My sister is with her, and Royal is a damn fine firefighter. I’ll have to remember to tell her that when I get her back—to give her one of the biggest bear hugs I’m capable of—and tell her how incredibly fucking proud I am of her for everything she’s accomplished. Shit. I can’t lose my sister.
Across the room, Dad stares at me solemnly. I try Royal two more times and nothing. I call Mom on the house phone. She answers on the first ring but doesn’t give me any peace when she says she hasn’t seen Royal since before the alarm sounded. I tell her to be careful and find some solace in the fact that she’s got Bailey and Rae and Hope as well as Aunt Martha, Uncle Leon’s wife, with her. She sent the babysitter home early and asks that I pass that on to Jack, which I will, eventually.
“It’s a music box. If you open it, it plays some melody, but I don’t recognize it,” Chris says.
“Royal hasn’t been home. Mom’s got Hope, Martha, Bailey, and Rae with her,” I say loudly to the room, expelling the last of my energy.
Capriotti pulls a latex glove from his pocket and slips it on then takes the wooden box from Chris. I watch the room mobilize and inspect the box, but all I can think about is Mel and us dancing to our favorite song.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean . . .
My Bonnie lies over the sea . . .
The tears in my eyes that made me feel like such a fucking pussy when I realized what she was telling me—that she wants to marry me. It was such a visceral reaction that I couldn’t stop myself. I grew up with a dad who never made it shameful for men to cry.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean . . .
When a house loses a brother, the guys cry. I was still in high school when the twin towers fell, but Dad was on the job, and so was Jack. The suffocating pain I saw them go through as they grieved for their fallen brothers was incredible.
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me . . .
Dad broke down in uniform at Ground Zero when he saw Jack emerge from a pile of rubble. He ended up with his picture in the paper and on the news, not just local but national. The headline read NEW YORK’S BRAVEST’S INCONSOLABLE SORROW.
Bring back, bring back . . .
I would have thought he’d have been embarrassed to have his splotchy face seen by the world, but he never acted like it. He just hugged me and said, “I love you, son. Always know how much I love you.” He taught me through that experience that it’s okay to let the people you love know how much they matter to you.
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me . . .
“Oh God, what is that fucking song?” Hennessey scrubs at his face.
I meet Chris’s eye, and he walks over to me. His face is whiter than normal, and he talks slowly but sternly as he says, “I can’t lose them.” His eyes well with tears as he’s consumed by the fear of what this means—their being missing. I want to comfort him, but I can’t even comfort myself. He turns away and brings his mobile to his ear and listens intently.
“My Bonnie,” Jack sings in a familiar tune.
He meets Dad’s eyes, who picks up right after him. “Lies over the ocean.” They go back and forth until it clicks and most of the room gets it. I hadn’t even realized that fucking song was stuck in my head until now.
“It’s a kid’s song,” Jack says. “I’ve heard Hope sing it a few times.”
Chris walks up to Capriotti and clears his throat. “I hired a PI when this first started, and when I realized they were missing, I called him. He finally got a trace on the car. It’s at the beach house in Montauk.”
My Bonnie lies over the ocean.
Capriotti gets on his mobile and calls his sergeant to get in touch with Montauk PD to get a team sent to the beach house.
“I’m not standing around with my thumb up my ass when my sister could be hurt. Fuck that!” Jack screams and kicks a chair, sending it flying about five feet across the room. It’s a rare show of extreme anger for him—something he hasn’t done at work in years—but nobody calls him on it. We get it. I wish I could get myself to move to kick a fucking chair. It won’t make me feel better, though.
“Look, my sarge is putting it through. We gotta work it through the proper channels when working with another department,” Capriotti says.
“I’m not waiting around, either,” I say. I take a look at Chris and give him a chin nod and fold my arms over my chest. He nods and signals for me to give him one minute. Then he gets back on his mobile and walks away. I hear his deep voice screaming, breaking in parts as he orders the person on the other end of the line to just fucking get it done.
“I’ll have a chopper on the roof of my building in twenty minutes. By the time we get there, we’ll be able to take off immediately. It’s a forty-five minute ride to Montauk from there.”