Counterfeit Son (14 page)

"Lay off," he told her.

"You're definitely not Neil," she said, grinning. "He'd remember how stubborn Stevie gets when you tell him something that sounds like an order. He'd always tell Stevie to do the opposite of what he wanted him to do, and then he got his way."

"Clever," Cameron said tiredly.

"He just knew Stevie. You don't."

She was right, he didn't know Stevie. But he liked the spunky little kid. Cameron didn't really know any of the Laceys, and yet he already liked all of them—no, more than liked. He loved them, and he wanted to be a real member of their family, not just an impostor. He wanted them to love him, Cameron Miller.

He sighed. But how could they love him? He wasn't their son. He was a fake—a counterfeit, who had stolen their trust and in return set Cougar loose to prey on them.

Cameron walked past Diana and went into the house. He went into their bedroom, but Stevie was nowhere to be seen. He had to stop Cougar from taking Stevie—from taking anything more from the Laceys, ever. But how?

He decided that for all her overdramatizing, Diana was right—it was time to talk to Neil's father. Cameron made up his mind to tell him about Cougar that night, but then his father called to say he'd be late for supper, and when he finally got in he looked tired and strained. Cameron had worked out his story, and he was torn between going ahead with it and not wanting to add to the man's problems.

During the late supper of lamb chops and tossed salad, Cameron eyed Neil's father, trying to make up his mind what to do. His plan was to say that Cougar had been a mean, dangerous man, and that he wanted revenge on Hank Miller because Hank had lied and that lie had sent him to prison. That much was easy, because it was true. And Cameron could say that he himself had lied, too, because Hank had told him to. Because of that, Cougar had come looking for him and threatened to tell the police that he was Cameron Miller so they'd arrest him. And he would say that Cougar had frightened him so he took some jewelry to pay him off, but Cougar said it wasn't enough and now he wanted a key to the house so he could take what he wanted.

Cameron knew what the man had said before about punishment, but this time he might change his mind. Lying and stealing and putting the whole family in danger—this time there really might be a beating. But he didn't care. He knew he had been bad enough to deserve it. Besides, there was still that nagging feeling that something was wrong in what Neil's father had said last time. He loved Stevie and Diana, yet he had punished them by grounding them and ignoring them. What would he do to Neil if he believed he had done something truly bad? And Neil's mother had slapped Diana for only saying what she believed. Would she punish him even if his father didn't want to?

He couldn't follow that thought now. He had too many other things to worry about. He scraped the bottom of the bowl for the last of his ice cream for dessert, and waited for the others to finish, one knee jiggling impatiently under the table. Regardless of the punishment, when he told them that Cougar had threatened both him and Stevie, his father would get the police after the man. And maybe it wouldn't matter what Cougar said about his identity. The police already believed he wasn't Neil anyway, but his father was convinced he was. Cougar probably couldn't change the man's mind. Cameron hoped. Unless he really
had
been too bad.

He saw Diana studying him as he propped his chin on one hand, wishing Stevie would hurry up with his ice cream before it all melted into slush in his bowl. Diana had her head cocked to one side, and she was frowning slightly. He figured she was probably noticing more ways he was slipping up—probably Neil never sat like that. She was assembling his mistakes like puzzle pieces to form a pattern that would prove he wasn't her brother. He must be like one of those puzzles with no picture on the box, so you're trying to figure out what the picture must be as you put it together. When would she have enough pieces assembled to show her parents the distorted picture of a fraud? He couldn't stop to think about that now.

Finally Stevie slurped up the last of his ice cream. His father went into the living room with the newspaper and sat staring at the room's reflection in the darkened plate-glass window, the paper still folded on his lap and his briefcase open beside his chair.

"Bad day?" Cameron asked, following him.

"Hmm?" His father turned away from the empty window and half smiled. "A long deposition in a tricky case, that's all." He rubbed the side of his face and yawned. Cameron realized that all the fuss since he'd turned up in the Buckeye police station (had it only been two weeks?) must have been a problem for his parents at their jobs. He hoped neither of them would get into trouble because of him.

"Uh, Dad," he said, uncertain how to begin a conversation like this. He'd never tried to get Pop's attention about anything. He'd just as soon Pop ignored him in the evenings.

