“I need to start at the beginning.”
Detective Van Reusch leaned in. “Please.”
Early the next morning, I drove Dylan’s car across the bridge to return it, my bike sticking out of the trunk. I’d only slept a few hours. Grub stayed home with Mom, who’d closed the café for the day. From Dylan’s house, I’d ride to Hilltop and explain everything to Missy, then from there, to Rose’s.
This time, I’d tell everyone the truth.
The truth I’d told Detective Van Reusch the night before.
The truth I’d told Mom when I got home.
She’d taken it well—as well as could be expected, anyway. We’d sat on the front steps and talked into the wee hours of the morning. The birds were chirping by the time we went inside. Apologies were featured heavily throughout the night, not only from me, but from Mom, too. After giving me a full dressing down for going to the police station on my own, she cried, and then her accusations turned inward, blaming herself for everything that had happened.
I insisted it was my fault, that I should have paid more attention, but she insisted it was her fault, that she’d been too distracted by the café to be a proper mother to her sons. After a bit of back and forth, we finally decided that no matter who was to blame, we all needed to spend more quality time with one another, especially with Grub.
We were a family. A small one, perhaps, but that was even more of a reason to stick together, whatever happened next.
And that was still a toss-up.
The night before, Detective Van Reusch had told me he’d be returning the stolen property to Hilltop the next day. “I need to confer with Ms. Stouffer before we determine the next course of action. It’s her facility, and her right to press criminal charges. But given the circumstances, I myself am inclined to call it a misunderstanding.”
“Thank you, Detective,” I’d said, shaking his hand. He’d been more than fair with me, and I was grateful.
Mom and I both agreed I should talk to Ms. Stouffer first thing, to apologize. If she agreed not to press charges, the whole thing could be dropped. Grub and I would probably never be allowed in Hilltop again, but hopefully everyone else would be cleared, and Mary and Rose could return to their jobs. I’d miss all the staff and residents, of course, more than I wanted to admit. Letty especially.
At least she’d get her husband’s class ring back.
I was hoping Ms. Stouffer—if she wasn’t too mad after I told her the truth—would let me see Letty real quick, to explain.
But first, I had to drop off Dylan’s car. I owed him an explanation as well.
As I approached Dylan’s house, flashing lights to the north caught my eye. The parking lot at Hilltop.
Police again?
I slowed down.
Ambulance.
I flew past Dylan’s house and headed for Hilltop, remembering Rose’s words the day before. My mom is a wreck. Not only about her job, but about Blackjack, too. He’s really sick.
I parked the car and ran toward the emergency vehicle, its lights still flashing. Just then, Hilltop’s glass doors slid open and paramedics rolled out a body on a stretcher.
The face was covered.
Oh God. Please don’t be Blackjack, I prayed. Not after all this.
Missy Stouffer walked behind the stretcher. She looked surprised to see me. Then her expression turned to one I’d never seen before: pity.
“I’m so sorry, Zeus.”
I hung my head. “I’ll let my brother know. He really loved Mr. Porter.” I turned to leave.
“Zeus . . .”
I looked back. “Yeah?”
“It’s Letty Kowalczyk. She died in her sleep.”
THIRTY-FOUR
THEY’RE IN A BETTER PLACE NOW. SHE’S NOT IN PAIN ANYMORE. HE LIVED a good, long life.
The useless euphemisms and pleasantries we tell ourselves when someone dies, to make sense of it.
Passed on. Crossed over. Entered the Sweet Hereafter.
Dead. Forever. Gone.
Letty was gone, two days past ninety.
After sitting in Dylan’s car for thirty minutes, I drove to Rose’s. I was still stunned, and so were Rose and Mary when I told them the news. How could a person be so alive one day, then gone the next? I guess it should’ve made me feel better knowing that Letty had lived a long, happy life, and that she’d now “crossed over” to some grand party in the sky. But instead I felt hollow and broken. And incredibly sad.
Once we’d recovered from the initial shock, Mary made us tea. Then I swallowed my grief and told them about everything else—Grub, Blackjack, the top-secret mission, the police station—all of it.
“So that’s why you didn’t answer your phone last night,” Rose murmured, placing her hand over mine. “We were worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Rose. And you too, Mary. I should’ve been watching Grub more carefully. And now your jobs are at stake. I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“You can’t blame yourself, Zeus,” Mary said. “I missed the signs, too. Grub made Blackjack so happy this summer, happier than he’s been in years. I allowed them both more freedom than I should have. We all did.”
“But Ms. Stouffer has to understand that, doesn’t she?” Rose asked. “Nobody did anything wrong on purpose.”
“No,” Mary agreed. “And certainly not Grub. How’s he doing, Zeus? This all must have been so frightening for him.”
“He’s a little shaken up. Mom and I are going to talk to him today about what happened. Speaking of that, I should get going. Thanks for the tea.”
“Talk soon?” Rose asked.
I smiled at her. “Talk soon.”
I hugged Rose and Mary good-bye, dropped the car off at Dylan’s with a quick promise to explain things later, then pedaled home.
I filled Mom in privately on the events of the morning. She knew how close I’d grown to Letty, and offered her best consolation. Later, we took Grub out for ice cream. We both reassured him that nobody was mad at him, but we also talked about Blackjack’s illness and how sometimes it made his brain play tricks on him.
Grub blinked back tears. “Does that mean I can’t play army with him anymore? I thought we were just pretending.”
“You can still play army and pretend, Manny. But your brother and I need you here in the real world, too,” said Mom, running a finger down his cheek. The cell phone buzzed in her purse. She took it out and frowned. “I’ll be right back.”
Grub glanced at me as she walked away, his face creased with worry.
“Mom’s not mad or sad, Grub, she’s just concerned,” I explained, remembering a certain conversation earlier that summer. “It’s what moms do. It’s her job to worry about us. I promise.”
Grub picked the blue, red, and green gummy bears out of his vanilla ice cream, leaving only the yellow ones. “You promised me before. You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I know I did. Listen, about that . . .”
He looked up at me then, his brown eyes solemn.
“Sometimes keeping secrets is a bad thing,” I continued.
“What do you mean?”