Харлан Кобен - Found

That was why we were back here.

“It didn’t work last time.”

“That’s not uncommon,” Christine Shippee told me. “You know that.”

“I do.”

“Mickey, we are doing what’s best for her. But I meant it. If you insist on seeing her tonight, you will break our protocol. We can no longer be her facility.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Christine Shippee looked toward Myron. “He’s a minor. This is your call, not his.”

Uncle Myron turned to me and met my eye. I kept my gaze on him. “You’re sure?” he asked me.

I was.

Christine Shippee shook her head. “You know where her room is,” she said in a voice of both exhaustion and exasperation. “Myron, you can stay with me and sign the release papers.”

She hit a button and I heard the familiar buzz of the door. I opened it and started down the narrow corridor. When I found my mother, she was asleep. Her ankles and wrists were restrained. Still, I felt somewhat lucky. I had caught her in a peaceful moment, deep sleep, escape from the pain.

For a few moments I stood in the doorway and watched her. She had given up her tennis career — the fame, the fortune, the passion, all of it — to keep me. She had loved me and taken care of me my whole life until... until she couldn’t anymore. I have heard that the human spirit is indomitable, that it can’t be beaten or destroyed, and if you want something bad enough, the human spirit is impossibly strong.

That’s total crap.

My mother wasn’t weak. My mother loved me with everything that she had. But sometimes a person can break, just like Bat Lady’s stupid refrigerator. Sometimes they break and maybe they can’t be fixed.

“Mickey?”

Kitty Bolitar smiled at me, and for a moment, her face beamed. She was my mom again. I ran over to the side of the bed, transformed suddenly into a little boy. I collapsed to my knees and lowered my head onto her shoulder and then I, too, broke down. I sobbed. I sobbed on her shoulder for a very long time. I could hear her making a gentle shushing sound, a sound she made for me a hundred times before, trying to comfort me. I waited for her to put her hand on my head, but the restraints wouldn’t allow it.

“It’s okay, Mickey. Shh, it’s going to be okay.”

But I didn’t believe it. Worse, I didn’t believe her.

I put myself together a piece at a time. When I could finally speak, I said, “I need to ask you something.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

I lifted my head. I wanted to look into her eyes when I asked. I wanted to see her reaction. “It’s about Dad.”

She winced. My parents loved each other. Oh, sure, right, lots of people’s parents do. But not like this. Their love was embarrassing. Their love was complete and whole and the problem with that kind of love, the problem with two becoming one, is what happens when one dies?

By definition, so must the other.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“Why did you have him cremated?”

“What?” She sounded more confused than shocked.

“I saw the paper you signed. I’m not mad or anything. I get it. But I don’t know why—”

“What are you talking about? He wasn’t cremated.”

“Yes, he was. You signed for it.”

Her eyes blazed now, boring into mine. I don’t think I had ever seen them this clear. “Mickey, listen to me. We buried your father in Los Angeles. I never had him cremated. Why would you think such a thing?”

She waited for the answer. I believed her. She hadn’t been in a drug stupor or anything like that. I could see it in her face. And I could see something else in her face too.

We had all been pretending.

My mother wasn’t going to get better. She was broken. Christine Shippee might be able to repair her for a little while, but she would just break again. There was only one hope for her. I knew that. When my father died, she died too. That was why I was willing to risk her treatment. That was why I didn’t care about the threats to throw her out of rehab. Rehab wouldn’t do any good. Right now, without my father, you were sticking a tiny bandage on a limb amputation.

My mother was lost to me forever. There was only one hope.

“Mom?”

“Yes.”

I kept my tone strong. “I need you to get better.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, and, man, it sounded like a lie now.

“No, not like that. Not like last time. Things have changed.”

“I don’t understand, Mickey.”

“Get better, Mom,” I said, standing up now. “Because the next time I come back, I’m bringing Dad.”

I hurried out then. Christine Shippee said, “Wait, where are you going?”

“No,” I said.

“What?”

I spun back to her. “She stays. I was only in there a few minutes. Please.”

She looked at me, then at Myron. Myron shrugged.

“Please,” I said again. “Just trust me, okay?”

Christine Shippee nodded. “Okay, but, Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“You can’t do this again.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t be back until everything has changed.”

I was in school, on my way to practice the next day, when Rachel sent me a text: In Philadelphia with my dad.

I typed back: Sounds like fun.

I told him I knew the truth about my mom.

I nodded toward the screen. How did it go?

There was a small delay before she typed back: Not well. Yet. But it chased the lie from the room.

I smiled. Good.

Be back late tonight. Can you update me in the morning?

Sure.

Great. My place early AM. See you then. Take care.

I wrote back, because I’m the master of smooth: You too.

I stared down at the phone until a voice jarred me back to the present.

“What are you smiling at?”

I looked up too quickly. “Nothing.”

Ema frowned. “Right.”

“It was nothing. Someone just sent me a joke.”

“One of your new jock friends? I bet it was a riot.”

“What’s up?”

“Guess who found us a Betamax machine so we can watch that tape,” Ema said.

“You?”

“Nope. Spoon. If you can skip chilling with your hoops bros tonight, maybe we could go to the hospital and watch the tape together.”

“I’m there,” I said.

“Goodie.”

Ema took off. I got ready for practice. A bunch of the guys were joking around and I joined in and I enjoyed it and the heck with Ema and her attitude. I was allowed to have a little fun, wasn’t I? I spotted Brandon lacing up his sneakers in the corner. He looked over at me and tilted his head as though asking, Well?

I walked over to him. “Let me ask you something,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s about Buck.”

“What about him?”

“From what I understand, his parents are divorced.”

“Right. I think they split three, four years ago, I don’t know.”

“Was it hard on Buck?”

Brandon squinted at me. “What difference does that make?”

“I’m just finding this all a little convenient.”

“What?”

“Buck has lived his whole life in this town, right?”

“Right.”

“So suddenly, a few weeks into his senior year, he has to leave his friends and school and live with his mother?”

Brandon shrugged. “I’m not a lawyer, but they have joint custody or something.”

“So when was the last time you talked to him?”

“I don’t know. A few days before he left.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“No.”

“No text or e-mail, nothing?”

“A text, I think,” Brandon said. “Maybe an e-mail.”