His father blinked and looked at him more closely. "Hey, what's that bruise on your face?"

Cameron ducked his head quickly. "I, ah, just fell off Stevie's bike," he said without thinking, then cursed himself for not simply saying Cougar had hit him. He was so used to lying about everything, it was hard to tell the truth.

"We've got to get you your own bike," his father said absently, believing the lie the way grown-ups always did. His mind seemed to be back on the difficult case. "We'll do that this weekend, okay? Oh, and I've set up our first family therapy session for next Monday. Don't worry"—and he smiled—"you won't have to go to it alone. We're a family, and we'll all do it together."

Next Monday seemed a lifetime away. Cameron wondered whether he'd be part of the Lacey family anymore by next Monday.

"Look, Neil, I need to look over some papers for tomorrow." Then the man focused on Cameron again. "Unless you need to talk to me about something?"

It was his chance to say he'd lied about the bruise and to tell the whole story about Cougar, but Cameron couldn't find a way to start. He swallowed and felt himself shaking his head. "Nothing special," he heard himself saying. "It'll keep."

He went out of the living room and headed to his room, telling himself that waiting one more day wouldn't matter. Cougar wasn't going to do anything right away—he'd give Cameron time to get the key. Maybe he wouldn't be back until after the weekend. Wouldn't he assume that Neil's parents would be at the house all weekend? It would be a stupid time to break in. Cameron could tell his father tomorrow night, and the police could pick Cougar up on Saturday.

"Did you ask him?"

Cameron blinked back to the present and saw Stevie sitting propped up in bed in his pajamas, staring hopefully at him. In a flash he remembered promising to ask about taking Stevie sailing in the Sunfish.

"I tried to talk to him, Stevie," he said, which was true, even if it hadn't been about sailing. "But you saw him tonight—before I even got the question out he asked if it wouldn't keep. He said he had work to do."

"You didn't even bother to ask," Stevie said.

"I tried—"

"You're a liar," Stevie snapped. "He always had time for you."

Cameron's patience snapped. "Stevie, that was six years ago! You've blown it all out of proportion because I haven't been here! If I'd been here every one of those days I was missing, there'd have been plenty of times he wouldn't be bothered with me."

"You weren't here," Stevie said bitterly, "and every one of those days he did bother with you, anyway."

"Please, Stevie," Cameron said, wishing there were some way he could make up for all the years the boy had felt second-best to a ghost. "Look, let's do something else together tomorrow. You name it, okay?"

But Stevie threw himself down on his pillow and pulled the covers over his head and wouldn't answer. Cameron got slowly into bed and lay there, lonely, searching for the familiar ache he had felt for Pop. It was fading—more of an emptiness now than a real longing that Pop would return, with his rules and his belt and his love. But there was nothing to fill the emptiness. Cameron didn't dare fill it with Neil's father, knowing how disappointed the man would be in him when he learned the truth.

He wished desperately that he'd told him.
It's not too late,
he urged himself.
Get up and tell him itS important.
But he couldn't make his legs move. Never once, in all his confused memories, could he remember getting out of bed and going to Pop in the night. Never. He couldn't do it now.

Then he remembered that Neil's father would come to him. And maybe it would be easier to warn him about Cougar in the dark than it had been in the lighted living room, where everything seemed safe and orderly, and Cougar's threat would have sounded preposterous.

In his mind Cameron went over the story he planned to tell again and again, imagining Pop's narrowed eyes as he listened, judging the truth, deciding whether or not to use the belt. He went over it until he was sure it would convince even Pop, and by the time he heard the man's footsteps outside the door, he was confident he could explain the danger and be believed.

But when the man stopped at the foot of his bed, Cameron found himself unable to speak.
Don't make a sound,
Pop always told him, his whisper harsh in the dark.
Be good and everything will be all right. Don't make a sound.
And Cameron never had. He had never spoken in the dark. He'd thought he would be able to here, in this house where he was safely watched over in the night. But he couldn't break Pop's rule.

The man must have noticed something different about his breathing. He moved closer. "Neil?" His voice was low, so as not to wake Stevie. "Are you all right?"

Cameron heard a small sound escape from him, and went rigid with terror.
Don't make a sound.

