true.”

The movie comes back on, and they all stare at the TV for a moment.

“I agree with Alex,” James finally says, nodding at him. “I feel sorry for that kid.”

“Boys, I know Henry’s your friend,” Mom says. “But it really is none of our business.”

Alex knows she’s about to make some grand speech about how the world isn’t fair, and so on and so on, so he gets up and storms up the stairs. He slams his door so hard that some of the pictures on his wall rattle.

A few minutes later someone knocks. Alex doesn’t say anything, and after a bit of silence on both sides of the door, James creeps in.

“What brought all that on?” he asks.

“Henry told me that he thinks Mr. Pembroke is his father,” Alex says.

“Really? Just like we thought?” James sits down at Alex’s desk chair, turning it to face Alex, who sits on the bed.

“Yeah. He’s a smart kid.” Alex tells him about the folder, the clippings, and everything else.

“That’s fucked up,” he says.

“So, should we do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something.” He feels a sudden helplessness, but also a sort of rage. He’d love to do something rash. Maybe storm into Mrs. Burns’s house and demand the truth from her. He might even smash a glass or lamp in the process. Or go to Mr. Pembroke’s house—his mansion, really—and throw eggs at his window.

“Why would she move here and then move away again?” James asks.

“I don’t know. None of it makes sense.”

“Maybe he isn’t Henry’s father, not really.”

“Maybe.”

The thought gives him a glimmer of hope. Alex thinks about Henry’s imagined father, the blond man with brown eyes. He thinks how great it would be if that were true, if such a man existed. What if he magically appeared one day to rescue Henry?

But he can’t picture it. All Alex can picture is Mr. Pembroke and his grumpy face and disapproving stare. He wishes James had the answer, but he just sits there.

“Anyway,” Alex says.

When James stands to go, Alex says, “So, um. You talked with Tyler.”

James pauses and nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“Okay.”

Alex has so many questions. He wants to know what James said, what he did—but he also thinks it might be better to remain in the dark. He feels a sense of relief bathe over him, and that’s enough for now.

“He won’t bother you anymore.”

“Thanks,” Alex says.

James offers a sheepish smile and leaves the room.

On Monday morning, Alex wakes up feeling rested. But he dreads the week ahead—on Saturday, he has to take the SAT. Four hours of analogies and twisted logic and math problems and tricky multiple-choice questions. Four hours of sitting in a dead-silent room, sitting at uncomfortable desks with other high schoolers, their future academic lives hanging in the balance. James has always been good at these tests, but not Alex. He always thinks that the questions could have two or three possible answers, and so a lot of the time he feels like every oval he fills in is a big fat guess.

At his locker that morning he opens the door with only a slight feeling of nervousness in his gut. He doesn’t see a note, and so he breathes easily.

During lunch with Pete and Jake, all they do is talk obsessively about the meet.

“I thought you were going to pass me,” Jake says to Alex. “I couldn’t let that happen, man.” He smiles and sips his orange juice.

“My time sucked,” Pete says, even though he beat both Alex and Jake. “Those motherfucking hills.”

As they continue to talk, Alex glances around the room, cautiously, as if he’s just taking in the scene and not trying to find Tyler in the crowd. When he does find Tyler, at his usual table, he looks the same. He is talking and cutting up, smiling his cocky grin, like an unchanged man. But what did Alex expect? The next time Alex steals a glance, Tyler is looking right at him. Alex holds the stare, but Tyler quickly looks away.

“Hopefully Coach will take it easy on us today,” Jake says, just before the bell rings.

But no such luck: Cross-country practice continues full force all week long, even though there is no meet this weekend. Afterward Alex heads straight home (and of course, to therapy on Wednesday), shuts his door, and studies for the SAT, neglecting his regular homework, which manages to pile up.

Nathen calls him each night. “You sure you don’t want help?”

“No. I’m cool.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding both disappointed and amused. Neither of them mention Tyler, as if not talking about him can keep the situation at bay.

Every evening when he gets home, Alex checks to see if Henry is outside. He doesn’t forget about him, not completely. But the SAT doesn’t allow much extra room in his brain. Besides, whenever he looks out there, he doesn’t see Henry. Maybe no news is good news. Maybe silence is a good thing.

On Friday afternoon, Coach gives them the afternoon off. Alex is mentally and physically worn out, so he heads home to rest and empty his brain out before the big day. Plus, he wants to get a good night’s sleep. He has to be at Comer Hall on the university campus, where the test will be administered, by eight the next morning.

During dinner—again gathered around the TV, with pasta and buttery French bread and a salad—the phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” Mom says, since she’s closest to the kitchen.

Alex, James, and Dad continue to watch the TV—a wildlife documentary on PBS about gorillas. Mom said it was gross to watch gorillas while eating, but she seemed as interested as the rest of them.

“Alex?” she says a few seconds later, standing in the kitchen doorway with the phone cord stretched. “Have you seen Henry today?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him all week. Not since Sunday.”

