All That's Missing (10 page)

“Mrs. Sam Gretzky,” Arlo said into the phone. He had to fight to keep from laughing at the idea of Sam being related to Mrs. Gretzky.

“One moment, please.”

“She's checking,” Arlo reported as Tyrone stood over him, tapping his foot.

“There's an Arthur Gretzky on Beachcrest,” the operator said.

“That's it,” Arlo said, smiling and nodding for Bernice and Tyrone's benefit.

Bernice nodded back at him. “If you hold on, they'll connect you at no extra charge,” she said.

“OK.” Arlo held the line. What's the worst that could happen? Someone answers and he talks to them like it's his grandmother at the other end. Tyrone and Bernice wouldn't know the difference, not if Arlo kept the phone pressed tightly against his ear. And he happened to know that when Information made a connection for you, the number they called didn't register on your phone. So Tyrone couldn't hit
REDIAL
and check up on him.

The phone rang about six times. Bernice was starting to look worried. Finally, a voice came on the line. It was a man's voice on a recording. “This is the Gretzky residence. Our number has changed. If you need to reach us, please call . . .” And he gave a number.

Arlo smiled. This was perfect. More than perfect. He could say anything he wanted, and no one would know the difference.

“Did you get her?” Bernice asked.

Arlo nodded. “Is that you, Gramma? Yes. It's me. Arlo.”

“Tell her you're on your way to see her,” Bernice whispered.

“I'm coming to see you,” Arlo said, smiling at Bernice. “No. Mom couldn't come. They called her from work. . . . Yeah. I know. It
is
too bad. She really wanted to be there for your birthday.”

Bernice gave him a sympathetic look, and Arlo nodded sadly in return. It was working. He almost believed his grandmother was on the other end of the line himself.

“They told her it was some kind of emergency meeting,” he said. Then he paused. He had to leave room for somebody else to be talking at the other end, right? “That's OK,” he said. “I met this nice lady.” He smiled at Bernice. “She and her son offered to give me a ride.” Even Tyrone looked like he believed Arlo's story now. “See you soon. OK?”
Pause. Pause. Pause.
“What's that? Oh, yeah. I love you too, Gramma. Bye.”

Arlo had never given such a performance. He deserved a standing ovation. He deserved an Academy Award. Sweat dripped from his armpits as he handed Tyrone the phone. Getting away with the lie was all the reward he needed. If it helped him find Ida Jones, the lying was worth all the wear and tear on his body.

Deep down inside, Arlo had known for a long time that he and Poppo couldn't go on living the way they had been. Poppo was likely to poison himself eating food that came out of a Dumpster or from who knows where. He might set the house on fire by forgetting a pan on the stove. Some things you tried not to think about, especially if you were a kid and you didn't know how to fix them. You waited and you hoped the problem would be fixed by somebody else. And then when it wasn't fixed — when the problem only grew worse — well, then all you could do was hope you'd be lucky enough to figure out a way to fix it . . . eventually.

And that's where things had stood the day Poppo was taken to the hospital. And Arlo was working on a solution. So far things were going all right. Sure, he'd hit a few snags along the way, but nothing terrible. Not so far. And look what he'd accomplished. Twelve hours ago, he'd been at the children's shelter, and now here he was, only minutes away from seeing his grandmother.

She'd probably been waiting all these years to see her grandson, only she couldn't on account of some stupid argument between Poppo and her about his parents “running off to get married.” Whatever
that
meant. There had to be more to the story, didn't there? Whatever bad blood existed between Poppo and his grandmother, she couldn't hold it against Arlo, could she? What kind of a grandmother would do that?

Besides, he was sure there was a reason for his coming here, as if someone (or some
thing
) were guiding him. Maybe that was crazy. Maybe, on some level, he didn't really believe it. But you couldn't ignore the odd things that had happened or how lucky he had been to find Bernice the way he did. It was like one of Poppo's stories, the ones where magical things happened. Arlo tapped the carving in his pocket. Was that a tiny vibration coming back at him? More likely it was his imagination working overtime. No wonder. When you were under this much stress, every part of your body kicked into overdrive. Of course he was sensing things that weren't really there. He hadn't had much sleep either. That was part of the problem. And, when you thought about it, where was the harm in believing in spirits or angels or whatever. As long as it wasn't hurting anybody.

“You coming, Ronald?” Tyrone yelled from the driver's side of the car.

“On my way!” Arlo yelled back. He pulled the door of the sedan open and hopped inside.

“Won't be long now,” Bernice said, winking at Arlo in the mirror on the visor over her head.

Arlo hoped she was right.

Tyrone drove past strip malls and car lots. Eventually the concrete turned to grass, and soon after that, there was nothing but cornfields and tobacco crops that stretched in every direction. Small white churches dotted the landscape. Tyrone drove through little towns with feed stores and service stations and not much else. Just outside Edgewater a construction crew worked in the opposite lane. Tyrone's tires made short clipping noises as they bumped over seams of new pavement.

EDGEWATER, VIRGINIA — FOUNDED
1687 —
POP
. 1,753

“Not a very big place, is it?” Tyrone asked.

“Looks like a pretty little town to me,” Bernice said.

“I haven't been here for a long time,” Arlo said.

To their right, a brick building stood beside a hardware store. In the town square there was a pedestal with a statue of a man on the top. The man wore a funny hat.

Arlo snapped to attention in the backseat. He'd been cruising along thinking everything was OK, not even considering the fact that he had no idea where to tell Bernice and Tyrone to drop him off. In another sixty seconds, they would be past the town and it would be too late. He needed to find a house quick, someplace that looked like a grandmother might live there.

On the other hand, if he hadn't been to Edgewater in a long time, why should he remember where her house was? He had to go somewhere. What should he do? Sweat pooled in Arlo's armpits.