The man bent down and touched his shoulder. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's only a dream. Shhh."
Don't make a sound.
"Go back to sleep."

Heartsick, Cameron obeyed. He kept silent and slid into an uneasy sleep, knowing that the man was right. His time here, with this family, was nothing more than adream. Hewasn'tgoodenoughtodeserveitforreal, and he never would be.

***

Friday morning, he opened his eyes and escaped from the memory of blows and curses and the agonized screams of the other boys, as he huddled in the shadowy corner of a suffocating cellar, seeing Pop in his imagination walking toward each boy in turn with the handcuffs in one hand and the belt in the other. Exhausted, he looked over at Stevie's bed, but the boy wasn't there.

"Did he say where he was going?" Cameron asked Mrs. Pierson.

"He'll be around the house or the yard," she said, laughing. "There's a change, your asking about your little brother! But he's always off on his own, you know that."

Cameron cornered Diana in the family room, where she was watching music videos and reading a library book. "Have you seen Stevie this morning?"

"Hello to you, too," she said, and her voice sounded a little odd, almost uncertain for a change, and he wondered why. "What's the big interest in Stevie?"

"I felt bad about the argument yesterday, and I wanted to do something with him today to make up for it, that's all."

She shook her head in mock amazement. "Definitely not Neil." Her voice was back to normal now, so he guessed she must have just been caught up in her book. "But I mean it—I like you much better. Neil never felt bad about anything, and he never wanted to make up for anything, either."

Cameron felt a surge of anger. "Can't you forget about stuff I did six years ago and think about now? Have you seen Stevie or not?"

"Not," she said, shrugging and opening her book again. But her eyes stayed on him as he hurried out of the room.

He checked in the garage, but Stevie's bike was still there. Not that he'd necessarily use it, Cameron thought, since his big brother had taken it over, like everything else. He looked out in the road and saw a crowd of kids playing baseball, but when he jogged up to take a closer look he didn't see Stevie among them. He asked a couple of the kids, but they said Stevie hadn't come out to play that morning.

Where could the boy have gone? Cameron rubbed his ear where it still ached from Cougar's blow and wondered what he should do. Chances were that Stevie was just sulking, but what if Cameron had misjudged Cougar's threat? He'd thought Cougar would be careful and logical, like Pop, but he'd already realized how different the two men were. What if it had been a mistake not to tell his father last night, despite the case that had been worrying him? Could Cougar have taken Stevie already?

Cameron came back in the house to find Mrs. Pierson getting ready to leave for her shopping trip. Twice a week, Tuesday and Friday, she went to the grocery store. He assured her there wasn't anything special he wanted and watched her back her ancient Chevy sedan out of the driveway and thread her way carefully through the ball players, waving through her open window at them.

Cameron walked slowly through the house, thinking hard. If he could only find Stevie, he'd stick to the boy like glue until his father got home, and then Cameron could tell him and his father could handle it. But the fear of not knowing where Stevie was caught his chest in a vise and crushed him like the weight of Pop's body. He had to do something. Maybe Diana would tell him how to call the law office. Even if Cameron interrupted his father and got in trouble, and then Stevie sauntered in perfectly safe, it would be worth the explanations to have given the warning.

He went to the plate-glass window in the living room and stared at the lake, then scanned the lawn for any sign of Stevie. Suddenly Cameron looked back at the dock, and his eyes widened.

"Diana!"

He started for the side door and crashed into her coming out of the family room.

"What in the world—"

He interrupted her. "Call your father at the office, and your mother at the museum—get them here right away!"

"What's going—"

"Shut up and listen! Call Detective Simmons!" Cameron didn't care if she added his strange behavior to the list of things that weren't like Neil. It was too late for that. He'd tried so hard since he came to the Laceys', terrified that each mistake would be the one that gave him away, and it had all been a waste. He could have just enjoyed himself and not worried about how the mistakes were mounting up. Even if he had never slipped up once, he was blowing his cover for good now, and he would never be part of the Lacey family again. But his longing to belong wasn't as important as Stevie's safety. Cameron fished in his jeans pocket for the card the detective had given him on Monday. "Here, this number—call him and get him here, too." He already had the side door open.