I sat in their living room as I went over everything for what felt like the millionth time that day. I saw Beth hovering in the background. “And that’s all, Josh?” the policewoman said, like she was trying to squeeze just a little more out of me. Like maybe she knew I was holding something back.
Now, I remember thinking. Now I should mention the man in the white truck. But to be honest, I thought it was unlikely that the two things—the man and Sam—were connected. I’d just overreacted, like a wuss. That guy was probably just trying to be nice, and I would get him in trouble. It was nothing. Besides, I’d never even looked at the truck’s license plate. I couldn’t even remember what make or model it was. My image of it—and the man himself—were fuzzy already, and getting fuzzier by the minute.
I said, “No, that’s all. I’ve told you everything I remember.”
===
When Mom pulls up to Pine Forest Elementary, the parking lot is packed. There are vans with satellite dishes taking up multiple parking spaces. I spot the local news logo on one, and also CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox.
“This is a circus,” Mom says, circling the lot, finally finding a spot.
Is this a big news story? I guess I already know the answer. Kid missing for three years suddenly reappears, alive. Kid missing for three years, living only a few hours away all this time. It’s crazy even if you don’t know the boy in question. And if you do know him? If you were the last person to see him? It’s unbelievable. Like a movie or something. But more than that. It’s like I had stepped through a thin wall into another world, where fantastical things were possible. If Sam could come back alive, then maybe in this world I could fly. Maybe in this world I could twitch my nose and disappear.
“Josh? You ready to go in?”
I follow Mom into the gymnasium, where a huge crowd is gathered. The scene inside is noisy and festive, like everyone is there to welcome home a victorious sports team. Toward the front, underneath one of the basketball hoops, a long table is set up, as well as a podium. A bunch of folding chairs are out in front of this, most of the seats filled with people already, mainly adults. Who are these people? Why are they here? Do they even know Sam, or his parents?
Off to the side, reporters and people with cameras are all huddled together, roped off near a bunch of gym mats. I recognize a few of them from TV.
Mom and I stand in the back, behind all the chairs, so we have a clear view of the tables where Sam and his family are supposed to sit.
“You okay?” Mom says. “We can leave if you don’t think—”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not fine. I don’t know what I am. Nervous, scared, excited, all of it mixed together. Still, I want to stay. I have to. I have to see him.
Finally, a sheriff or a policeman—some man wearing a uniform—comes out to the podium. The crowd immediately quiets down.
I watch, but I can’t take in anything this man says. I’m waiting for Sam to appear. And then finally they’re announced, the family, and out comes Mr. Manderson, and then Beth, followed by Mrs. Manderson, holding a boy’s hand. Of course it’s Sam. I know it. He’s taller, lanky but with broad shoulders. His brown hair is shaggy, and from a distance it looks like he has piercings or something. He seems shy as the crowd starts to cheer, like we are all welcoming some reclusive rock star at a concert.
The family sits at the table in front of microphones that have been set up. Sam sits next to his mom and briefly leans his head on her shoulder, like a little kid would.
I stare at him, maybe hoping he’ll notice me. He looks dazed, almost like he’s not sure where he is.
Mrs. Manderson finally speaks into the microphone. “I always knew this day would come. I never gave up hope. I never stopped trying to find him. I never stopped praying.”
I glance at Beth, sitting next to Sam. She’s got her eyes focused down at the table, so I can’t see her expression. She has to be happy, right?
“God has answered our prayers,” Mrs. Manderson says, and the crowd murmurs in agreement. She looks at Sam fondly, and hugs him close before releasing him. Then she starts answering questions.
Right then Sam seems to come out of his daze and notice the crowd. He scans the room, like he’s searching for someone.
Suddenly the gymnasium feels hot, too crowded. I look over at Mom, and she’s riveted, her eyes glassy. I slowly back away through the crowd and once I clear the thickness of people I head for the doors. I push through them and see that it’s dark out now, which is a relief for some reason. Time hasn’t stopped after all. The world’s still turning. I stand there for a minute, picturing this new, older Sam. He didn’t see me, I’m sure of that. But would he have recognized me? I’ve changed, too. Nick and I, we do push-ups and weights at the gym his dad belongs to. And I’m taller. I’m not the kid he used to know. Not the kid he could push around and laugh at.
“Josh?”
I turn and see Mom leaving the gym, walking toward me. “Honey, are you okay?”
I walk toward the car. “I want to go home,” I say, not stopping.
===
When we get to the house, I just go to my room, and Mom lets me without sitting me down for a talk, thank God. I have homework to do. I turn my cell off. I know Nick has been texting. Max and Raj and Ty, too, all of my friends. I open my book bag and get to it, laying my folders and books and notes out on my bed, next to my desk, attacking everything in an orderly fashion. Spanish and biology quizzes tomorrow, so those are first. A set of algebra problems. A chapter in my Alabama history textbook. In English, we’re reading The Red Badge of Courage, which is kind of boring, but I manage to get through about twenty pages before Mom knocks on the door. “Josh, dinner’s ready,” she says.
“I’m not really hungry,” I reply, maybe a little too loudly.
She opens the door then, looks at me while I sit at my desk with my books. “Do you want to talk about it?” she says. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“I’ve still got a lot of homework.” I turn back to my book, but I know she’s staring at me, like she’s trying to see if I’m okay or if I’m going to break down and cry or something.
“If you get hungry, come down and I’ll fix you something. Or I could order you some pizza. Whatever you want.”
“Okay,” I say, really trying to focus on the words in the book. The trees about the portal of the chapel moved soughingly in a soft wind. Soughingly? I look to the door, and Mom’s still there, and I smile at her and look back at the novel.
Finally, she closes the door. I listen, and I can hear faint voices downstairs. Mom and Dad, probably talking about me. Probably worried.
I shut the book. I sit there a minute. My phone is still off.
Three years.