Boy21 (21 page)

It’s almost like someone flicked a switch, because there were only a few stars here and there, and now there’s an endless supply—like a huge diamond exploded in the sky.

“It’s so beautiful,” I say, because I’ve never seen anything like it before.

“Whenever I think the world is ugly—that life has no meaning at all—I remind myself that this is here, always waiting for me,” Russ says. “I can always look up at the cosmos and marvel, no matter what happens. And when I look up at it, I feel as though my problems are small. I don’t know why, but it always makes me feel better.”

“And that’s enough?” I ask. “Just looking at stars?”

“It can be,” Russ says.

I expect Russ to begin naming all the constellations, but he doesn’t.

We lie silently under outer space, taking in all those pinpricks of light, and I too feel dwarfed by the massive universe.

I wonder if Erin is also looking up at stars tonight, maybe sitting on some roof somewhere, thinking about me.

I wonder if my mom’s up there in heaven or simply up there
somewhere—
maybe even on some after-death spaceship or something, like Boy21 had imagined.

“Why do you think we met?” I ask. “Do you think I was supposed to help you return to basketball? Was it fate?”

“It’s because my parents were murdered by crackheads,” he says. “I’d be in L.A. if my parents were still alive. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“But you’re here somehow,” I whisper.

“And so are you,” Russ whispers back.

We lie next to each other in silence all night, looking up at the impossible mind-blowing awesomeness of the universe, and I don’t think either of us sleeps a minute.

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY MOTHER’S MURDER,
just like every other year, Dad, Pop, and I lay flowers on her grave—Cathy McManus.

June sun.

Blue skies.

No one else is in the graveyard.

Standing there, gazing at the endless rows of headstones, it feels like we’re the only three people left in the world.

As far as my eyes can see, white and gray grave markers line the earth, each with a tiny bit of information. Name, years lived, maybe a nice quote. But not enough to really let you know who these people were. I wonder if each marker has a story just as complicated as my mom’s.

Like every other year, I remember the kidnapping, think about the courage it took for my mother to go to the police, and wish I’d gotten the chance to know her better.

In his wheelchair, in front of the grave, Pop talks to my mom and says he’s sorry over and over again, cries a lot, and is a guilty mess.

“When you get your chance to leave Bellmont,” Dad says to me, “take it.”

His face is tense. Wrinkles shoot out from the corners of his eyes. He’s staring at Pop in this really weird way. It’s like he loves and hates the old man simultaneously.

“You hear me?” Dad asks.

“Yeah.”

When I was little, I used to think that we visited my mom’s grave because she was somehow there—like we were really going to spend time with her ghost or something like that. Now I realize we go so Pop can repent.

I wonder about my mom.

This might sound dumb, but the only thing I really remember was that she loved green Life Savers, which she called the Irish Life Savers. She used to buy a roll almost every day and feed me as many as it took to get to the first green one, which she’d eat.

This was our little ritual.

We’d walk to the corner store in search of her daily green Irish Life Saver.

It’s a stupid thing to remember, but it’s what I have.

And the truth is, I’ve always gotten very nervous whenever I see someone eating Life Savers, or if I see a roll in the store. I worry that if I look too closely I’ll discover that green Life Savers don’t exist. I’m terrified of maybe realizing that I made up the only detail about my mom I own, and then I’ll have absolutely nothing left.

Maybe that’s a dumb thing to worry about, but it’s just who I am—what life has given me.

Dad never talks about Mom anymore—ever.

And Dad never eats Life Savers either—at least I’ve never seen him eat one.

When we leave the cemetery, Dad spends the rest of the day with Pop. I spend it alone on the roof, hoping that Erin will crawl through my bedroom window and snuggle up to me, like she did so many times before. But Erin doesn’t show up.

THE MORNING BEFORE
my high-school graduation ceremony, while we’re eating our eggs and bacon in the kitchen, Pop hands me a plain white envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” Dad says.

I tear it open and pull out the contents. There’s some sort of ticket that reads
AMTRAK.

“Amtrak?” I ask.

“It’s a train. You do know what trains are, right?” Pop asks.

“Why are you giving me a train ticket?”

“Graduation present,” Dad says.

“To where?”

“Read the ticket,” Pop says.

“New Hampshire? Why did you buy me a ticket to New Hampshire?”

“We didn’t buy it,” Pop says.

“Read the letter,” Dad says.

I unfold the paper and immediately recognize Erin’s handwriting. My heart nearly explodes and I start to sweat.
Erin!
I stand and walk into the living room.

“Where you going?” Pop says, and I can hear laughter in his voice.

I run back into the kitchen and say, “What is this? Is this for real?”

“It’s a chance to get out of here and start fresh,” Dad says. “Free and clear of your family history. It’s a chance at life.”

“Where did this note come from?” I ask.

“Don’t ask questions,” Pop says. “This is the real deal. A true chance. No strings attached.”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“A trap? You’ve been watching too many movies,” Pop says. “If they wanted to hurt you, they’d come to the house and hurt you. They wouldn’t buy you a train ticket and hurt you in New Hampshire.”

“What did you have to do to make this happen?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Dad says. “Except promise silence.”

“I’m not stupid,” I say.

Dad and Pop look at each other.

