Sulli and Beckett sit on the carpet, doing crunches side-by-side in quick spurts. No one counts. They’re not competing against one another. These crazy nine-year-olds think training for swimming and ballet is fun. And we’re at Disneyland.
My face scrunches like they’re from another planet. I can’t even comment because I’ve seen it all before. Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups at random hours and random places—I’ve seen it from my own brother.
It’s a different breed of person.
It’s not me.
Jane drew a tic-tac-toe board on her hand and plays with Moffy and Xander, but my oldest son registers my looming presence, features serrated like a knife. He lowers the blue magic marker, not nervous or scared. I’m not trying to frighten Moffy.
Sulli and Beckett stop mid-crunch, eyes on me.
“You four.” I motion to all of them.
“There are five of us, Dad,” Moffy says coolly, smiling. His little brother is perched on his knee with a bag of cheese puffs.
“Xander isn’t part of this speech.” My youngest son looks up at me, reflective amber eyes that carry pure innocence, his gray Star Wars tank stained with orange cheese dust. “You’ve been an excellent Disneylander, Xander.” I only use the word Disneylander because I heard Lil use it, and it reminds me of her.
Xander starts to smile at the compliment.
Moffy frowns. “So that means we did something wrong?”
Jane raises her hand, but she speaks before I even focus on her. “Uncle Loren,” she says my full name like every Cobalt kid. “I propose that we not be punished for my brother’s personality.”
Moffy nods in agreement. “We can’t look out for Charlie. I’ve tried, Dad, but it’s not possible.”
I never have the chance to ask why.
Beckett speaks from the floor, sitting straight with one bent knee. “Charlie doesn’t want us to keep him in the group.”
Moffy adds, “He wants to do his own thing.”
Jesus Christ. “All of you—you have to look out for one another. This is just the start to the kind of chaotic places you’ll go. And I get that Charlie likes to go off on his own, but you four need to stay in touch. At least get info on where he might be headed. If he won’t tell us, he should tell all of you.” I look to Beckett, the only tame yellow-green eyes I’ve ever seen.
He shakes his head, dark brown hair swaying with him. His expression just says, I’m sorry, but you’re not right. “The whole point of being alone is so that you won’t be followed and found. And if he did tell me, I would be the first to tell you, which is precisely why he wouldn’t tell me.”
Connor said something about that over the phone. Beckett is as concerned about Charlie’s safety as the rest of us. Maybe even more.
Sulli elbows Beckett’s arm and says, “Rep of push-ups?”
Beckett nods fast, and they change positions, doing meticulous push-ups. Lowered all the way to the floor before rising back up.
Jane splays her hands on her legs, hair falling out of a pony. “Maybe we should check the Matterhorn. I heard him mentioning that ride.”
I also remember Moffy saying how he wanted to ride the Matterhorn before the day ended. I might not be Connor or even smart like my brother, but I’m not an idiot. She doesn’t really think her brother is there. Or else she would’ve mentioned Matterhorn from the moment Charlie went missing.
Jane stands.
I set a cold glare on the twelve-year-old.
Slowly, she returns to her seat. “He’ll find us. I’m sure of it,” Jane says confidently. “In the meantime, can’t we do something more?”
“You’re right. Let’s go. We can ride some rides, pretend you brother isn’t lost in a theme park where millions of people know him, and he doesn’t know a goddamn soul. Do you want some cotton candy with that?”
Jane’s shoulders just plummet, and Moffy nods to me like he understands. I don’t want them to think they’re like everyone else. Because they’re not.
They never fucking will be. The minute they forget there are people who could easily do them harm—who think about them while they stand unaware, vulnerable—that’s when everything will go to shit.
“We’re not leaving this room until…” I trail off as the door opens.
With a slowly falling mouth, Sulli mutters, “What the ever loving fuck.” That’s a new one—that I’ve never heard my brother say—but it’s accurate.
In walks a clean-cut, well-dressed nine-year-old, his eyes hidden behind black-as-night sunglasses, and when he lifts them to his brown hair, he casually takes in his surroundings. As though he expected all of this.
“Did I miss the party?” He lifts a gift shop bag. “I brought presents.” Charlie meets the ice in my eyes. Unaffected, he says like I’m not understanding, “That was a joke. I didn’t actually think there would be a party.”
To stop myself from spouting off something mean, I think about the good things.
He’s safe.
He found us.
Connor was right.
This isn’t my child. I don’t have to lecture him, give him some speech he won’t listen to, or punish him. That’s the king and queen’s job. So I gesture to Charlie. “You must’ve forgotten who your parents are—unless you just wanted to see your funeral.”
“My metaphorical funeral,” Charlie muses as he takes a seat next to Jane. “Will you cry for me, Uncle Loren? I’d cry for me.” From the way he speaks, fluidly, his voice like silk but filled with humor—the rest of the kids laugh.
I’m on edge.
“I’d weep for you, Charlie,” Jane says as Moffy draws an X on her hand.
Charlie kicks his foot on another chair, lounging, and he doesn’t have a single clue how high-strung Rose was from the moment he disappeared. How much Lily felt guilty for his journey to—where the hell did he go?
I cross my arms while Charlie pulls down his sunglasses and then rummages in his gift store bag. “For you.”
I’m unsure of who he’s talking to until he removes a Mickey Mouse hat and reaches out towards…my youngest son.
Xander is stitched on the back.
I swallow something down, maybe my anger.
My four-year-old clutches the hat, his lips upturning at the gift. Moffy helps his little brother fit on the mouse ears, the hat flattening his brown hair.
Coming from Connor Cobalt, I might question the complete sincerity—he obviously would have other motives. To appease us, calm tempers, but I’m almost positive that’s not Charlie’s intention.
I’ve seen him grab Winona’s hand before she crossed the street.
I’ve seen him help Xander secure his kneepads before he tried Moffy’s skateboard.
He’s kind with no expectations of receiving anything in return.
And he couldn’t care less if we stayed pissed, if we all hated him.
I test it. “Am I going to hear an apology?” I question sharply. It’d be hypocritical for me to ask for one. I don’t need any I’m sorrys when I handed those out like turds growing up.
Charlie thinks for a moment before saying, “‘I exist as I am, that is enough.’”
Off my confusion and what the fucking hell, Beckett says, “He quoted Walt Whitman.”
My head throbs. I press the heel of my palm to my temple. Then I think about what could’ve happened. All over again. How he left. How he was my responsibility. The room goes silent, my jaw clenched, amber eyes daggered.
Moffy covers his little brother’s ears with his hands, and then he whispers towards Charlie, “Dude, you’re fucked.” All our kids hear curse words, but they know not to say them at school—and I get it. I’m not with them, they might be saying fuck this and fuck that in fifth grade without my knowledge.
But Sulli is the only one who gets in trouble for swearing at Dalton Elementary, so the rest of them have a better time hiding it—or they just don’t curse.
Moffy also likes to reinforce the lenient don’t swear rule for his siblings, which is why he just “earmuffed” his little brother. He picked that up from Lily.
Charlie doesn’t remove his sunglasses, but his face is angled towards me.
He was your responsibility. I know.