Cote Smith - Hurt People

None of that mattered, though, at least not right away, because when we opened the door to our apartment, there was no brother. No lights were on, and when my mother called my brother’s name, all we heard in return was the hum of the fan. I didn’t wait for my mother to bolt our door and find a place for her purse and keys. I went into the living room to see if my brother had made camp there. He hadn’t. A blanket was in the right spot but there was no brother. The first place my mother looked was our room, but he wasn’t in there, either.

“He’s probably just hiding,” I said, to punish us for leaving him for so long, coming back empty-handed. But I knew what I said wasn’t true. I could tell my brother wasn’t here. He was somewhere with Chris. Where, I didn’t know. For now, it didn’t matter. Because I wouldn’t tell my mother anything. The next half hour our apartment was a one-man movie, starring me as the world’s biggest liar.

“Show me all his spots,” my mother said. “Show me where he could be.”

I followed and helped her search, acting surprised when my brother wasn’t behind the clothes in my mother’s closet, or cocooned in her curtains.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He should be here.”

While my mother searched the rest of the apartment, looking in desperate, silly places (inside the oven, under the kitchen sink), I opened the sliding glass door to let the air in. I gazed in the pool’s direction and pictured the way it would look now. The automatic lights would have kicked on, giving the water a warm, sugary glow. All the chairs would be empty of belongings, except maybe one.

My mother came into the living room and asked what I was doing. I should be looking for my brother, she said. What kind of brother was I? She told me to recheck every spot I could think of.

“We have to keep searching, OK?” she said, and went to the phone. She picked it up, returned it to the wall. “I’m going to check with the neighbors. You stay here and search. Don’t go anywhere.”

I said OK, but when she left I stayed by the sliding door. I imagined what it would be like to swim at night, to break the first pool rule. You would want to stay in the water, I thought, where it was warm. The sun wouldn’t be there to comfort you, if you were just a spectator, a lowly stableboy. If you were on the diving board, you’d better know what move you wanted to do. You wouldn’t want to spend too much time up there, exposed, where the air was free to get you.

I dazed off until I thought I heard a splash, so soft I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it. I tried to get a better view of the pool. I slid open the screen door all the way and stepped onto our porch. Another splash. This one was louder, deeper. I stepped up on the porch’s lower rail, leaned over the edge. I’m so close, I thought. Just a little higher. If I could get on the top rail, I could see it all.

“What are you doing, dummy?” a voice said.

I jumped down and turned around. It was my brother. He was not in his swimming suit. He had the same clothes on as before. He was dry, and I wanted to hug him.

“Mom is going to kill you,” I said.

My brother smiled. “She’d never get away with it. Not in this city.”

“Where were you?”

“You better get inside before Mom comes back,” he said, and went inside and lay down in front of the fan. I sat on the couch, arms crossed.

“Where were you?”

“Nowhere.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re right. What can I say, runs in the family.”

He closed his eyes like he wanted to rest. As if wherever Chris had taken him, the two had traveled long and far. To what secret kingdom, I knew he would not say.

“I read a thing about the Stranger,” I said.

My brother breathed deeply, his mouth open, and at first I thought he was asleep. “So?”

“So don’t you want to know?”

“Know what?”

My mother returned. I heard her check our room again, then call from the hall, asking if I’d had any luck. I didn’t answer. I let her step into the living room and see the scene herself. That’s what I would have wanted, if I were her. I wouldn’t want anyone to ruin the ending.

Her face twitched like it couldn’t be sure of what it was seeing. After the shock passed, she ran to my brother. She told him to stand up so that she could give him a hug.

“Where have you been?” she said.

My brother pushed her arms away. “I waited for you. I stayed up and waited.”

I watched his face closely, to see if it flickered when he started to lie. I couldn’t tell my mother my brother’s secrets, but maybe I could give her a clue.

“I’m sorry,” my mother said, and she told him what happened, about the van and about Sandy. “But where were you when we came home? You weren’t here, were you? As soon as I opened the door, I could tell the apartment was one boy short.”

“I waited as long as I could.” He put his head down. He wasn’t answering the question.

“Stop ducking the question,” I said. “He’s ducking the question.”

“You need to stay out of it,” my mother said, though she seemed to take my point. “You were supposed to stay in your room.”

My brother sat back down and faced the fan, turning his back to my mother like some proud villain. “I waited. But no one ever came to get me. I thought you forgot.”

I rolled my eyes, mumbled, Give me a break.

“Then I got thirsty in there. So I came out for a glass of water.” He paused there, either for effect or to give himself time to form his lie more fully. “That’s when I heard the siren.”

“Siren?” my mother said.

“Yes, I thought there was a tornado or something, so I went down to the laundry room, like you told us.”

My mother looked at me. We had been outside for most of the night. If there was a siren, we would have heard it.

“We didn’t hear anything,” my mother said. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“I don’t know,” my brother said. “I don’t know why you didn’t hear anything, but that’s what happened.” The corner of his lip dipped a bit, almost forming a smile. “I swear.”

His lip stayed dipped. He was lying, and he knew he would get away with it.

* * *

Our dad picked us up on Friday again, and again he was early. He came to the door and this time our mother was still around, though she had already started getting ready for work. Still, she moved aside when our dad politely asked if he could come in, and the two sat at the kitchen table sipping cups of coffee in silence until he asked about the van breaking down again.

“How’d you know about that?” my mother said.

My dad coughed, took a sip of his coffee. “I have my sources.”

My mother didn’t mention anything about my brother, his disappearance. Maybe she didn’t want my dad to worry. Or maybe, like me, she wanted to wait until the investigation was closed before making any judgment, releasing information to the public. But she did tell my dad to keep an eye on my brother. That he’d been acting out.

“Is that right?” my dad said. He took out a check, already made out to my mother. For the van, he said, and whatever else. My mother looked like she got socks for Christmas.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes,” he said. “Don’t look so happy.”

“How’d you know how much it costs?”

“I owe you,” he said. “I want to owe you.”

“Just watch him,” my mother said. “OK? And don’t expect anything in return.” She magneted the check to our fridge, beneath a drawing my brother had done in school and our electric bill. Both were stamped Outstanding . “How’s work? Anything on you-know-who?”

“I don’t want to talk about work,” my dad said.