Happy Families (17 page)

So, I steal.

“Okay. What I’m thinking is, why shouldn’t you move home? You’re always going to be my dad, right? I mean, even in high heels—you’re half my DNA … you’re part of the reason I’m here. Nothing changes that. So.” I blow out a breath. Ysabel glances at me, probably hearing the echo of Bethany’s words in mine, but I know Beth would forgive me.

I don’t know what else to say. I can’t hurt Dad, when he wants to come home. I can’t hate him for confusing all of my plans. But he
has
. I was going to be okay. I was going to talk to Callista. I was going to just live my life.

I don’t know how I can do any of that with Dad back at home.

As all this tumbles through my brain, Dad just
breathes
. It’s as if his whole body changes as he sucks in a shuddering breath. He practically melts into the couch as his shoulders lower.

“You know I love you both.” Dad’s voice is hoarse. He looks from me to Ysabel, his words forceful and emphatic. “I don’t think you can ever know how much.”

Ysabel ducks her head. I swallow uncomfortably as Dad continues, “If we hold on to that, we can weather this. I truly believe that. All we need to do is remember to love, and we’ll make it.”

“If you start singing that Beatles song, I’m leaving,” Ysabel mutters, and blots her eyes with her sleeve. Dad gives a shaky laugh. Ysabel ignores Dr. Hoenig’s subtle offer of tissues. Dad takes one, even though he only crumples it in his fist.

Dad blows out a breath. “Listen, guys, I know we’re not finished here—I know we have a long way to go before I’m home, before things feel right. But this means everything—that you’re willing. It’s such a gift. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t even say that. Don’t say ‘thank you,’ ” I blurt, honesty pulling the words from me. His gratefulness is like acid on my skin, and I feel a rush of confused rage. “I don’t want you to be grateful. I don’t even know how long I mean it.”

Dad smiles, his face weirdly peaceful. “I know,” he says, crossing the room to sink down onto the couch next to me. “I know,” he says, putting his arm around me and holding out his other one to Ysabel.

She immediately wedges in on the couch next to him and buries her face in his neck.

“I love you. We’ll get through this all right,” Dad says, and I try to breathe.

He’s wrong. It’s not all right. But that’s how we sit, with Dr. Hoenig’s box of tissues, until our time is up.

In the parking lot, I’m relieved when Dad asks, “Anyone up for a double feature?”

“Me.” I wave a tired arm.

“Definitely.” Ysabel perks up. “I need popcorn.”

Armed with red licorice and chocolate mints from the drugstore, we settle in at the four-screen theater to watch the horror matinee from the fifties. It’s all ants—giant man-eaters in black and white, and miles of Technicolor Amazonian ants that strip a rain forest.

We’re almost the only people in the theater. Dad props his feet on the seats in front of us and dozes through most of the second feature. I try to watch the movie and turn off my brain.

But my brain stays on, like it always does. When we get home, it’s midafternoon, and Ysabel sets up her torchwork on the back deck. Dad finds a ball game on TV, but it feels like too much effort to follow. I go downstairs and flop on my bed.

When my phone vibrates, I groan. I was supposed to call Mom and I didn’t. I’m not in the mood to talk to her now. The phone continues to buzz. Sighing, I pick up, knowing Mom will just keep calling or call Dad if I don’t answer.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, Justin?”

“Oh, crap. Callista.” At the familiar voice, all the air leaves my lungs.

A nervous laugh. “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I thought you were my mom.”

“Oh.” A pause. Callista clears her throat. “I hoped you’d get in touch last night.”

“Yeah.” I lick my lips. “Sorry, we were out late. I meant to get back to you.” I take a deep breath. “What’s up?”

Another pause. “Well, I don’t know, Justin.” Callista’s voice is thin. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”

My neck stiffens with painful tension. “Oh.”

Callista continues, her voice quiet. “I mean, not that you owe me an explanation or anything. I just wanted to talk … I mean, if you have a minute or whatever.”

