Chương 10
People moved around me carrying backpacks and coffees, completely unaware that my childhood had just shifted sideways.
“What did she do?”
“She took it.”
“And you let her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Josh didn’t answer.
I knew the answer anyway.
Because we had all spent our lives letting Mom manage Dad and Dad dominate everyone else.
Because challenging either parent required becoming the problem.
Because our family’s most reliable tradition was silence.
The gate agent called my boarding group.
“I’m getting on a plane,” I said.
Josh went quiet.
“You’re coming?”
“Yes.”
“Does Lily know?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“No.”
I straightened.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because for once I want to enter a room before this family has time to decide what version of me they’re expecting.”
Josh breathed into the phone.
Then he said, “Okay.”
I ended the call.
Before boarding, I sent Claire one message.
Apparently I wasn’t an accident.
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
That seems like a sentence worth coming home with intact.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and walked down the jet bridge.
For the first time since leaving North Carolina two years earlier, I was traveling toward my family instead of away from them.
Chicago looked exactly the way I remembered it from the plane window, which irritated me more than if the city had changed completely.
The streets were still gridded below us.
The lake was still a hard gray sheet beside the buildings.
Nothing down there knew I had spent two years pretending it belonged to someone else.
I kept my phone in airplane mode until we reached the gate.
When I turned it back on, six messages arrived at once.
Three were from Lily.
One was from Claire.
Two were from Josh.
The newest message from Lily said Dad was still awake.
The second said Mom had taken the blue box.
The third said Josh had taken it back.
I stopped walking in the middle of the terminal.
A man behind me muttered something and rolled his suitcase around me.
I called Lily.
She answered in a whisper.
“Where are you?”
“O’Hare.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“Where’s the box?”
“With me.”
“What happened?”
“Mom tried to put it in her car.”
“Why?”
“She said Dad didn’t know what he was doing.”
“And Josh?”
“He took it out of her trunk.”
I started walking again.
“That sounds subtle.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Did anyone call security?”
“A nurse threatened to.”
“Good.”
Lily lowered her voice further.
“Mom is furious.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Conor, she’s scared.”
I stopped near the escalator.
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I know she’s acting scared.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
Behind her, I heard a monitor beep.
Then a man coughed.
“You’re in Dad’s room?”
“Hallway.”
“How is he?”
Lily hesitated.
“Bad.”
The single word was more effective than any medical explanation she could have given.
“Can he talk?”
“Not really.”
“Is he conscious?”
“On and off.”
“Does he know you?”
“Yes.”
“Josh?”
“Yes.”
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
I moved toward ground transportation.
“Does he know what the box is?”
“He keeps looking at it.”
“Can he indicate yes or no?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then don’t let anyone open it until I get there.”
Lily went quiet.
“What?”
“Josh already tried.”
I stopped again.
“Did he open it?”
“No.”
“The key doesn’t work.”
“What?”
“It fits, but it won’t turn.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I think the lock is jammed.”
“Don’t force it.”
“I told him.”
“Tell him again.”
“He’s sitting right here.”
“Put him on.”
There was rustling.
Then Josh’s voice.
“You’re really coming?”
“I told you I was.”
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”
“Did you damage the box?”
“No.”
“Josh.”
“I scratched the lock.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course you did.”
“It’s twenty-year-old metal.”
“That doesn’t mean attack it.”
“I barely touched it.”
“What did you use?”
Another pause.
“A screwdriver.”
“You barely touched it with a screwdriver.”
“Okay, when you say it that way—”
“How else would I say it?”
He sighed.
“Look, it’s fine.”
“Stop touching it.”
“Fine.”
“And don’t tell Mom I’m here.”
“She already knows something’s up.”
“How?”
“Lily suddenly stopped arguing with her.”
“That’s apparently suspicious behavior in this family.”
“It is.”
I reached the airport doors.
Cold air hit my face as they opened.
“Where are you staying?”
Josh asked.
“I’m not.”
“You flying back tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can stay at my place.”
“No.”
“Conor.”
“No.”
A cab pulled forward.
“I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
“Traffic’s bad.”
“Then an hour.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t tell her.”
“I heard you.”
I hung up.
The driver was a woman in her sixties named Carmen according to the license card on the dashboard.
She had a radio station playing low enough that I could barely hear it.
For twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then she glanced at me in the mirror.
“Hospital?”
I looked up.
“How’d you know?”
“You have a hospital face.”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
“There is.”
She changed lanes.
“Some people look excited.”
“You don’t.”
“That bad?”
“No.”
“You just look like you’re already tired of everybody inside.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
“That’s surprisingly accurate.”
“My family is large.”
“So is mine.”
“Catholic?”
“Mostly loud.”
I looked out the window.
For the first time since landing, my shoulders loosened slightly.
Carmen did not ask who was sick.
I was grateful for that.
The hospital was on the north side, a newer building attached to an older brick structure by a glass walkway.
I paid the fare and added a tip larger than necessary.
Carmen looked at the screen.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re emotional.”
“Probably.”
“Still taking it.”
She smiled.
“Good luck in there.”
Inside, the lobby smelled like coffee, disinfectant, and wet coats.
People moved around with the strange half-purposeful pace hospitals create.
Nobody runs unless something is very wrong.
May you like
Nobody walks slowly unless they have nowhere else to be.
I found the elevators.
