Rose.
I called her number. She answered on the first ring. “Zeus?”
“Rose. Are you okay?”
Silence. Then a sound. Crying. “What the hell is going on, Zeus?”
“What do you mean?” Silence. Rose sniffed. “What is it?” I asked.
“Where did you go? I had to talk to a detective earlier.”
I felt like I was losing my mind. “What?”
“My mom did too.”
“Why’d Missy call the cops?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late now. A criminal record will look great on my college applications.”
“Wait, what? What happened? They arrested you?” I supported my forehead with my free hand.
“No.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “But they interviewed everyone. And Blackjack told the detective my mom and I stole everything.”
“What!? The detective didn’t believe him, did he? Rose, he has Alzheimer’s!”
“I know that! But none of the other missing property has been found yet. And you found his medals in my mom’s locker! How were we supposed to explain that?”
I felt the items digging into my legs as I spoke. I squeezed my eyes shut at the lie. Then I almost puked at the truth.
“Rose, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it?”
“I will.”
Rose paused. “How? Missy suspended me and my mom without pay until this gets cleared up. My mom is a wreck. Not only about her job, but about Blackjack, too. He’s really sick. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Oh God, Rose,” I said, standing up again abruptly. “I’m so sorry.”
“The detective said he wants to talk to you. Grub, too. When he asked where you were, someone told him they saw you two run out the front door.”
My hands and feet went cold, despite it being a hot August night. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, then grabbed my hair in a fist. Ripping it all out would have felt better than the guilt coursing through me.
There was only one thing to do.
“I’ll take care of everything, I promise,” I said.
I hung up and started walking.
I walked and I walked, rehearsing what I’d say.
I entered the police station and asked to speak with an officer.
THIRTY-THREE
THE CAMERA IN THE CEILING CORNER STARED AT ME, ITS RED EYE unblinking. I wondered if I was being recorded. Probably. I tried to control my breathing. I’d never been in any real trouble in my life. But things hadn’t gone as planned.
My plan had been to hand over the missing property, explain how I’d found it on the street, then walk out of there. Simple as that.
Or so I’d thought.
Fifteen minutes later I sat in an interrogation room awaiting a detective.
“He just wants to ask you a few questions,” the first officer had said after he’d taken my statement. “Wanna call your parents, have them meet you down here while you’re waiting?”
“No, thanks,” I replied, trying to look more confident than I felt.
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir. My mom’s at home with my little brother. I’ll fill her in when I get back.”
“If you insist.”
Nearly an hour passed.
What was taking so long? I rubbed my hands together to keep them warm in the overly air-conditioned room. I bounced my knees up and down. Rose called. Twice. Three times. Mom called a few times too. Dylan texted. I didn’t answer any of them. I’d explain later.
Finally, the door opened, making me jump.
A man wearing jeans and a black polo shirt walked in, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, a manila folder in the other. A lanyard and badge hung from his neck. On his hip, a gun. He appeared to be in his forties, with short salt-and-pepper hair and gray stubble on a chiseled jawline. I’d seen him before. It was the cop from the Open Mic.
He dropped the folder on the table between us.
“Mr. Gunderson,” he said without looking at me. He sat across the table and opened the folder. I couldn’t believe this was the same guy who’d sung “American Girl” at the Beauty Saloon.
“Hi.” My voice sounded like someone else’s. Higher, weaker.
The detective flipped through the folder for a moment before speaking. “I’m Detective Van Reusch.” Another long pause as he scanned a piece of paper from top to bottom. “No parent here with you? Lawyer?”
“No, sir. I’m not in trouble, am I?”
The detective looked up at me, but didn’t reply. The silence was deafening.
“I thought—” My words caught in my throat. I began to wonder if I’d made a huge mistake. “I just wanted to turn in the stuff I found. Do I need to have a lawyer or parent here?”
Detective Van Reusch sat back and folded his hands. “No, although you do have that right. I was told you walked in here of your own accord. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then, you’re free to leave anytime,” he said, motioning toward the door. “I just have a few questions.”
“Okay.”
He held up the paper he was looking at and showed it to me. “Officer Higgerson informed me you found these items. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Detective Van Reusch nodded. “On the sidewalk?”
“Yes.”
“Just stumbled upon them?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded again. “And are you aware these items were reported stolen from Hilltop Nursing Home earlier this evening?”
I blinked. “I just found everything in the box and turned it in right away.”