I close my eyes, and the silence between us goes a heartbeat too long.

“Justin, is it something I did?” Callista sounds resigned. “I mean, if it’s a bad time—”

“No.” The word explodes from me, fueled by self-hatred and frustration. “You didn’t do anything,” I say. “It’s … complicated—” The minute I say the word, I feel sick to my stomach. “That’s a total cliché, I know.”

“
Life
is complicated, Justin.”

“I know. It’s … Callista, it’s not you, okay? I really like you. There’s just some … stuff going on. My—” I break off, swallowing the word. I can’t tell her it’s my family—what if she says something to someone at church? I can’t tell her it’s my father. I can’t tell her anything. “I just have to deal with some stuff.”

“Okay,” Callista says, and I hear something in her voice that makes panic tighten my chest. She wants more. She’s waiting for me to explain what “stuff” is supposed to mean.

“It’s just some stuff,” I repeat stupidly. “It’s not something I can go into, okay?”

“Um, okay.” Callista’s voice is tiny, barely there.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Look, I’ll call you when I get home—”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got to go.”

“Wait. Callista, I’m sorry—”

When the lights turn off, I know there’s no reason to hold the phone anymore, but it’s hard to make my fingers let go.

My stomach burns, like fire is clawing up my throat. I want to break something, smash it into dust. Nothing is ever, ever going to be right again.

By a quarter to six, the sun shifts behind the hill, and it’s a little too breezy for me to stay on the back deck. It’s kind of tricky working with glass outdoors; while I’m pretty sure I’m gathering dust and other impurities into my beads, it might make them look interesting. I’ll check what I’ve got in the kilns tomorrow and see.

Dad’s dozing on the couch again, but I wake him up as I haul the chair back to the table and carry my stuff inside. He smiles at me blearily.

“Guess we should start making dinner, huh?” he asks, and yawns.

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I don’t know about Justin, but I’m not hungry. Too much popcorn. I’ll make a pb&j later if I get hungry.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dad says, and his eyes slide shut again.

Poor Dad’s been dead to the world for most of the afternoon. Today was hard on all of us; I’m happy to just veg out and work, mess with glass, design jewelry, and think of nothing emotional or important at all.

I drag my case back downstairs and think about setting up my station again, but I’m not in the mood. Instead, I get out my latest
Beadworks
catalog and pore over supplies and glass I can’t yet afford.

I’m surprised when my phone rings. The ring tone is the generic song that plays when someone I don’t know calls. I flip the phone open, frowning.

“Hello?”

“Ysabel? It’s Connor.”

“Connor!
Hi!
” I feel a rush of giddy disbelief. At home, guys
never
call me.

“Wow.” Connor’s voice is startled. “You sound happy.”

My face gets hot. “Um, I am,” I admit with a nervous laugh. “I’m glad you called.”

“Wow,” Connor repeats. “I— That’s—” He hesitates. “I need to find Justin.”

I blink, embarrassment igniting into irritation. “Connor, I know we’re twins and all, but we’re not identical, okay? Justin has a phone, and I know he gave you the number.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Connor’s voice is serious. “I wouldn’t call you to ask about him for any other reason, but I think it’s an emergency, maybe. I think I really pissed him off.”

I get up and cross the hall, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine. Justin hardly ever gets mad. He’s probably just asleep. Justin. Phone!” I knock sharply and open his door. “Hang on, he’s not in here.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Connor says.

“What?” I look in the bathroom, which is empty, then go back upstairs. “What do you mean?”

“Justin got upset earlier on the Kids of Trans forum, and I asked him to call me, and he didn’t. He won’t answer his phone.”

Upstairs, Dad’s sacked out on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. There’s no one on the deck, no one in Dad’s room, and no one in the garage. I open the side door and walk outside, leaning against the warm plaster wall of the house. “He’s not here.” I shrug. “He probably went for a run. That’s what he usually does when he’s upset.”

