All That's Missing (15 page)

Arlo lay atop the quilt on the squeaky double bed in his father's old room. He wasn't sleepy. In fact, sleep was the last thing on his mind. Sure, he was tired, but his mind was swirling. He couldn't make it stop.

“Just knock on my door if you need anything,” his grandmother had said when she
retired for the evening.
That's the way she had said it, as if they were in some grand English manor and the butler was going to bring up a breakfast tray in the morning. It was just a house. OK, it was a big house. It had two staircases, the one behind the door off the kitchen and another grander one between the living room and the dining room. And it had probably been a nice place once . . . a
long
time ago. But there certainly weren't any butlers roaming the halls today. The spare bathroom had a pile of broken tile cluttering the tub, and there were squirrels in the attic. At least that's what Arlo thought they were. They made a lot of noise.

He stared at the ceiling, at a dark-brown spot in the shape of a brontosaurus. In his mind's eye, he gave the brontosaurus an eye and a mouth and then two giant feet. He imagined climbing onto the back of the brontosaurus and riding all the way home to Marshboro.

But then there was a clicking of toenails on wood floors, and Arlo glanced across the room to see Steamboat bounding toward him.

“Are you checking on me?” he asked.

Steamboat trotted over to the bed. When Arlo held out his hand, Steamboat licked his fingers.

“Want to sleep in here, boy?”

Steamboat wagged his tail.

“Come on up, then.”

Arlo tapped a spot on the quilt. Steamboat hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the hall.

“Ida's asleep, isn't she?” Arlo surprised himself referring to his grandmother by her first name, but that's what Poppo always called her, so it seemed to be what he should call her, too.

Steamboat dipped his head and then raised it again, confirming what Arlo had said.

“Good,” Arlo said. “If she's asleep, then it's OK for you to sleep here. Come on.” He tapped the quilt again.

Steamboat gave his tail another wag and hopped onto the bed.

Arlo couldn't help wondering if Ida had always been as prickly as she was now. And what about his grandfather? If Slocum had been sterner than Ida — Arlo shivered at the thought — who could blame his father for leaving home?

Arlo tried to imagine his father growing up in this room. Had he and Slocum Jones done things together the way Poppo and Arlo did? Had they gone fishing in the river? Or taken hikes in the woods? Or had his father lain awake the way Arlo had done in the children's shelter, plotting how he might escape?

First thing in the morning, Ida tapped on Arlo's door.

“The shower's broken in your bathroom,” she said. “You don't mind sharing, do you?”

Arlo rubbed his eyes. Steamboat was gone already. Probably outside by this time.

“Arlo? Are you awake?”

“Yes, ma'am, I'm awake. And no, I don't mind sharing.”

“Good. I generally have half a grapefruit and bran flakes for breakfast. Would you like some?”

Arlo's stomach rolled. “No, thank you,” he said.

“You need to eat something.”

“Do you have any milk?”

“Afraid not.”

Should have known,
Arlo thought. “Orange juice?” he asked.

“How about cranberry?” Ida said.

“Sure. That's fine.”
Better than sardines, anyway, wasn't it?

“We'll go to the store this morning. Oh, and Arlo?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“If you don't mind, just toss my nightgown in the laundry basket while you're in the bathroom. I forgot to do that. It's hanging on the hook on the back of the door.”

“OK.”

Arlo wasn't used to women's nightgowns. This one looked sort of flimsy. He plucked it up by the lace collar and dropped it in the wicker basket. The whole room smelled like bath oil. Lavender, he thought. He'd smelled lavender air freshener before. It smelled like this. Ida smelled of it, too. He hoped he wouldn't end up smelling the same way. Luckily, there was a bar of plain white soap under the sink. It looked about a hundred years old, but it was probably OK.

When he came downstairs, Ida was making a list on a pad of paper. “So much to do,” she said. “You'll need some things, won't you?”

“Things?”

“You arrived with barely a change of underwear.”

Arlo blushed.

“There's no place left in town to buy clothes other than Val-U-Mart. Takes half a day just to walk from housewares to the checkout line. And all the money goes out of state. Not like you're helping local businesses. Still, it's the best we can do, I'm afraid.

“We'll take Steamboat with us. He likes to ride in the car.”

The cranberry juice was better than Arlo expected, and it turned out that Ida had a few apples from the orchard. They tasted good, too. After breakfast, she drove them to a strip mall on the road toward Washington. Arlo had to admit the stores here didn't have the same feel as the rest of town. Ida circled the lot four times before she found a row of three empty spaces next to each other. She turned the wheel and guided the car into the middle space.

“You wouldn't believe the way people drive around here,” she said. “It's like asking for a dented fender the minute you turn off the engine.” She pressed the window buttons and lowered all four windows partway. “We won't be long, Steamboat. You wait right here.”

Steamboat settled into a spot behind the driver's seat as Ida got out of the car.

Arlo followed her through the parking lot.

“Ready or not,” she muttered, taking a deep breath and straightening her spine as she stepped onto the doormat signaling the automatic door opener. Her neck stiffened the minute they were inside.

“Look at all this junk,” she said. “Where on earth do we start?”

“Boy's clothes are in the center,” Arlo said, pointing to a sign hanging in the middle of the building.

“You go ahead,” she said. “I'll catch up.”

Arlo found a pair of jeans and four T-shirts. “Two for one,” he pointed out.

“Very nice,” Ida said. “And what about these?” She held up a pair of khakis with neatly pressed creases. “With a nice plaid shirt?”

“Are we going someplace fancy?”

She handed them to him. “Check the size,” she said. “Then we'll find socks.”

After paying for their purchases, they headed to the car. Ida stuck her head through the window.

