But something weird happened. Natalie caught Chess’s eye, and it was almost like she understood what he wanted to shout.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
Chess felt a little dizzy. He wasn’t used to having anyone understand him except Mom, Emma, and Finn.
“I’ll start saying stuff Mom says,” Finn said excitedly. “Is someone going to write it all down? She says, ‘I think Captain Underpants is really funny, too.’ She says, ‘Sure, go ahead and jump on the bed. You only get to be a kid once.’ She says . . .”
“Finn, Mom does not say you’re allowed to jump on the bed!” Emma corrected. “She just pretends not to notice. But that thing about only being a kid once . . . that’s a good one. I’ll try it as the decoder.” She reached for a piece of paper from Ms. Morales’s desk and started writing. “What else can you think of? ‘Everybody should know how to clean a toilet,’ maybe? Or, ‘It’s okay to mess up. Nobody’s perfect’?”
Chess caught Natalie still watching him. He realized he’d winced at every Mom-phrase Finn or Emma quoted.
“I’m really sorry,” Natalie repeated. “Sorry that you think you have to, to dwell on everything like this. And that . . .”
“We’re going to find our mom!” Chess interrupted before she could finish. “It’s going to work! It is! All right?”
And somehow, even though he hadn’t meant to, this time he really did shout at her.
Thirty-Four
Finn
Finn woke up in a different place than where he’d fallen asleep. Again.
It was his third morning at Ms. Morales and Natalie’s house, and the past two nights, no matter how much he’d tried to stay awake and help the older kids solve the code, each night Emma had started going on and on about matching up letters, and, “No, no, this is how you test for whether that’s the right phrase. . . .”
And the next thing Finn knew, he was waking up in the bedroom Ms. Morales had assigned him, rather than the office, where he’d fallen asleep. Probably Chess had carried him up to bed each night, and Chess was so tall and strong and nice that he probably hadn’t even asked Emma or Natalie to help.
Finn stretched, his left hand clunking against the wall that he kept forgetting was there, because his bed back home sat in the middle of the room, not off in a little alcove like this one.
And this bed had a comforter covered in weird red flowers, which would be about the last comforter design in the world that Finn would have chosen. But he wasn’t going to complain about that to anyone, not when there was so much else going wrong.
Like Mom being away. And not calling us. And . . .
Finn’s eyes flooded, and he balled up his fists and pressed them against his eyelids until the tears went away. He wasn’t used to having to stop his brain from thinking about whatever it wanted to think about. But over the past few days, he’d learned that he couldn’t think about Mom during school or around Ms. Morales. He couldn’t think about the kids in Arizona either. Why had the kids in that family vanished, when in Finn’s family . . .
Finn scrambled up out of bed to distract himself, so he wouldn’t have to dig his fists into his own eyes again. Take off your pajamas, put on your clothes, don’t think about how Mom always has you pick out a shirt the night before, and Ms. Morales didn’t. . . . Don’t think about how Chess, Emma, and I have been working on solving Mom’s code for two nights straight, and we’re still stuck. . . .
Finn wasn’t sure he buttoned and zipped everything properly, but he left his pajamas in a heap on the floor and raced out of the room like he was scared his own thoughts would chase him. He wanted to find Chess or Emma, but when he passed their rooms, he could see that his brother and sister were still motionless lumps in their beds.
Natalie, then . . .
Natalie had to get up earlier, because middle school started before elementary school.
Her room was totally empty, but he could hear someone walking down the stairs.
I’ll sneak up on her and then jump out and surprise her, Finn told himself. That’s a normal thing for me to do.
It was weird how he thought about his every action now, too. Before Mom went away, he’d just done whatever he wanted, mostly without thinking. But now he always had to ask himself, Am I acting like myself?
The alternative to acting normal was jumping up and down and screaming, I want my mommy back! Mommy, come and get me! Now!
He couldn’t do that, because what if he did, and it still didn’t bring Mom back?
