Jonah sat in a molded plastic chair. Mom sat in the chair to his right and Dad in the chair to his left, and Jonah knew that if he gave either of them so much as a flicker of encouragement, they would both start clutching his hands and holding on to him just like they had when they’d walked him to his first day of kindergarten.
Jonah was very careful to keep his hands in his lap, as far as possible from his parents’ hands. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, hoping that the FBI had no way of knowing that he’d once hung up on the man he was waiting to see.
By rights, Jonah thought, Chip should be with Jonah too, waiting in this bland government office to meet with James Reardon. Whatever James Reardon knew about Jonah, he probably knew the same information about Chip. It’d be…kinder…if they could both get their facts at the same time.
Information…facts…I just want to know who I am, Jonah thought. And why I’ve been getting those letters. Does James Reardon know that? Does he know who Chip is?
Chip was not sitting in any of the molded plastic chairs near Jonah. Jonah had not been able to figure out any way to convince his parents that his new friend, whom he’d barely known for three months, should be included in this intimate, private moment, when Jonah might be about to learn deep dark secrets about his past.
“Maybe you should just tell them the truth,” Chip had suggested, as a last resort, in desperation.
Jonah had considered this for a millisecond.
Telling his parents the truth would require informing them that he’d been involved in breaking into somebody else’s safe. And that their new neighbors—whom Mom had taken fresh-baked banana bread to and heartily welcomed to the neighborhood—those same neighbors had been lying to their only son for his entire life. And he’d have to tell them that he was receiving threatening letters, and he believed somebody wanted to kidnap him.
If he told them all that, he wouldn’t get to take Chip with him to meet James Reardon. He wouldn’t get to go himself. He’d be locked up, either to punish or protect him.
“No,” he’d told Chip. “I can’t. But I promise, I’ll tell you everything this guy says. And then you can get your parents to—”
“My parents aren’t talking to me about the adoption, remember?” Chip said harshly. “If they won’t even talk to me about it, what makes you think they’d take me to the FBI to talk about it?”
So Chip wasn’t waiting with Jonah. But there was a fourth person sitting in a molded plastic chair on the other side of Dad: Katherine.
Katherine had thrown a fit when Mom and Dad had told her about the meeting, about how she’d have to be home alone for a little bit while they were away with Jonah.
“We should be home in time for dinner,” Mom said. “But if you get hungry without us, there’s some of that leftover chili—”
“No,” Katherine said.
“Okay, if you don’t want chili, there’s always—”
“I’m not talking about food,” Katherine said irritably. “I mean, no, I’m not staying home alone. I’m going with you.”
Mom and Dad exchanged glances.
“Katherine, this doesn’t really pertain to you,” Dad said. “This is about Jonah—”
“And he’s my brother and I’m part of this family too, and doesn’t everything that affects him affect me, too?” Katherine had said, sweeping her arms out in dramatic gestures, seeming to indicating a family so broad it could be the whole world.
Funny, Jonah thought. That’s not what she said that time I broke a lamp playing Nerf football in the house.
The argument about Katherine going or not going had raged through the house for three days. And then, inexplicably, Mom and Dad had given in. Mom and Dad didn’t usually cave in to Katherine like that. Jonah wondered what she’d promised in exchange: to clean up the kitchen after dinner every single night for the rest of the school year? To do her homework without complaining ever again? To not have a boyfriend until she went to college?
Something beeped and Jonah jumped. Okay, he was overreacting. It was just Katherine playing Tetris on her cell phone. ( Our cell phone, he corrected himself.) He felt the annoyance bubbling up, stronger than ever. Here he was, staring at a door that maybe hid all the secrets of his life. And Katherine was just sitting there playing a video game?
The door opened, and a man stepped out. But the man was wearing a gray sweatshirt imprinted with the words Maintenance Staff. It was a janitor.
“Hey,” he said. “Any of you want something to drink while you’re waiting? The vending machine spit out two Mountain Dews, and I only wanted one.”
“Jonah likes Mountain Dew,” Katherine said, pausing her Tetris long enough to point to her brother.
The janitor held out a green bottle to Jonah.
“You should probably call the vending company,” Mom said. “If the machine’s malfunctioning like that, maybe next time you’ll put your money in and not get anything out. And really…” she began fumbling in her purse “…we can pay for this bottle, if Jonah’s going to drink it….”
“No, no, it’s all good,” the janitor said. “I’ve put in money before and gotten nothing back. So this is already paid for. I just don’t want it. You enjoy it, kid, okay?” He tossed the bottle lightly to Jonah, and Jonah caught it.
Jonah did like Mountain Dew. At his tenth birthday party, he’d drunk an entire two-liter bottle of it, all by himself, on a dare. And he was thirsty. But something about the whole exchange struck him as weird and fake, like in a soft-drink commercial, where people took one sip and were suddenly dancing and singing and hugging total strangers. Was there a secret camera rolling somewhere? Would he be expected to do a testimonial at the end?