“Let’s just say,” Pop says, “some of the older guys still feel bad about what happened to you when you were a kid, but they respected the fact that we kept our mouths shut when the cops came asking questions all those years ago. There are rules, but we’re not all monsters. Most guys do what they can when they can.”

“The train leaves in two hours, so you have to make your decision now,” Dad says. “If you go, you can’t come back to Bellmont. Ever. And you’ll have to be careful about contacting us. They’ll explain the rules to you and you’ll have no choice but to obey every one.”

“Why?”

“Those are the terms. We don’t get to ask why.”

I remember what Russ said about not being able to know why.

I sit at the table opposite Pop and Dad and notice that their physical similarities are striking. I wonder if they’re thinking I look like a younger version of them. Three generations of McManuses.

“So I’m going away on mob money?” I say quietly.

“You’re going away,” Pop says. “You’re not going to be taken care of for life. You’re just getting a ticket out of here and a chance to start over someplace better.”

I think about it and wonder about ethics. Do I really want to accept mob money, even if it’s only a little to help me relocate? Could I live with myself? After all they’ve done to my family, am I owed this?

“And if I don’t go?” I say.

Dad shrugs. “Then you go to community college and live in Bellmont for another two years, minimum. And maybe you lose your best friend forever. This is most likely a one-shot chance here.”

“Will Rod be up there? Mr. and Mrs. Quinn?”

“Don’t know,” Pop says.

I absolutely want to see Erin. But I don’t know about the rest. How can I choose between the two men who raised me—the only family I have—and the girl who’s been at my side since elementary school? It’s easy to choose between Bellmont and anywhere else, because I don’t want to end up alone rotting away in a row home drinking myself to death. I definitely want out of this town, but I don’t want to leave Pop and Dad behind.

“What do you think I should do?”

They look at their hands. Their eyes are welling up. They’ve already decided what I should do, which is why they gave me the envelope. But the final choice is mine alone.

The doorbell rings.

“That’s Russ,” I say.

“Don’t tell him anything,” Dad says.

I cross the living room, pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

When I open the door, Russ peers through the screen and says, “What’s up?”

“I’m not going to school today,” I say. “Not gonna walk in graduation.”

“Why not? You sick?”

I don’t want to lie to Russ, especially since I know this might be the last time I ever speak with him.

“What’s going on, man?” he says. “You all right?”

I think about what I can say to make him understand, and when I have it, I smile. “I just got a ticket to Hogwarts.”

“What?”

“Might be taking a train ride to a magical place that’s much better than here. Don’t tell any Muggles, okay? But I want you to know I’ll be all right.”

Russ squints through the screen for a moment before he returns my smile and says, “She finally contacted you.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I feel like I should hug you.”

“We can do that.” I step outside the house.

Russ and I hug. A real hug. Four arms. Big squeeze to say all the things we can’t or maybe won’t.

“I’m not going to ever see you again, am I?” Russ says.

“Dunno.”

“Be good to yourself, Finley. I wish you a beautiful life.”

“I wish you a beautiful life too—many clear starry nights, and a few collegiate basketball records,” I say.

Russ looks into my eyes the way he did when he first came to Bellmont—like he’s communicating with me—then smiles sadly and walks away.

I watch him stride down the street and he throws a few sky punches, which I take as a sign of approval, like he’s happy for me, so I return to the kitchen.

“You going to get on the train?” Dad says.

I’m scared to leave my family. It’s hard for me to think of being anywhere but Bellmont. Then I remember the night I spent with Russ in the country, how there are other places in the world, better places, and I say, “I’d really like to see Erin.”

Pop nods once and then looks out the window. I’m surprised when he closes his eyes, fingers Grandmom’s rosary beads, and starts to mouth words. I’ve never seen Pop pray before.

Dad and I go upstairs and pack up my belongings, which aren’t much. I stuff clothes and jackets and shoes into a duffel bag. Peel a few stars off the ceiling and slip those in too. I grab my framed picture of Mom and Dad and me, from back in the day, and then I find my basketball in the garage, because maybe Erin will want to shoot around.

Pop and Dad drive me to Thirtieth Street Station in Philadelphia, and on the way there they explain that a man will meet me in New Hampshire and that I am to ask no questions—none whatsoever. He will drive me to Erin, but he won’t say anything to me at all. I’ll know who he is, because he’ll call me Lucas.

“This seems crazy,” I say. “I’m a little freaked out.”

“You’ll be fine,” Dad says.

“You’ve already been through the worst part of your life,” Pop says. “Go be with Erin. She’s a good woman who loves you—the key to your happiness. Trust me. I know, because your grandmother was an even better woman. I would do anything to be with her now.
Anything.
”

We park outside of a huge white building. Cars, taxis, and people are everywhere.

“Finley,” Pop says, just before I get out of the car. I turn around and am surprised to see the old man trembling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Pop.”

“Your grandmother would have wanted you to have this.” Pop pulls her rosary beads over his head and then extends his arm toward me so that the black crucifix is dangling right in front of my face. “Maybe it will bring you luck.”

“I can’t take that.” I don’t even know what the rosary means, which prayers go with which beads, and they’ve been around Pop’s neck or fist ever since my grandmother died.

“You
will
take it, Finley. Put it around your neck, under your shirt. If you only wear it one day in your life, let it be today. And then pass it down to your children when the time comes.”

I put the necklace on and open the back car door to give Pop a hug. His cheek is wet when it brushes against mine.