Finn made himself concentrate on tiptoeing silently down the hallway, then down the stairs behind Natalie.
None of the stairs in the Morales house gave off a friendly little squeeeak like the stairs back home. So Natalie didn’t hear him. She didn’t turn around.
I could be a spy, Finn thought. I’m good at this. Mom would be proud.
That last part made him gulp hard, and not exactly silently. But Natalie didn’t seem to notice because she was stepping into the kitchen, where a coffee maker gurgled, and Ms. Morales had a TV turned on low, some announcer talking about stocks or bonds—boring grown-up stuff.
“Did you sleep well?” Finn heard Ms. Morales say in a fake, hearty voice, and Natalie snapped back, “Does it matter? Would you let me go back to bed if I didn’t?”
Finn decided he wasn’t ready to talk to Natalie and Ms. Morales yet this morning. He’d keep being a spy.
He pressed his back against the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room, and stood still. On the other side of the wall, Ms. Morales sighed.
“I know you still love me,” she told Natalie. “Someday when you get past being thirteen years old, and you’re not so angry about the divorce, you’re going to thank me for just smiling back at you when you’re like this.”
Natalie made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a harrumph.
“And . . .” Maybe Ms. Morales was leaning in closer toward her daughter, because Finn had a harder time hearing. “I do need your help, Natalie. I still don’t know when Kate Greystone’s coming back, and she’s so vague in all her texts—when she even answers my texts. I’m starting to get worried. I told her to take as much time as she needed, but . . .”
“What do you want me to do about it?” Natalie snarled.
“You’re not allergic to cats,” Ms. Morales said. “You don’t have to take Benadryl for days and still be all foggy-headed after being around a cat for five minutes. That means—”
“That maybe I got something good from Dad’s side of the family?” Natalie asked.
Maybe Ms. Morales made a face at Natalie. Her voice got a little louder, but other than that, Ms. Morales kept talking as if Natalie hadn’t said anything.
“That means that you can take care of the Greystones’ cat for me this afternoon,” Ms. Morales said. “If we’re going to have those kids stay with us for more than just a few days—and it looks like we are—I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to keep going back to their house so often and getting upset all over again. I’ll pick you up after school, you can take care of the cat, then we’ll get the kids when their school day ends, and we’ll tell them, I don’t know, maybe that their mom wanted me to take them to—what’s that place that’s like Chuck E. Cheese’s, except for older kids? Dave and Buster’s? That should keep their minds off missing their mother for another night.”
“Oh, so you want me to clean up cat poop and lie to a bunch of little kids,” Natalie said. “Great, Mom. Thanks.”
“It’s only a white lie,” Ms. Morales protested. “I’m sure Kate does want me to keep her kids happy while—”
“What about the tunnel under that house?” Natalie demanded. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll sneak through it again to meet boys? The ones I don’t even know, but—”
“Natalie, I’m trusting you. I’m giving you another chance to act responsibly.” Finn could practically hear the frown in Ms. Morales’s voice. “Because I know you are capable of being trustworthy and responsibl
e.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” There was a thud that might have been Natalie slamming the refrigerator door.
“I do want you to stay out of that tunnel,” Ms. Morales said, and her voice was hesitant now. Maybe even scared. “You’re right—it does worry me. I tried to find out about the design of that house—I looked for building permits filed at the courthouse and everything. But there’s nothing. It doesn’t make sense. I think I’m missing something.”
Finn held his breath. If he’d been Natalie, he would have spilled everything right there. He would have opened his mouth, and the whole story of the automatic text messages and the coded letter and the website butterflies and the secret lever in the panic room would have tumbled out, whether he wanted it to or not. Even now, even though Ms. Morales wasn’t his mom, he was tempted to round the corner into the kitchen and tell all.
But Natalie was just yelling at her mom.
