“Did you have a good talk?” Mom called out from the study before I could get back to my room.
I poked my head in. “Yeah. She said we’re going back to school tomorrow.”
Mom nodded. “I don’t see why not.”
“Even though it’s Friday?”
“Last time I checked, there was still school on Fridays. And you and Aidan have missed enough already. Your teachers can catch you up tomorrow so you won’t be so behind next week.”
She started asking me about homework, and I was going through it class by class when Aidan barged in, the phone still in his hand.
He glared at our mom. “I can’t believe you told her! Why did you tell her?”
“Because she’s my sister and I tell her everything.”
“But that’s mine! Aveinieu is mine. You even told her its name!”
“Why does that matter? She’s not going to tell anyone. And, quite honestly, I needed her opinion, because I don’t quite know what to do with your story, Aidan. Until you tell us what really happened, I’m at something of a loss. Officer Pinkus told us to be patient with you, and we will be. I know that whatever happened, it had to have been a lot. And the last thing I want is for you to disappear again. If you don’t want to let us in, that’s fine. But this is something your dad and I and Lucas are going through too. And we need to do what we have to in order to navigate it. For me, that means talking to Brandi. I’m not going to be telling your story to the mailman or your teachers or even your grandparents. The last thing I want is for anyone else to hear it.”
Mom had just thrown a lot at him, but there was only one thing Aidan caught.
“So you don’t believe me?” he said.
Mom took a deep breath. “It’s just very hard to believe, Aidan. But if it’s the story you want to tell, I’ll support that. I’m only worried—we’re all worried—that there’s something underneath that you’re trying to hide. And it will be much better for you to let it come to the surface, so we can deal with it together.”
Before, if Mom called Aidan on something, he would match her attack with one of his own. If she tried to pin him down with a sentence, he’d use a sentence to get out of it. If she tried to pile on a paragraph, he’d build his own paragraph and push it over to her. So I was expecting him to really let go of some words now, to say something like, If you really want some things to come to the surface, let me show you the thoughts that are coming up right now.
But instead, “It’s the truth” was all he said. Then he handed the phone to me and went back to the den.
I passed the phone to my mother, who also looked like she’d been expecting more back from Aidan. That was how they connected.
Now she asked me, “I’m not off base, am I?” Then, realizing who she was talking to, she walked it back. “Never mind. We’ve all been under a lot of strain. Brandi said to keep that in mind, and to make allowances.”
“Are you sure that includes going back to school tomorrow?”
This got a half smile from Mom, which under the circumstances counted as a full smile.
“Yes. It does.”
* * *
—
We pretty much stayed in our separate rooms until three o’clock. Then Mom caught Aidan making a move for the front door. I could hear them from our bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mom asked.
“To Glenn’s. School’s over. He texted that he’s home.”
“You aren’t going anywhere. He can come here another day. You’re grounded for the near future—you are not to leave this house without an adult around.”
“Not even to Glenn’s?”
“Not even to Glenn’s.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I’m not sure you get to be the judge of fair and not fair right now, Aidan.”
“Fine!”
Aidan’s footsteps stomped toward me, and soon he was back in the room. I pretended to be doing my homework.
He wasn’t fooled.
“I assume you heard all that?” he said.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I guess I’m a prisoner here.”
I didn’t point out that we’d all been prisoners for six days while he was gone. Instead I said, “It doesn’t make much sense anyway.”
“Yeah. What would happen if I went to Glenn’s house?”
“No, I mean, what’s the point of grounding you and keeping you here if the way you get out is up in the attic?”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be funny. It was meant to be, like, logical.”
“It’s not going to open up again.”
This intrigued me. “How do you know?”
Instead of elaborating, Aidan said, “I just know.”
Then he left the room.
* * *
—
It felt like Mom spent the afternoon on the phone. “He hasn’t told us anything yet,” she kept saying. “He hasn’t told us anything at all.”
* * *
—
At around five, Aidan went up to the attic. But he was back down in two minutes and gave me a dirty look for checking up on him.
* * *
—
Dad came home. We had dinner. I thought we were supposed to be acting like everything was normal, but it didn’t feel normal. Aidan wouldn’t talk or eat. Dad and Mom kept looking at him. They didn’t pay any attention to me. The mystery filled the room so much that it was hard to breathe.
Aidan was no longer missing, but now it was like the answers to his disappearance were missing instead.
17
Aidan and I didn’t say much the whole night. Then we were in our room and the lights were out and both of us were there in bed, trying to sleep and not sleeping. Sharing a room, this was often the space for us to let off what was on our minds, what might keep us awake or simply what we needed to tell someone else before we forgot it the next day. Usually it was Aidan who spoke up, whether because he had more to say or because he needed an audience more. Sometimes he’d just be telling me about something he and his friends had found online. (“Did you know that some people dress up their pet badgers for Halloween?”) Or maybe he’d be venting about some injustice, online or off. (“There are three guys in this house and only one Mom, so I don’t see why, statistically, it makes sense for us to have to put down the toilet seat every single time after we pee. Especially in our bathroom.”) Mostly my job was to laugh or to agree.