Counterfeit Son (5 page)

"When things got bad," he said, "really bad, I used to dream about sailing, about being free, only—it's been so long." His voice cracked without warning, and he swallowed. "What if I can't sail the way I dreamed?"

Diana didn't say anything for a few moments, and he wasn't sure what she was thinking. He realized he hadn't called her anything yet, and wondered if she distrusted him. She hadn't called him Neil, either.

"Don't worry," she told him finally. "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget."

Cameron stared at the little waves slapping against the dock, wishing he could sit in the small boat and feel it rocking beneath him. He wasn't sure if Diana had meant to comfort him or not. He didn't know how to ride a bicycle, either.

"I'm so sorry we didn't get back early enough that you could go sailing today, Neil." Cameron saw his mother's reflection in the glass, closing in on him. It gave him enough warning that he didn't flinch when she placed her hands on his shoulders, uncertainly at first, as if she couldn't believe he was really there. Then her arms slid around his chest and she hugged him from behind. In the window, he saw Diana look down, then move away from them with Stevie.

"We were going to assemble your boat," his father said, coming into the room, "and give you are fresher course so you could get on the water."

Cameron turned, and the hug loosened enough that only one arm rested across his shoulders.

"We'll do it first thing in the morning," the man promised, smiling.

"But it's a weekday," Stevie objected. "You've got to go to the office."

His father ruffled the boy's hair. "Having your brother home is worth taking a few days off, don't you think?"

"I guess," Stevie mumbled. He didn't sound convinced.

"This is a special night," his mother said quickly, "your first night home again, Neil. We want it to be perfect. We thought we'd order pizza."

Diana rolled her eyes. "You always say pizza's not good for us, Mom."

Mrs. Lacey glanced quickly at her, then hugged Cameron's shoulders again. "Yes, but this is a special treat. And you know how much your brother loves pizza."

"That's okay," Cameron said quickly. "You don't have to get something special just for me."

The arm around his shoulders loosened, and he could sense her disappointment. "But we want to," she said softly. "Having you here again, where you belong, is worth celebrating."

"Thank you," he said, helplessly.

"And we thought we'd watch that baseball video you liked so much," his father said. "The one about the kid who turned into that terrific pitcher after he broke his arm."

Behind him, Stevie mimed gagging. Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron saw Diana hide a smile. "That's—that's great," he stammered. Had Neil liked baseball? Cameron played in the school yard sometimes. It was okay, but Pop never let him join a Little League team or anything.

Cameron let the woman steer him into the family room. He slipped into a wooden rocking chair, so he wouldn't have to sit too close to anyone. His parents sat in a pair of recliners. The video was okay, but the kids in it seemed so young—as young as Stevie, or younger. Diana and Stevie were clearly bored. Diana sat reading a book, glancing up at the screen only occasionally. Stevie sprawled on the carpet, playing with a collection of plastic action figures. Still, it felt strangely comforting to be part of a family He could see Neil's parents holding hands between their recliners.

They stopped the video when the pizza came. His mother announced, "We ordered your favorite—sausage and pepperoni, with extra cheese."

Cameron stared at the gooey mess of pizza. Pop never ordered pizza. He didn't want anyone coming to the house if he could help it, even a delivery man. Sometimes Cameron got to eat a slice of frozen pizza, if Pop was feeling generous.

"I hate sausage," Stevie complained.

"Tonight we're having sausage and pepperoni for your brother," his mother said brightly.

"Just pick off the sausage," Diana advised. "It'll taste okay."

Stevie sighed loudly and carried his plate to the kitchen table.

"I thought we'd eat in the family room," his mother said, "so we could finish the video."

Diana and Stevie both stared at her. "You never let us eat there," Stevie said finally.

"Well, it's a special night," his mother said.

"I know," Diana said, her voice flat. "Neil's home."

Cameron watched her carry her pizza to the family room. He tried to take only one small slice, but his mother piled two large ones on his plate.

"I've got the drinks for everybody," his father said. "We got root beer for you, Neil."

He could tell from the expression in the man's voice that root beer must have been Neil's favorite. "Thanks," he said.