“Steamboat?” She yanked her head back out and frantically yelled his name.

Arlo glanced in the car. Steamboat was gone all right. Ida gave him a panicked look.

“Help me find him,” she said.

Steamboat was a small dog, medium-size at best. In a parking lot, with all those SUVs, trucks, and minivans, he would barely stand a chance.

They moved down the rows of cars, calling his name.

“He'll think I've gone to meet Augusta at Frog Creek for tea,” she said

“Where's that?” Arlo asked.

“In town. It's Lucius and Delia's bookstore.”

“Who are Lucius and Delia?” Arlo asked. Was that a chain like Barnes & Noble?

“Lucius and Delia Stonestreet,” Ida said, pronouncing each word carefully. “Lucius is Augusta's son.”

“Oh,” Arlo said. “Maybe we should go there.”

Ida gave him an exasperated look. “Well, of course. That's where we're going, just as soon as we make sure he isn't here.” She blinked a few times, looking around the lot again. “We need to divide it up. You take that side over there, and I'll take this one.”

“OK.”

Ida rolled her eyes at him. “Let's hurry, shall we?”

Arlo walked up and down the rows, calling Steamboat's name. After the first row, he had a bad feeling. Surely Steamboat would have come by now if he was anywhere close.

“Any luck?” Ida asked.

“No. Sorry,” Arlo said.

Ida's shoulders drooped as she moved toward her car. “Come on,” she said. “Let's hope he isn't on the highway.”

Arlo shivered at the thought of Steamboat in the middle of the two-lane.

If riding with Ida was a dicey business when she wasn't in a hurry, that was nothing compared to riding with her now.

“Oh, dear. I didn't scrape that woman's fender, did I?” she said after a near-miss with a blue sedan.

“Not sure,” Arlo mumbled. He was hunkered down in the seat with his arms braced for impact.

“I'm sure she was taking more than her share of the road, don't you think?”

Arlo raised his head long enough to catch a glimpse of a terrified woman pulling onto the shoulder of the road.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Ida snapped. “Steamboat could be anywhere.”

Look out, Steamboat.
If the dog was out there, Arlo hoped he was nowhere near the road.

Ida parked in a space opposite the statue of Ebenezer Crookshank. She didn't wait to see if Arlo was behind her. She marched straight across the sidewalk and into the brick storefront, passing under the sign shaped like a giant frog.

There was an entire wall of magazines to walk past before turning right into the café, where a tall black man was making cappuccino.

“Morning, Ida,” the man said.

“Oh, thank heavens, Matthew. I'm glad you're here.”

The man put down the cup. “Maywood tried to call you,” he said.

Ida lifted an eyebrow.

“You're looking for Steamboat, aren't you?”

She nodded. “We were at Val-U-Mart,” she said.

“We?” The man tilted his head.

“Arlo and I.” Ida patted Arlo on the shoulder. “Sorry, Matthew. I'm so rattled. This is my grandson, Arlo Jones.”

The man's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Arlo, meet Matthew Healy,” Ida said.

Arlo shook the man's outstretched hand.

“When did you come to town?” he asked.

“Yesterday,” Arlo said.

“Matthew and your father went to school together,” Ida said.

Arlo smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Healy.”

The man smiled back at him. “Call me Matthew,” he said, sliding the fresh cup of cappuccino to the far side of the counter.

“How is it you talked Ida into taking you to the mall?”

Arlo looked at his grandmother.

“Arlo needed a few things,” she explained.

“Did your grandfather come with you?”

Arlo shook his head.

“Not this time,” Ida said.

She and Matthew exchanged glances over Arlo's head. Then Matthew picked up a dish towel and wiped a drip of milk off the cappuccino machine.

“We tried calling you,” he said. “When Steamboat showed up here by himself, we knew something was wrong. And then, when nobody answered at your house, Maywood decided she'd better check up on you. She's headed out to your place now.”

“How long ago did they leave?” Ida asked.

“You just missed her.” Matthew said.

He moved on to polishing the spout where the steam came out to froth the milk. Meanwhile, Arlo surveyed the room. There was a large platform suspended above the children's section. It extended clear to the back of the store. On the front side of the platform, just above the bakery case, was a small house. A clubhouse, of sorts. It had windows on two sides, with checked curtains, and a shingled roof and even a
WELCOME
sign by the door. Stretching beyond the platform were branches.
Real, live tree branches
growing out of a
real tree
in the middle of the store. Above the branches were skylights, where a two-story atrium opened over the children's section. Arlo lost track of Ida's conversation with Matthew. He was too busy staring at the contraption above him.

“Arlo?” Ida said. “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,” Arlo said. He pointed to the tree house.

“Yes. Yes. It's nice, isn't it? That was Maywood's idea. But, right now it's Steamboat we're worried about. Don't dillydally. We need to hurry.”

“Maywood?”

“Lucius and Delia's daughter. You remember I told you that Lucius is Augusta's son. Delia is his wife. And Maywood is their daughter. Come on. We need to find her.” Ida tugged on Arlo's sleeve.

“Bye, Mr. Healy.” Arlo raised his arm in a wave.

“Matthew,” the man said. “Remember?”

“Sorry.”

“That's OK. Come back anytime, all right?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Arlo followed Ida to the door. The floorboards made a satisfying creak as they padded over them.

When they were outside, Ida crossed the street and stopped in front of the Watermen's Café. She pointed toward the river.

“See those stone pillars at the end of the street?” she asked.

“Yes.” Arlo followed her outstretched arm.

“That's the entrance to the path that leads to Riverside Park. If Maywood went that way, I'll never catch up with her.”