“Yeah, Mom, you’re missing a heart, because of how you treated Dad. And me. You always treat me like you think I’m going to make the same mistakes you made and ruin my life like you did and . . .”
Natalie came dashing out of the kitchen and smashed directly into Finn.
And then Ms. Morales was there, too, right behind Natalie, bending down to take Finn by the shoulders and say in the fakest, heartiest voice of all, “Oh, Finn, we didn’t hear you get up. Did you just come downstairs?”
Her eyes begged him to say yes, and Natalie’s gaze was as intense as lasers. Finn was pretty sure Natalie was trying to say, No matter what you heard, don’t tell Mom anything! Lie if you have to!
“I just got here,” Finn mumbled obediently. Then, because he thought anybody could have told he was lying, he added a normal-Finn line, “Is it breakfast time yet?”
“Almost!” Ms. Morales said, her voice flooded with fake cheer. “Just give me a few more minutes!”
“Hey, Finn,” Natalie said too loudly. “Why don’t you come outside and wait for the bus with me? Then when the bus comes, you can go back inside, and Mom will have your breakfast ready.”
“Th-that’s a good idea,” Ms. Morales said, as if she was stunned that Natalie had suggested it.
“Okay,” Finn said.
Natalie slid a yogurt container, a granola bar, and a water bottle into her backpack and hoisted it to her shoulder. Finn trailed after her, out the front door.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Natalie asked, “You heard everything, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
Natalie reached down and unbuttoned and rebuttoned two buttons of Finn’s shirt. Evidently he had done it wrong.
“Mom’s not really that much of a monster,” she said apologetically. “It’s just, she’s the one who asked for the divorce, and that just . . . just . . .”
“I don’t think your mom’s a monster,” Finn said. “At least you have your mom.”
Emma or Chess would have immediately hugged him and said, “We will, too! Soon! We’re going to get our mom back!” Natalie just kind of froze.
And somehow, this morning, Finn liked that better.
“I didn’t think you took the bus,” he said as they started walking down the long, long sidewalk toward the street. “I thought your mom drove you.”
“She does, except when we have other kids staying here,” Natalie said. “Which . . . probably makes me selfish that I get mad about that.”
“Sorry,” Finn said.
Natalie laughed. “You could make it up to me by telling Mom you’re craving carne asada. She also always serves really boring meals when we have kids here, and that bugs me, too.”
“Is that food?” Finn asked. “I bet I would crave it, if I knew what it was! I like food!”
And then Natalie really did hug him. A little bit.
“I don’t mind having you around,” she said. Finn didn’t know if she meant that about just him, or about Emma and Chess, too. He decided not to ask.
“Nothing happened after I fell asleep last night, did it?” he asked. Which was a stupid question, because he’d made Emma and Chess promise to wake him up the instant they solved the code. In the bright sunlight, with Natalie, it was possible to ask a little more. “Or . . . maybe . . . did someone find those kids in Arizona?”
Somehow it seemed like if the kids in Arizona were found, it would be a sign that he and Chess and Emma would get their mom back, too.
“No . . . ,” Natalie said. She kicked at the mulch that lined the sidewalk. “But, Finn . . .”
“What?” Finn said. She wouldn’t look at him. “You know something! Tell me!”
Natalie’s face twisted and untwisted, like she was trying to decide.
“Okay,” she said. “I haven’t said anything to Emma or Chess, because they’re all ‘We’ve got to solve the code! That’s all we can think about!’ And they’re already upset. You know I’ve been using earbuds, so none of you have to hear . . . what I’m working on.”
Finn knew what she wasn’t saying: So you don’t have to hear the voice that sounds like your mother’s but isn’t.
“But I have been looking at everything I can about the kids in Arizona and their parents,” Natalie went on. “And—did you see that the mother’s name in Arizona is also Kate? Just like your mom’s. For some reason, it wasn’t in the original news coverage. But that woman in Arizona looks almost exactly like your mom and has the same first name.”