Stevie poked him. "Hey—what's a tree's favorite drink?"

Cameron stared at the boy. What was it with the kid? Had Neil collected riddles or something? How could he figure out all of them?

His father smiled. "Neil probably doesn't even remember all those old riddles, Stevie."

"Why not?" Stevie asked.

Cameron looked at the glass the man had handed him, and thought about the riddle again. He groaned inwardly at the pun. "I remember," he said, and raised the glass, pretending to toast the boy. "Trees drink root beer."

Stevie nodded, and Cameron followed the boy into the family room, relieved that he'd guessed right. But what would happen when Stevie came up with a riddle he couldn't guess?

He tried to choke down the pizza, but the sausage was too spicy, and the cheese was so thick and rubbery he could barely chew it or swallow it. He tried to wash it down with root beer, but the drink was cloying. He was used to water, and a Coke sometimes, as a treat when Pop was in a good mood or as a reward for good behavior. But he was afraid to stop, afraid they'd be angry with him after they'd gone to so much trouble, afraid they'd be suspicious. He kept doggedly chewing, and smiling at his parents, who were watching him more than the video.

Finally he gave up. Neil probably never went to bed early, but Cameron couldn't keep acting any longer, and he thought if he ate another bite he would throw up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just so tired. Would it be okay if I went to bed?"

Diana's eyes widened. Stevie said, "I don't have to go to bed, do I? It's not even my bedtime yet!"

His father said, "No, you can stay up like normal, Stevie. But Neil's had a hard day."

Cameron breathed a faint sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said softly. He carefully carried his plate and the glass still half full of root beer to the kitchen. Behind him he heard someone stop the video and switch channels. He heard explosions on the television, and thought he heard Stevie laugh. He didn't care what they wanted to watch. He just had to be alone and get some sleep.

But the new pajamas on his bed felt stiff, and Cameron lay in the darkness, unable to fall asleep. He felt drained, but he also felt twisted taut inside. Could he pull it off? How many mistakes had he made that day alone? Those stupid riddles … And he should have eaten more of the pizza. He should have watched the movie through to the end. Were they talking about him in the other room, analyzing his mistakes? He had to do better tomorrow—he wanted to stay here, more than he'd wanted anything in his life. He thought he'd just wanted to survive, but he remembered the sight of Neil's parents holding hands. What would it be like to really belong to a family where people held hands and looked at each other with affection instead of—

Cameron opened his eyes quickly to shut out the memory of Pop's smile, and saw a movement in the doorway. He shut his eyes immediately, then opened them just enough to look through his lashes. He could make out a figure standing there—Neil's mother, her arms folded across her chest. He breathed slowly, hoping she'd think he was already asleep and leave him alone. Then he heard footsteps in the hallway.

"Is he asleep?" his father asked in a low voice. Apparently Stevie and Diana had been abandoned.

"Shhh," his mother whispered. She leaned against the man, and he put his arms around her.

"It's going to be all right, Annie," he said softly. "He's home now."

"Do you think he liked the pizza?" she asked. "And the video? He didn't eat very much, and he didn't watch the end."

They did notice,
he thought, with a sickening jolt.

But the man only said, "He was worn out. It's going to take him time to adjust. We have to give him that time."

"And what about the riddles?" She sounded worried. "He was always crazy about those silly riddles—" Her voice caught.

The man sighed. "Riddles are fine for Stevie now, and for Neil then. But he's a lot older. I'm sure they're not important to him anymore."

"I know, I know." But she didn't sound as if she believed it. "It just seems as if he'd remember them, at least. When Stevie asked him, he acted like he'd never heard the riddles before."

"Annie," the man said slowly, "you've got to accept there are going to be things he doesn't remember. They may come back to him later on, but there may be some things he'll never remember. Riddles aren't the most important memories we want him to recover."

"Of course not—it just seemed strange. That's all." Her tone was sad.

The man didn't answer, and the two of them stood silently, holding each other, just watching him. Cameron was afraid to move, for fear they'd realize he'd been awake all along.

At last his mother said, "It's past Stevie's bedtime. I'll get him." But she stood there a moment longer before turning and walking back down the hall, leaving the man alone.