Detective Van Reusch rubbed his chin and scanned the report. “So let me get this timeline straight. Property gets stolen from the residents of Hilltop Nursing Home, everything gets placed in a box, and then you find it on the sidewalk a couple hours later and turn it in.” He shot his eyes up at me. “That correct?”
“Correct.”
“Uh-huh.” Another long pause. “Tell me, Mr. Gunderson, were you at Hilltop Nursing Home earlier today?”
My stomach dropped. I remembered what Rose had said on the phone. “The detective said he wants to talk to you . . . someone told him they saw you two run out the front door.”
I hadn’t figured out an explanation for that part of the story yet. My mind raced, trying to come up with some plausible reason for running out of Hilltop.
“It’s a simple question. Were you at Hilltop Nursing Home earlier today?”
“Uh, yes.”
Detective Van Reusch took a deep breath and leaned forward on his elbows. “So was I. In fact, I took this report,” he said, wagging the folder at me.
I swallowed. My tongue felt dry and swollen.
“Look, multiple witnesses saw you and your brother running away shortly before I arrived. And that lovely director, Ms. Stouffer, said it was you who found Mr. Porter’s medals. Now, I’m not saying you stole the property.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “But innocent people don’t run.” He let that sink in a while before continuing. “Are you sticking with your story?”
This isn’t going well. Why hadn’t I told Mom the truth, or just returned everything right away? I knew I was standing on thin ice. But I couldn’t change my story now. That’d look even worse.
“Yes, sir. That’s how it happened. I found the box on the sidewalk,” I replied.
“Mm-hmm.” The detective took another sip of coffee and grimaced as he swallowed it. “Mr. Gunderson, I’ve been doing this a long time. In my line of work, we call your story suspicious. Some might even say you’re interfering with an official police investigation by giving false information. Are you telling me the truth, Mr. Gunderson?”
By now, I felt certain the detective could see my heart thudding beneath my T-shirt. I began to speak, but nothing came out.
Detective Van Reusch continued. “That’s what I
thought. Personally, I don’t think you stole the property yourself. But I think you know who did. Who are you covering for?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I heard Grub crying earlier. Don’t tell Mom . . . promise me. Don’t tell anyone.
I heard Mom. There’s nothing wrong with that boy, do you hear me?
Rose. I don’t know what we’re going to do.
Me. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.
I couldn’t back down now.
I opened my eyes and cleared my throat. “I didn’t just find those things on the sidewalk, I took them myself,” I said. “No one else had anything to do with it.”
Detective Van Reusch tilted his head and studied me for several seconds. “Now you’re saying you took everything?”
I nodded.
“You, a kid with no criminal record—no motive at all, in fact—stole jewelry from nursing home residents?”
My new story didn’t sound very convincing to me either. But I was sixteen, a minor. How bad could the punishment be? I found a spot on the table to stare at.
“Mr. Gunderson, depending on the value of these items, this could be a class two felony. Grand larceny. And if you’re covering for someone else, that won’t go well for you either.”
Felony.
Larceny.
Jail.
“You want to tell me what really happened, son?”
Suddenly, I did want to tell him, but I could hardly piece it all together. The truth had been twisted and turned and stretched into something unrecognizable . . .
An old man’s shattered memory.
A young boy’s misguided game.
An older brother’s neglect.
I shut my eyes and tried to concentrate. After a minute, I took a deep breath and spoke.
“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?”
I searched for an example he’d understand. “Like with Blackjack. He made you promise not to tell anyone about the secret mission, but eventually you told me. And it was the right thing to do.”
Grub thought for a moment. “How do you know when something’s the right thing to do?”
I gave him a soft pat on the shoulder, then rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not always easy. Sometimes you’ll do the wrong thing, and people will be mad at you. Other times you’ll say the wrong thing and make someone sad. And then sometimes nothing will make any sense at all and it will seem like, no matter what you do, you’re making the wrong choice.”
Grub played with his ice cream for a minute, thinking. “That sounds complicated.”
“It is. But the important thing is, you can always trust me, Grub. And I’ll always trust you. We’re brothers, right?”
He turned and smiled at me. Melted ice cream ringed his mouth. “Right.”
“Good news,” Mom said, bustling back over. “That was Detective Van Reusch. All the property has been returned to the owners, and Ms. Stouffer isn’t pressing charges. The whole case is being dropped! Apparently neither she nor the police want rumors floating around that Hilltop Nursing Home isn’t a safe, secure facility for its residents.”