The day nurse came in and took my vitals while pretending not to listen.
“Not long after that,” Scott said, “I called your house, but the phone had been disconnected. Tried your dad’s cell phone. No such number. Went to the house. It was all unlocked. No forced entry. Not a single thing was missing. None of his or your clothes. His wallet and driver’s license were on his dresser. Both cars in the garage. Your favorite toy in your crib. It was as if the two of you had been raptured right out of the house.”
“We figured the two of you had finally gone into hiding,” Gwen said.
Scott’s eyes got shiny and he said, “I miss your dad so much.”
He broke down crying again. I felt terrible for him. I now knew that -people liked to be touched when they felt bad, so I reached out and took his hand as best I could with my gauze--wrapped one.
“He changed our names,” I said. “His was an anagram of Michael Rhones—-Charlie Moshen. And he called me Petty.”
Gwen and Scott looked at each other and laughed and cried.
“Petty,” Scott said, shaking his head.
“That was what your mom wanted to name you when you were born,” Gwen said, wiping her eyes again. “Because she was a huge Tom Petty fan, and your dad loved Richard Petty the race car driver. But your dad decided it was too weird. No offense.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and I meant it. He’d chosen my name to honor my mom. Anne Marie Rhones had disappeared forever the day that we had—-eighteen years ago.
I was and would always be Petty Moshen.
Epilogue
Nine weeks later
“HELLO, PETTY!” MRS. Krantz, the retirement facility director said when I walked into the lobby. “I just left a message for you at your Uncle Scott’s house.”
I must have looked concerned, because she smiled and said, “Just wanted to find out when you were coming in. Jeannie’s been asking for you all morning. She’s getting her hair done now though, so you can wait for her down in the game room.”
I held up a bag. “I brought her some candy,” I said. “Make sure she shares it with you all.”
“Will do,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. “See you later.” I waved and walked down the hall.
I sat at a table in the game room, pulled out my new iPhone and dialed Dekker’s number.
“Well?” he said.
“I passed,” I said, and I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. “Drove myself to Grandma’s today. It was terrifying.”
He let out a whoop. “I knew you could do it. I told you you could do it.”
“How’s summer school?” I asked.
There was a pause.
“I have to tell you again that I really can’t let you pay my tuition,” he said.
“It’s already done,” I said. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be married to Randy. Or dead. So just deal with it.”
“But I—-”
“Let me explain how this whole gift--slash--gratitude thing works. You say thank--you, and you really mean it. I say you’re welcome, but, like, please don’t bring it up ever again. And you say I won’t, and you really, really mean it. And then we move on.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We were quiet a moment.
“So have you gotten used to the decibel level there at your uncle’s house?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said. “Uncle Scott and Aunt Gwen’s kids—-my cousins—-come over and play board games and laugh and holler at each other. I have to go up to the guest room and close the door sometimes.”
“How much longer you planning on living with them?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I want to spend as much time as I can with Grandma before the Alzheimer’s takes her away from me completely. They’ve said I can stay as long as I want. But I am coming out for Uncle Curt’s pig roast party.” My heart pounded as I said this, knowing I’d get to see him soon.
“Woot,” he said. “When will you be here?”
“July second,” I said. “Roxanne’s picking me up at the Kansas City airport and then we’re heading down to Saw Pole. Then we’ll swing up to your uncle’s place. So we’ll see you at his house that Friday, right?”
“Yup,” he said. “You’ll get to meet my other cousins too. It’ll be a blast. And bring some earplugs because Uncle Curt’s hired a band, and they’re loud.”
“Maybe you can play drums with them,” I said.
“Can’t really hold drumsticks yet.”
“You will,” I said.
“How’s your leg?”
“Better. Can only run four miles at a time though.”
“Yeah, me too—-oh, wait. That’s not me.” He laughed. “How come you’re going to Saw Pole? Are you selling the house?”
“No,” I said. “I bought a new headstone for Dad’s grave with his real name on it. It’s going to say, ‘Michael Rhones, son, brother, husband . . .’ ” I choked up a little, which surprised me. “ ‘ . . . and father.’ ”
“That’s a great idea,” Dekker said.
We were quiet again.