“I didn’t know all that stuff you said… about the French names.”
“Mine isn’t spelled the French way, but… yeah. Our moms made a pact.” He licks his lips. “I guess I didn’t realize the Rafaela shit was bugging me until last night, and then I just let everything out at once.”
“There’s nothing between me and Rafaela,” I say quickly, and Emil looks as if he doesn’t believe me. “It’s not like what I have with you. And I don’t know what that is, but… I care about you, Emil.”
“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”
“I’m not. But that girl I told you about—my old roommate—I cared about her, too. And I feel like I need to figure things out with her before I start anything new.”
“You still like her?”
“I don’t know.” And I don’t. I don’t even know if Iris will ever talk to me again, but I have to try to make things right with her, somehow. “But I like you. And I like being with you. And I don’t know what I would’ve done without you this summer.”
He looks at me warily. “Yeah?”
I’m out of words. I put my hands on either side of his face, lean in, and kiss him softly. He’s still for a moment and I freeze, wondering if he’s going to refuse me completely. But then his hands find the small of my back, grazing over my dimples of Venus.
Emil kisses me back and I know he believes me.
When we walk into the house, the mood is more somber than before. Mom is halfheartedly taking notes to organize the search party with Catherine by her side. Saul is zoned out on his phone, tapping endlessly at the screen. Kevin, Emil’s dad, is staring at his hands, as if the solution to this predicament rests in his palms. Rafaela is pacing the room; I’d never take her for a pacer, but she’s burning a path back and forth across the hardwood floor.
If we were in an actual fairy-tale house, like she said, there would be a fat, dark storm cloud hovering over our roof instead of sunbeams that won’t quit slipping their way into every room of the house. Everyone loves L.A. for the warmth and sun, but sometimes I’d give anything for a proper dark, rainy day that matched my mood.
Emil and I sit next to each other. Not touching, but I’m glad he’s next to me.
Saul’s phone rings, scaring the shit out of him even though he was holding it in front of his face. He frantically pushes the talk button. “Hello? Hello?”
Everyone sits up. Rafaela stops pacing. I can’t remember the last time I was in a room so silent.
“Yes, this is he. Yes… yes. No, I did not. Okay.” Saul frowns. “Listen, I really don’t have time for this.… Yes, I care about the security of my card, but you declined the transaction. Which is good, because I’m not in San Luis Obispo, I’m sitting in my home waiting for my son to—”
We all sit forward as he stops talking and then, when he starts again, as the tone of his voice noticeably changes, as light comes into his eyes for the first time since last night. He stands up and starts walking around aimlessly, and Mom somehow knows that translates into him needing a pen and shoves one at him, along with a piece of scrap paper. Saul scribbles something quickly and barely says good-bye before he hangs up.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“Was that about Lionel?” I chime in from the couch.
Saul doesn’t answer us, just begins frantically dialing a number. He’s babbling, not completing a sentence before he gets to the next one. I manage to make out his name and something about the credit card company before he stops talking and starts nodding. Then smiling. Mom is next to him, frozen in place just like everyone in the room.
“He’s there, with you?” Saul finally says. His voice rises with each word and the room is so quiet I’m sure all seven of us are collectively holding our breath. “You’re sure it’s him?” He pauses, then, “Yes, he does have some of the prettiest red hair we’ve ever seen. That’s our boy.”
Mom and Rafaela immediately begin crying tears of relief, but I can’t move. My brother is alive, and it sounds like he’s safe, too. Emil slips his fingers between mine and squeezes.
Saul finally hangs up and his eyes are wet, too. “That was a bookstore, up in SLO. They specialize in rare books and said Lionel came in this morning. He tried to purchase a book for twenty thousand dollars.”
He’s laughing, and I’ve never been so happy to hear it.
Luck was on our side. Lionel is safe. Even without his meds, he led us straight to him.
twenty-four.
The drive to San Luis Obispo is just over three hours, and we don’t even run into bad traffic.
We take the 101 North all the way. I gaze out at the crystal-blue water of the Pacific as we drive along the coast for a stretch. I’m glad to have the sun on my face now. Lionel is safe.
The bookstore is a family-owned business. The woman who owns it said most of the people who try to use stolen cards get out as fast as they can after they’re found out, but Lionel just stood there and started crying. Sobbing. She said she had a feeling someone might be looking for him, and her husband got him something to eat while she was trying to find Saul’s number. Saul called while she was still looking.
I haven’t said a word the whole trip, and Mom and Saul don’t say much, either. We just want to get there, and somehow, not talking makes the drive seem faster. The bookstore people said they would take good care of Lionel, but three hours is a long time. Long enough to worry that they won’t keep their promise.
Lionel picked one of the best places to get lost. San Luis Obispo is on the Central Coast, with a downtown area full of restaurants and boutiques and bars and shops. It has one of those old-time drive-in theaters, and DeeDee and her dad once stayed here at a famous hotel where all the rooms have different themes, with big stone walls like caves and shag carpet and brightly patterned wallpaper.
Mom and Saul don’t let me go in with them when we get to the bookstore. I know it’s because they don’t want Lionel to get overwhelmed, but I’m antsy the entire time they’re gone. I briefly consider trailing them in, hiding in a corner until they’re ready to go. But they’d kill me. Mom looked back in at me before they left and said, “Don’t go anywhere.”
And when they come back, it’s not they at all. Just Mom. “Come sit next to me,” she says once she’s in the driver’s seat. “Saul is taking Lionel back in his car.”
“Oh.” I want to see him, but by the shaken expression on Mom’s face, maybe it’s best that I don’t. I slide into the passenger seat next to her. “How is he?”