“If he doesn’t turn up in an hour or so,” Connor says quietly, “I think you should tell your dad.”

I feel chilled. “Are you serious? Connor, what happened?”

“I’m not sure. He said something about a girl.”

“Callista,” I supply. “She’s … they’re close. Or, they were,” I correct myself. “I think they’re talking again.” I shake away my nervousness, remembering the pain in Justin’s face when Callista texted him last night. “Look, Connor, Justin would never go anywhere without saying something at least to me. Ever. I’m sure he left a note somewhere.”

Connor’s voice is unhappy. “If you find him, would you give me a call? It’s cool if he doesn’t want to talk to me, but …”

“Sure. No problem,” I say, going back into the house. “I’ll look for a note right now.”

But there’s nothing in the kitchen, no note on Justin’s
bed or on the nightstand next to his bed. I don’t find his MP3 player, which makes me think he’s running, until I find his running shoes.

I text his phone.
Where R U?

When I hear the ring tone I programmed coming from the bed, I can’t breathe.

I’m going to kill him.

“Dad?” My feet thud up the stairs. “Do you know where Justin is?”

Dad sits up, blinking. “What, honey?”

“Justin. Where. Is. Justin.” My voice is edged.

Dad rubs his face, more than half asleep. “Don’t know. I thought he was downstairs.”

“Did you hear the door open?” I ask. “Do you maybe remember him saying he was going for a walk or something?”

Dad shakes his head. “We were both right here, Belly. We would have noticed him coming by.”

“I wouldn’t have,” I remind him. “I was working. I would have heard the door, but I didn’t hear anything.”

Dad scrubs a hand across his hair. “Well, give his cell a ring, and—”

“It’s in his room, and so are his running shoes. Dad, I think he left. Connor called me and said Justin was upset about a girl, and I looked and looked for him, and he’s not here, and he didn’t tell me anything or leave a note, and I don’t know where he would have gone. You’ve gotta help me look for him.”

Dad looks stunned. “Bel, slow down and run that by me again.”

I repeat myself, explaining that Connor phoned and said that this was “an emergency, maybe.” Dad frowns.

“Bring me Justin’s phone,” he says abruptly, bending to slip his feet into his shoes.

Dad’s pulled on a different shirt by the time I race up the stairs and hand him Justin’s phone. Dad frowns as he scrolls through the last calls. “Who’s Calli D?” he asks.

“Callista Douglas,” I say. “She texted him last night. He was supposed to call her.”

He hands me the phone. “Well, she called him a few hours ago. Take a look at the texts, will you? We might be worrying for nothing.”

“He hasn’t sent any texts since yesterday,” I report, scrolling through the messages. “Just somebody named Viking, and I don’t know who that is.”

“Maybe Connor knows.”

“I don’t know why he would just go off somewhere,” I fret. “Should we call Mom?”

My father swallows hard, and the muscles in his throat are visible. “Not yet. Not yet. This could be nothing, Belly. You know how your brother is when he’s thinking.” Dad tries to give me a “don’t worry” pat on the shoulder, but his hand lands too heavily. His eyes are wide, the whites around them showing clearly as his gaze darts around the room.

“Okay, then. Listen—I’m going to look for him. I’ll drive around for a while. If I can’t find him walking through town by seven, we’ll ask your mom if she’s heard from him today. No reason to get her upset.”

“Okay.” I head for the stairs. “Let me get a sweater.”

“No—Belly, you need to stay here so you can call me if he shows up.”

“Right.” I stop moving and cross my arms. “I knew that.”

Dad gives me a quick hug and heads toward the garage. “If you think of anything, give me a call,” he says.

“I will.” A moment later, I hear the garage door lift, then close behind him. I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, holding myself, then I sit on the couch.

Justin’s probably just walking around in the neighborhood
, I reason to myself.
He’ll turn up in a little while
.

But when my phone rings a half hour later, it’s Connor.