address down, and walk inside to Claire. “I’m just going to the grocery store. I’ll need to take your car. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.” She sighs heavily, as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I take her into my arms and softly kiss her. “He’s home now, babe. You can relax.” I brush the hair back from her face.
She smiles up at me. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Feels good hearing that. I smile and kiss her again. “Back soon.”
Half an hour later I pull up to the address and knock on the front door. “Hello,” the lady answers.
“Hi, I’m here for the phone. Thank you so much for answering my call.”
“Oh, that’s okay, dear.” She smiles warmly. “I’ll just get it.” She disappears inside and then returns and hands it over. I stare at the phone in my hand. Carefully placed in a ziplock bag.
“Where did you find it?” I ask.
“Up on the corner of Elm and Second.”
“Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it.” I walk out and get into my car and put the street names into the GPS.
What are you up to, Wizard?
I pull the car up slowly at the corner of Elm and Second and stare at the huge black metal gates in front of me and read the sign.
SUFFOLK COUNTY CEMETERY
My heart drops. There’s only one person I know who may be here.
Wade Anderson.
He was coming to see his dad.
Sadness fills me as the pieces of the puzzle click into place.
With a heavy heart, I turn the car on and do a U-turn. I need to get back.
It’s just around six o’clock, and I finish up the dinner I’ve cooked for us—spaghetti bolognese. I need some carbs before I curl up and die. Claire fell asleep on the couch watching a movie, and Patrick and Fletcher are sitting on the bench talking to me.
My mind isn’t here with them; it’s up with Harrison in his room.
He’s grounded, and I’ve listened to Claire take his every privilege from him this afternoon.
It’s none of my business, and I can’t intrude . . . but I feel for the kid.
I dish him up a large bowl of dinner, slather it in grated cheese, and put some garlic bread and a drink on a tray.
He’s not allowed out of his room. I’ll take him dinner before Claire wakes.
I make my way upstairs and knock on the door.
No answer.
I slowly open it to see him lying with his back to the door.
“I brought you some dinner, Wiz.”
No answer. He ignores me.
Hmm . . .
I walk in and close the door behind me. I place the tray down on his desk and put my hands on my hips as I watch him. “You all right?” I ask.
“Get out.” He sighs sadly.
I sit on the end of the bed, trying to work out what to say. “I found your phone.”
His eyes flick to me.
“A lady found it, and I went and picked it up.”
His eyes drop to the floor.
“Why don’t you tell your mother that you go to the cemetery?”
He clenches his jaw but remains silent.
“Is that where you are whenever you go missing?”
His eyes meet mine, and I know that it is.
“How long does it take you to ride out there on your bike?” It’s fifteen miles—must take him ages.
He stays silent.
“You got a flat tire last night, and you couldn’t get home?” I ask. “And then it poured rain, and you were stuck in it for hours as you walked home?”
He still doesn’t answer me.
“I’m not against you here, Wiz. I’m on your side.” I put my hand on his foot. “I’m trying to work out what the fuck is going on with you. Why wouldn’t you just ask your mother to take you there? Why do you lie about where you’ve been?”
“Because whenever she goes there, she cries for a week, and I can’t stand seeing her sad.”
God.
I drop my head, and we sit in silence for a while. “Where did you get the money for the cigars?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me in horror.
“You’re not in trouble.”
He stays quiet, and then eventually he replies, “I saved my allowance for six months.”
I frown in confusion.
He turns away and looks at the wall. “They were for Dad,” he whispers softly.
I close my eyes as a sadness fills my chest.
Poor fucking kid.
“Just tell your mom where you were. She won’t be angry at you,” I urge.
“What for? She’ll just haul me back to the psychologist.