Percival Everett - Assumption

“Willy,” the boy corrected him.

“Whatever,” Hempel said.

“Terry, this is a mess,” Ogden said. Ogden looked at the pair. Was this man the boy’s uncle? Did the boy’s father live in Eagle Nest? Was there a father?

“What are you saying?” Terry asked.

“Okay.” Ogden caved. “I’ll take the boy,” he said. “I’ll find out where his father is.”

Ogden put the boy in his rig and drove south. He was headed back to the station in Plata even though he had asked Felton to try to track down a Derrick Yates in the Eagle Nest area. He stole glances at Willy, wondered what his story was, and tried not to care too much. “What does your father do?” Ogden asked.

Willy looked at him.

“What’s his job?”

“I don’t know. He does things. He’s got a truck. He’s got a ladder on his truck.”

“Does he have tools?”

“I guess.”

“Hammers and saws? Those kinds of tools?”

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of truck does he drive?” Ogden asked.

“Why do you wanna know all this?” the boy asked. “It’s a blue truck, okay?”

Felton radioed. “I got four Yates in the area. Two with the initial D. I called them both, no answer.”

“What roads do they live on?”

“One on Iron Queen, one on B4G.”

“Iron Queen or B4G?” Ogden asked the boy.

Willy just looked out the passenger-side window.

“Thanks. Out.” He looked at his speedometer and saw that he was driving too fast, pulled back. “You really don’t know the name of the street you live on?”

“Don’t live on a street. Live down a road.”

“Okay, kid.”

They walked into the station and Ogden told Willy to have a seat beside his desk. Felton told him there was nothing else to know about a Yates in Eagle Nest.

“Bucky in there?” Ogden asked.

Felton nodded.

Ogden walked into the sheriff’s office.

“So, what’s going on out there?” Bucky asked. The fat man was sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen. “I hate these damn machines. God, I’m sick of hearing myself say that.”

“I got stuck with a kid. Terry from Fish and Game arrested this guy for poaching trout and he left me with his so-called nephew.”

“So take him home.”

“That’s the problem. Seems the lad doesn’t know his address, not even his street name. Oh, I’m sorry, he doesn’t live on a street, he lives down a road.”

“We should be able to figure something out,” Bucky said. “Bring him in here. I’ve got some cookies in my desk.”

Ogden stepped to the door and looked over at his desk. He scanned the entire room, but didn’t see the boy. “Willy?” he called out. “Felton, where’d that kid go?”

“What kid?”

“What do you mean, what kid?” Ogden said. “The boy I walked in here with. The Yates kid.”

“I didn’t see him. There’s not much I can add to that.”

Bucky stepped out. “What’s wrong?”

“The boy’s not here.” Ogden walked quickly to the door and out onto the street. He saw no kid. He saw no one on the street. Back inside, he said to Bucky, “I didn’t see him.”

“There was no boy,” Felton said.

Ogden glared at the man.

“He’ll find his way home,” Bucky said.

“He’s eleven.”

Bucky looked out the window across the room and sighed. “Well, get out there and find him. You, too, Felton.”

“Jesus,” Felton complained. “I don’t even know who I’m looking for. What’s this phantom boy look like, Ogden?”

“Like an eleven-year-old. Four feet five. Blond hair.”

“And invisible.”

“On and off,” Ogden said.

Ogden walked west and Felton east. Ogden imagined that the kid would have walked to the highway and tried to hitch a ride to Eagle Nest. If he’d been successful, of course, there would be no way for Ogden to know. He met Felton back at the station.

“No sign of a kid,” Felton said.

“Nothing,” Ogden said. “There was a boy.”

“Don’t get your skivvies in a knot. I believe you. It’s just that I didn’t see him, that’s all.”

“Now I have to find his father so I’ll know if he got home. Give me those addresses and I’ll drive over there later.”

Ogden thought it pointless to drive all the way to Eagle Nest before the boy had a chance to get home. He drove through the plaza several times and across the streets around it, eyeing every kid on foot or on a bike. He drove the length of the main drag through town twice. He finally stopped at his mother’s before heading east.

“The weather’s going to turn,” she said as he approached her. She was on her knees in her garden. “These roses will be the end of me. If it’s not black spot, it’s rust. If it’s not rust, it’s aphids.”

Ogden said nothing to this, just watched her popping off the dead heads.

“What’s wrong?” she asked without looking up at him.

“Trying to find a kid.”

“A child is lost?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Whose child?” she asked.

“His name is Willy Yates. I brought him to the station and he slipped out when I wasn’t looking. Right out the front door. It’s my fault he’s lost.”

“If he’s lost. You said that.”

“If he’s lost,” Ogden repeated. “I’m going to drive over to Eagle Nest and check out a few addresses. That’s the thing, we don’t have an address for him. All we have is a maybe-uncle.”

“Are you hungry? You can take a sandwich with you.”

“No thanks.”

Ogden got back into his rig and just sat there in his mother’s driveway. He had a thought that he should talk to Terry about the man he’d taken in earlier or talk to the man himself. Talk to Terry. The warden had taken the man to Santa Fe. For what good reason, Ogden didn’t really know. He’d drive to Eagle Nest, check out the addresses, then he’d contact Terry if it was necessary.

The community of Eagle Nest was very small. The lake was formed behind a dam built around 1920. It had been a site for illegal gambling and hookers around the turn of the century. The police killed all that and left the lake by itself, with a few slot machines and gaming tables at the bottom of it. A plateau at eight thousand feet, there were few trees and so, lake notwithstanding, the landscape looked as barren as the moon. The population was about three hundred and nearly all of them were white. It was on the eastern circumference of the so-called Enchanted Circle, but it seemed apart, certainly less than enchanted.

It took Ogden about an hour to get there and another twenty minutes to find the first address among the few streets and houses. An elderly, overweight man came to the first door and seemed amused, if not pleased, to have a visitor, even if he was a cop.

“What can I do you for?” he asked.

Ogden looked at the man’s overalls, brand spanking new, actually creased down the legs. “I’m looking for the family of a boy named Willy Yates.”

“We’re the Yateses, but ain’t no Willy here.”

“I might have the name wrong,” Ogden said. “An eleven-, maybe twelve-year-old boy. Do you have a grandson or a nephew?”

“So, you think I’m too goddamn old to have a son that age?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Ogden said.

“Relax, son, I’m just funning you. Course I’m too old. I’m older than the dirt I sleep in.”

“Do you know of a boy around here named Yates?”

“There are two Yates households in this little community. Everybody knows everybody and I’m telling you as sure as pigs got curly tails there ain’t no Yates boy around here.”

Ogden thought better of asking the man if he was certain and so simply thanked him. He thought about not going to the second address, but realized he couldn’t get sloppy or lazy. He drove the thirty seconds across town and found an elderly, overweight woman named Yates. Though not dressed in overalls, the effect was the same. The expanse of yellow shift fell to just above her wrinkled knees.