Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,26
network backup. It automatically backs up our computers over the network, right? Even e-mail.”
All the grown-ups and Angel start looking at each other, and they all stare at Casey.
“Well, that’s true—”
“Why didn’t you say something?” my dad shouts, slapping his hand so hard on the table it rattles his water glass. Everyone jumps at this, and Casey gasps out loud. “It’s dark out, and he’s been missing for almost twelve hours! Jesus, Casey!”
Her hands fly up to her face. “I just . . . I didn’t think of it right away . . .”
“Yeah, right,” my mom whispers loudly. I can tell by the look on Casey’s face that she heard.
My dad goes over to Casey immediately, saying, “I didn’t mean to shout . . . I just . . . I’m getting desperate, here.” He tries to reach out to her shoulder, tries to pull her in for a hug, but she’s all rigid, like a flagpole.
Then Casey nods, and whispers something like “fine” or “okay” but I can’t tell. She walks around the table and away from Dad, out of the room, down the hall to the basement steps, where all her computer stuff is.
I could see the look on her face when she went by. I bet Casey has a stomachache, too.
Chapter 9
Michael
Mallory puts her hand on my shoulder and rubs lightly. I feel myself sag and realize how tense I’ve been.
“She just doesn’t get it. When you’re not a parent it’s hard to understand what it’s like to be afraid for your child.”
I shrug off Mallory’s hand. It wasn’t fair to explode at Casey, and from the look on her face, I might as well have punched her.
She’ll forgive me when it’s over. Mallory is right—it’s impossible to understand what it’s like to be a parent until you are a parent yourself.
Mallory strokes my hair above my ear, where it goes curly because I haven’t bothered with a haircut. I resist the urge to bat her hand away and instead just stand up.
“I think it’s time to call the police.”
I immediately wish I hadn’t said this in front of Jewel, whose face puckers into a snarl of worry. Angel’s eyes are round.
Mallory exhales. “Yes, I think we’d better.”
“Kids. I don’t think anything bad has happened to Dylan. He’s a smart guy. Obviously, since he’s covered his tracks. He’ll be okay,” I say, rushing past this because I’m not sure I believe it, “but because it seems he doesn’t want to be found and none of the friends we know about can find him, we have to get help. I’ll give Casey a little time to investigate his e-mail to see if we can give the police something useful to go on, and then I’ll call.”
Mallory seems refreshed, somehow, as if she’d just had a nap. She starts bustling in the kitchen, picking up the plates, packing away the leftover pizza, going instinctively to where our trash can is, since it hasn’t moved since she lived here.
I say, “Angel and Jewel, if you have any homework you should probably do it.”
“What?” shrieks Angel. “My brother is missing, and you’re making me do homework? Are you out of your mind?”
“Watch your tone. You still have school in the morning. All we’re doing is sitting around waiting here.”
“I am not going to school tomorrow.”
I open my mouth to object, and Mallory jumps in. “Honey, you can stay home.” She turns to me, one hand on her hip. “Really, Mike, what harm does it do for her to miss one day? It’s Friday tomorrow, she has the whole weekend to catch up. Do you honestly expect her to concentrate right now? And Jewel, too? Good grief, she’s only eight.”
In a flash I see myself as they see me. The Mean Dad, insisting on homework and school as important above all else, even now.
But it is important, so goes my internal dialogue.
But you sound just like your father.
My father. I suppose I’d better clue in the grandparents. They have a right to know what’s going on with their grandson. And maybe it’s possible Dylan confided in them, if he couldn’t talk to me.
I rub my temple, hating to cave in to Mallory, but hating worse the looks on my kids’ faces. “Okay. Fine. Both of you can stay home tomorrow, but we’ll pick up your homework and you’ll do it over the weekend. We’ll have found him by then. Life can’t stop because Dylan pulled this—”