“No,” Finn said. His mind couldn’t take that in. He wasn’t going to ask if that other mom had the same birthday, too, just like her kids had the same birthdays as Chess, Emma, and Finn. He couldn’t. His voice turned accusing. “Are you sure you read it right? Or heard it right?”
He tried to think if he’d seen or heard the Arizona mother’s name before, either on his mother’s laptop that first day while she stood in their kitchen, or on the laptop he used in Ms. Morales’s office two nights ago. He’d been too distracted both times.
“Finn, I’m sure,” Natalie said. “And . . . I used facial recognition software that Mom has on her computer. Emma helped me get a photo from your mom’s phone and I took a screenshot of the other woman. And that software thinks your mom and the Arizona mom are the same person exactly.”
Finn absorbed that. Wouldn’t facial recognition software think identical twins were the same person?
But why would identical twins both be named Kate?
He thought of a better question.
“Which one?” Finn asked. His voice cracked. “I mean, does the computer think my mom is Kate Gustano, or that the Arizona mom is . . . is Kate Greystone?”
He could barely even say his mother’s name.
“I’m not sure,” Natalie said, squinting at him thoughtfully. “That software doesn’t give an identity by name, it just says they’re the same person. But maybe if I can find a better program, like what police use, then . . .”
“My mom’s not a criminal!” Finn protested.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Natalie patted his shoulder. “I just . . . I have a theory. But you and your brother and sister aren’t going to like it.”
“Try me,” Finn said. He puffed out his chest a little, hoping that made him seem older and better prepared for whatever Natalie was going to say.
“Well, sometimes grown-ups who say they’re just traveling a lot for their jobs actually have . . . two different families, in two different places,” Natalie said. “They lie. I mean, usually it’s fathers who do this, not moms, and if the birthdays aren’t lies, too, then either you or those kids in Arizona are adopted—and now that I’m saying this out loud, it sounds kind of crazy, but—”
“Natalie, my mom travels for her job maybe once or twice a year!” Finn exploded. “Just one or two days at a time! She’s almost always with us, except . . .” He couldn’t say it, but surely Natalie understood that he meant, Except now. “My mom doesn’t have another family! She doesn’t lie! She isn’t a criminal! You can stop thinking about any theories tha
t make her a bad person!”
“Okay,” Natalie said softly.
And then she hugged him again, almost exactly like Chess or Emma would. As soon as she let go, Finn turned around, to face away from the street. If the bus came now, he wouldn’t want anyone on it to see how close he was to tears. But now he was facing the house. Something moved in the huge picture window in the front—it was Ms. Morales stepping off to the side, behind the drapes.
She’d been watching them. And it was funny: When Mom watched out their front window while Finn, Emma, and Chess were waiting for their bus, it always made him feel safe and secure. Loved. Protected.
Having Ms. Morales watch him and Natalie now—and dart behind the drapes so he didn’t see her—just scared him more.
What was Ms. Morales afraid of?
What if it was something that even a grown-up couldn’t protect him from?
Thirty-Five
Emma
“Ten thousand failures,” Emma muttered.
“Huh?” Chess said, swiveling in his chair beside her. They were back in Ms. Morales’s office for their third night in a row of trying to solve Mom’s code with her own words. “You think we’ve already tried that many possibilities?”
“No, I’m trying to remember a Thomas Edison quote.” Emma tapped her pencil against her jaw. “Something about how he didn’t fail ten thousand times, he just found ten thousand ways that didn’t work. Or took ten thousand steps to success, or something like that.”
“Oh,” Chess said.
He didn’t look any more encouraged than Emma felt. Back before—that was how Emma had started thinking about everything in her life up to the last moment she’d seen her mother—Emma had loved reading and hearing and thinking about inventors and scientists and mathematicians who’d overcome all sorts of obstacles on their way to some brilliant new breakthrough. The obstacles made their stories even more exciting.
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