“You remember how to find your grandmother's house?” Bernice asked.

“I remember that statue,” Arlo lied. “Her house wasn't far from there.” That lie seemed safe enough. In a town this small, her house couldn't be far away.

“Looks like there's some houses down that street,” Tyrone said, nodding toward a shady street lined with tree-filled yards and flower gardens and mailboxes.

It looked perfect.

“That's it,” Arlo said. “I mean, it looks familiar. I think her house is down there.”

“You mean, I should turn here?” Tyrone asked.

“Yes, please.” Arlo held his breath, watching houses drift past. He needed to pick one, but he wanted to make sure nobody was home first. How could he do that from the backseat of the car? All the houses looked nice. Maybe he'd be lucky and pick one that had the door unlocked. Lots of people left houses unlocked in small towns. OK, maybe not
lots,
but some did. A few. All Arlo needed was one. And if there wasn't a car in the driveway and the house didn't have a garage, then it would probably be safe. He could get out of the car and tell Bernice to wait while he went to the door. Then he'd pretend to ring the bell and act like someone was inviting him inside. After a minute or two, he would step back outside and wave and tell them everything was OK. He'd give Tyrone time to back out of the driveway. And after they were gone, he'd go back outside and . . .

And what?

Who knows
?

One thing at a time.

That's all he could handle.

“It's that one.” Arlo pointed to a low bungalow with twin pine trees growing on either side of the front steps.

“Nice-looking place,” Tyrone said.

“Look at those flowers,” Bernice said. “Your grandma must be quite a gardener.”

“Yes, ma'am, she is.” Arlo crossed his fingers behind his back. Who knows? Maybe it was the truth.

Tyrone flipped on the blinker and made the turn.

“She'll be excited to see you, won't she?” Bernice said.

She sure will,
Arlo thought. He looked at Bernice. The way she smiled at Tyrone, you could see how proud she was of him. Then she turned and smiled at Arlo in almost the same way. Arlo figured it was because she was happy they were helping him. She was such a nice lady. It was rotten to lie to her. If it weren't for Bernice and Tyrone, Arlo wouldn't even be here. He'd still be sitting in that bus station back home. Or worse yet, at the police station, explaining why he had stolen his mother's wedding ring, or maybe even at the children's shelter. He owed Bernice and Tyrone a lot. And what had he done for them? Lied, that's what. He took a deep breath and slid forward in his seat. “Thank you for helping me,” he murmured. Something fluttered in his chest.

“What's that?” Bernice asked. “I can't hear so well over the engine noise.”

“I said thank you.” The flutter moved into Arlo's throat, pressing to get out.

“We were glad to do it. Weren't we, Tyrone?”

“Anytime,” Tyrone said. He glanced in the rearview mirror and gave Arlo a small salute.

Bernice reached into the backseat and patted Arlo on the knee. “You tell your grandmother she's a lucky lady to have such a fine grandson.”

Arlo started coughing. The words on Bernice's cross-stitch flashed through his mind.

“You all right?” Tyrone asked.

“Fine,” Arlo said.

“Ronald had a little trouble with the cheese and crackers I gave him on the bus,” Bernice said. “I expect he's still working on them. Is that it, son?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Arlo said. “I think that's what it is. Excitement about seeing my grandmother — like you said.”

Maybe someday he would have the chance to help someone the way Bernice and Tyrone had helped him. He hoped so. It would be one way to repay the debt he owed. There wasn't much else he could do. Not at the moment, anyway.

“You run on to the door and let her know you're here. Tyrone and I will wait in the car.”

Perfect.
Arlo opened the door.

“Don't forget your backpack,” Bernice called out to him.

“No, ma'am. I have it. Thank you.”

“You wave when you're ready for us to come inside. All right?”

Oh, great.
How was he going to make them leave?

“Yes, ma'am.”

Tyrone smiled through the car window.

Arlo threw his backpack over his shoulder and started toward the house. He stood in the front yard between the twin pine trees and stared at the door. His knees quivered. Who knew what trouble waited on the other side?
Go on,
Arlo told his feet. Might as well get this over with. The first step would be the hardest, the one where he walked onto the porch of a strange house and waited to see if anybody was home. He needed a miracle. He needed a grandmother to drop down out of the sky. Then he'd have to figure out how to get rid of Bernice and Tyrone. Maybe he could just wave and smile and let them see he was OK. He could always hope. He reached up and pressed the doorbell.
Oh, please.

Nothing happened. No one came to the door.

Arlo stood there waiting while Tyrone's engine idled in the driveway.

“Sure you got the right place?” Tyrone yelled.

“I'm sure.” Arlo waved back at him. Couldn't they just take the hint and drive away?

“Maybe she left the door unlocked for you,” Bernice yelled.

“Maybe,” Arlo yelled back. He reached for the doorknob and closed his eyes. On top of lying and stealing, he was about to add breaking and entering to the list of things he hadn't intended to do. The squeal of the rusty hinge was so loud, it sent vibrations through his toes. Any second, a strange person might appear and demand to know what he was doing in the middle of their front hallway. Arlo imagined police sirens blaring and an officer handcuffing his wrists behind his back. Meanwhile, the clock ticked seconds away.
One thousand one, two thousand two.
Arlo held his breath. When the clock chimed the quarter hour, he jumped and nearly knocked a vase off the hall table.

But nothing happened.

No one came.

Thank you, God.

He was safe.

Now all he had to do was get rid of Bernice and Tyrone. But how? Finally, it came to him. He'd pretend his grandmother was in the bathtub. It was so easy. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He would tell them she had been working in the yard the first time he called and that she'd wanted to take a bath before he arrived. Only they'd appeared sooner than she'd expected.