“Alex says he hasn’t seen him,” she says into the phone, her eyes still focused on Alex. She listens for a few seconds. “Well, have you tried any other neighbors?…Uh-huh. Okay…. What about friends’ houses?…Hmmm. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up any second.” Mom pulls back into the kitchen and continues the conversation. On-screen, one of the gorillas is on his haunches, scratching herself while eating a big leaf.

A few minutes later Mom comes back to the den. “That was Laura Burns. She says Henry is missing. Well, she says he wasn’t there when she got home today, around four. And he hasn’t shown up yet.” It is a little after seven o’clock now. “You swear you haven’t seen him?”

“No,” Alex says.

“Me neither,” James says.

“Maybe he’s at a friend’s house and just forgot to tell his mother,” she says, trying to sound reassured.

But Alex can see the worry on her face. And so he starts to worry a little, too. Where could Henry be? It’s not like he can drive away in a car. And Alex doubts he is at a friend’s house. Henry never talked about any friends, for one thing.

“I told Laura to call me when he turns up,” Mom says, sitting down again to her meal.

Both he and James clean their plates and then head upstairs.

“Where do you think Henry is?” James says.

“I don’t know. But I’m sure he’ll be home soon,” Alex says, though he’s not sure if his optimism is merited.

James nods and goes into his room. Alex shuts his own door and crashes on the bed. He tries to close his eyes, but he can’t stop thinking about all the information crammed in his head for the SAT. And he has a nervous feeling about Henry.

When the phone rings again a half hour later, he sits up and leaves his room and stands at the top of the stairs, listening. He can hear his mother talking, but he can’t make out what she is saying over the TV. So Alex makes his way downstairs, reaching the kitchen just as Mom hangs up the phone.

“Was that Mrs. Burns?” he says.

“Yes. She says there’s still no sign of Henry.” She glances at her watch. “I’m going over there to keep her company. She’s a nervous wreck, understandably.”

Dad walks in. “Everything okay?”

“No, he’s still missing.”

Dad looks pensive, but not worried. “I guess the police can’t do anything.”

“She spoke to the police already.”

“The police?” James asks, suddenly appearing from upstairs to join the fray. He trades somber glances with Alex.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she says. “He’ll turn up.”

Alex thinks back to Sunday afternoon, when Henry said something about running away. He figured it was a joke of sorts. He thinks about telling his parents, but Mom is out the door and halfway down the front walk before he has a chance. From the foyer, Dad yells to her, “Call us if you hear anything, if we need to do anything.”

When Alex was little, he ran away twice, but only for a few hours. One time he hid in the woods behind his house, in a ditch, but he got hot and sweaty and swarmed by mosquitoes and came home. The other time he simply hid behind a chair in the living room. His parents must have known he was there, sulking about something, because they pretended to call the police and then Alex rushed out of hiding, feeling both guilty and vindicated. He can’t remember the reasons he ran away. They were probably silly, childish. But Alex knows that if Henry ran away, his reasons are anything but silly.

“I’m going over there, too,” Alex says, and his dad just nods his approval.

“I’ll come with you,” James says.

On the short walk across the street, they are both silent. They don’t bother to knock, since their mother just let herself in. Inside, the front living room is messy. Cardboard boxes are stacked here and there, and the heavy furniture is covered with folded and unfolded clothes, bags, and a few suitcases. The house came furnished, he knew from his mom, who was there the day Mrs. Burns and Henry drove up with just a bunch of boxes and suitcases, nothing else. The furniture is grand and bulky, but looks odd and out of place because of the disarray that surrounds it. He hears his mother and Mrs. Burns in the kitchen. He and James walk in there and find them sitting at a round kitchen table. There is an open bottle of wine, next to an empty wineglass.

“Oh, hi, boys,” Mrs. Burns says, forcing a smile. Her face is puffy and red, from worrying or crying or drinking, maybe all three. But she is still pretty, and Alex’s anger at her softens in person. She has the face of someone sweet, if a little ditzy and needy. “Where could he be?” she says to them.

“Do you have any ideas, honey?” his mother says to Alex. He stands and leans against the counter and shrugs.

Then, looking at James, she asks, “Did you see him?”

“No,” James says, sounding disappointed he can’t offer up a miracle solution.

“He was upset with me,” Laura says, to no one in particular. “But I had no idea he would…”

“He doesn’t want to move,” Alex says.

Laura looks at him, and then she nods. She forces a smile and then sniffles and wipes at her tears. “I know,” she says. “I don’t want to move, either.”

“Then why do it?”

“Alex,” his mother says, warning him.

She sniffles again. “It’s for the best, believe me.”

“Of course it is,” his mother says in a reassuring tone, clasping Laura’s hands.

“Maybe for you,” Alex says.

“But not for Henry,” James says.

“Boys!”

“No, it’s okay,” Laura says.

Alex feels emboldened, especially with James standing next to him. “He thinks that Mr. Pembroke is his father.”