"I'm not tired," Stevie mumbled a moment later.

"Shhh. Here, honey, get into your pajamas," his mother urged him softly.

"You've had a long day, too," his father said, helping the boy change.

"But I'm not tired," Stevie whined.

"I know," his father said. He helped the boy into bed and pulled the covers over him. "Good night, Stevie."

The boy yawned. "Good night, Daddy."

Cameron watched his father bend down, and stopped breathing. The man kissed the boy briefly, then stood, and his mother stooped over him. In a moment, the boy's breathing turned steady.

Then she came to his bed. Cameron let his eyelashes fall. He heard Pop's warning and felt his body stiffen.
Don't struggle. Be good, and everything will be all right.
He made himself lie there motionless as she bent over him and kissed his cheek.

"Good night, Neil," she said gently, as if the words were a prayer.

Then he felt the man bending over him.
Don't struggle. Don't make a sound.
His lips brushed Cameron's forehead.

Finally the footsteps left the room, and Cameron let himself slide into exhausted sleep.

***

Heart pounding, he was suddenly, fully awake. Motionless, eyes closed, he listened for the sound that had awakened him. Stevie's breathing continued light and even—that wasn't it. Then he heard the floor by his bed creak, followed by a sigh. He forced himself not to move, and waited to feel the weight on the bed.

It didn't come.

Carefully Cameron eased his eyelids open just enough to peer through his lashes. Moonlight fell on the man's figure standing at the foot of the bed. Head bent to one side, he stood slumped, his hands in the pockets of his robe. Cameron waited, torn between fear and hope that the man would take Pop's place.

Finally the figure straightened, and Cameron held his breath.

"Sleep well, son. You're safe now." The voice was barely a whisper. Then the man turned and left.

Cameron opened his eyes and stared at the shadows dancing on the far wall. Was he truly safe? Without Pop, would he ever be safe again?

"So why did you do it?" Diana asked.

His fingers froze on the straps of the life jacket. His whole body went absolutely still, the way it had when Pop came upon him unexpectedly.
She knows,
Cameron thought.
She knows who I am, and sheS asking why I said I was Neil. What do I do now?

The lake shimmered in front of him, blinding in the sunlight. Both small boats were assembled and rigged now, and he needn't have worried about remembering how to sail. His father's refresher course had explained everything.

"I don't care if you think you remember," the man had said, his voice patient but firm. "I'm not letting you go out on the lake until we've gone over every piece of the sailboat together, and assembled it, and taken it apart, and put it back together again."

His mother had sat at the redwood picnic table, never taking her eyes off him, and that made him clumsy at first. But after a while he'd managed to concentrate on the boat, and lost himself in the pleasure of handling the pieces of the Sunfish. He liked the smooth aluminum and fiberglass under his hands, and he liked the neat way the pieces slid together and locked into place. He liked the flapping sound of the sail as it hung loose, luffing in the breeze after he'd rigged it but not tightened it before launching the boat.

Diana sat at the picnic table, too, at the end farthest from her mother. She glanced up at Cameron now and then, but mostly read her book. Stevie seemed to have disappeared after complaining that he didn't like waffles with strawberry jam and wanted plain syrup instead. Cameron had been about to agree with him when his mother had said, "I'm sorry, Stevie. Strawberry jam is Neil's favorite. But I'll get the syrup for you."

What if he'd asked for the syrup first? They would have all stared at him. But
strawberry jam is Neils favorite—and you can't remember the riddles—You can't be Neil!
Would they have called Detective Simmons? Cameron knew the detective would have been only too happy to rush over and arrest him. He was probably just waiting for the chance. If Stevie hadn't said something, Cameron would have slipped up before the day had barely begun. Cameron had lost his appetite at that point, along with Stevie. But the younger boy just left the table. Cameron had to stay and eat the waffles, thick with strawberry jam, even though they tasted like slimy Styrofoam, and smile because the others were watching him. It had been a relief to get outside, where his father didn't expect him to remember anything, and a relief to listen to the list of rules the man had laid out for him.