Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,94

rock in my stomach was settling back into its old, familiar spot once again.

I did a quick loop of the campus, then went past his locker and scanned the library, just in case I had missed him. But he wasn’t anywhere and it felt like my dream from the night before was suddenly becoming a horrible reality. Oliver was gone and I couldn’t find him.

But this time was different. This time, I knew where he was.

I ran to my car, my hands shaking so hard that my keys jingled together. The parking lot was packed with people returning from lunch, so no one noticed when I pulled out and sped down the street. I wanted to call my mom, but I was scared that she would freak out. I wanted to call Maureen, but I didn’t have her number. And I wanted to call the police, but I was scared that Oliver would somehow be in trouble, that he’d be charged with helping his dad. I didn’t know what the rules were, or if his dad was even waiting for him.

So I got into my car and went to find Oliver.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The restaurant was half empty when I drove past it. Apparently, my mom wasn’t the only person who hadn’t liked their fries. At first, I had been afraid that I wouldn’t remember how to get there, but then familiar markers—the gas station on the corner, the dollar store, the psychic who only charges twenty-five dollars to lie to you—started to pop up, and when I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Oliver and his dad sitting across from each other in a booth.

The rock in my stomach shifted again and I thought I might throw up. I couldn’t really see his dad but I could see Oliver, who was fiddling with a coffee mug. I had never seen him drink coffee before.

I parked, then got out and walked to the restaurant on wobbly legs. I had no idea what I was doing, but now that I had seen Oliver, I wasn’t going to leave. I wondered if, somehow, that’s how Maureen had felt when he came home, that once he was back in your sight, it was such sweet relief that you’d do anything to keep him there.

I walked past the hostess and went toward the booth. Now all of me felt wobbly and when I got close, I realized that the man he was sitting with was, in fact, Oliver’s dad. He just looked so much older than I remembered him. My memories were of a tall man with thick, dark hair and sharp eyes, just like Oliver’s. But this man was gray, with a thinning hairline, and when he glanced at me, his eyes were just tired and sad.

Oliver turned to see what his dad was looking at, and I stood there dumbly, staring at both of them. “Emmy,” Oliver said, but he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

The realization quickly dawned on Oliver’s dad—on Keith—that I was the little girl from next door. “Oh my God,” he exhaled. “Emmy. Oh my goodness, you’re so . . . grown up.” He smiled nervously and glanced at Oliver. “The two of you are so grown up.”

“It’s okay,” Oliver said to me. “Come sit down, it’s all right. It’s fine.” He patted the booth seat and I slid in warily next to him, then reached for his hand and grabbed on so tight that he winced.

“You’ve grown up to be so beautiful,” Keith said, and I just stared at him. For ten years, he had been the bad guy, the literal monster that takes children away from their homes, and now sitting across from him, he looked so normal, so average, like any older guy wearing khakis and a polo shirt with a wrinkled, slightly frayed collar.

“Thanks,” I said, my mother’s politeness training apparently still in place. My voice was flat, though.

“I was just telling my dad about you,” Oliver said.

“Yes, um, Oliver said that you and he have become close friends again. I’m so happy to hear that.” Now Keith was the one fiddling with his coffee mug. His hands were shaking just like Oliver’s had the night before. Oliver was watching him and I pressed my leg against his, feeling the tension in both of us.

“In fact,” Keith continued, “I was just telling Oliver how glad I am that he and his mom are able to be together again.”

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?”