Chapter 17
"I ruined everything," Zach moaned as he lay stretched out on Grandfather's plush sofa, his face in the pillow. Grandfather had little furniture in his compact apartment; he probably didn't need much, being out of the country most of the time, especially since he also had a house he could live in when he was home. But what he had was very nice—the sofa, a well-polished desk and chair, a large TV mounted on the wall.
For the tenth time, Zach slammed a fist into the sofa's spongy cushions. I finally found my parents, and they were great, and I ruined it! he berated himself. This last day had undoubtedly been the worst day of his life.
A small digital clock on the desk showed 6:35—he and Grandfather had arrived here four hours ago. Grandfather had warned Zach not to leave, not to go to his parents on his own, lest they turn him over to the kidnappers again and Grandfather be left with no way to rescue him. He had counseled Zach to sleep if he could; then they would get up early, take care of some business, and decide what to do about Zach.
Grandfather had gone to his bedroom to rest, leaving the sofa to Zach. Despite its luxurious feel, it had offered Zach no comfort. Through those four dark hours he had tossed and turned on it, alternating between weeping and silent, savage brawling in his head.
You had parents, you had a family—and you wrecked it all! one voice screamed. You just had to complain that the art museum was boring. Why couldn't you just be quiet, like Dad was? And why were you so mean to him when he was trying to find out where you came from? That voice had been the louder as he had wrestled with himself on the sofa these hours.
Another voice groaned in reply. No! Things were okay! Mom loved me, Dad did too. They just…needed a break! A few weeks, a few months, and then we can be a family again. They'll want to see me sometimes. I can visit them. They'll see that I've changed, that I'm a better kid now. And then they'll want me back…
Grandfather stirred in the bedroom. Zach rolled onto his stomach and wiped the tears from his eyes. He turned his head toward the back of the couch and controlled his breathing, pretending to sleep. He heard Grandfather make his way past him to the tiny kitchen and pour himself a cup of water. A moment later the man set the empty cup on the counter and returned to his room. Another minute passed, and Grandfather entered the bathroom and shut the door. Zach heard the shower begin to run.
He sat up and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve; he hadn't taken the jacket off since being kidnapped yesterday. In the dim morning light, he looked around. The bathroom was tucked between the living room and the bedroom; the combination kitchen and laundry room was set adjacent to the living room. Zach's backpack lay against the wall beside the front door. No other accoutrements adorned the apartment; the walls were bare except for the TV.
Zach glanced toward the bedroom; Grandfather had left the door open. There was something small on the nightstand beside the bed—Grandfather's phone.
I know how to use a phone now, Zach realized. And I know my phone number!
As soon as the thought occurred to him, he leapt up from the couch and tiptoed to the bedroom silently, stepping lightly so as not to vibrate the floor outside the bathroom. He grabbed up the phone and slipped back into the living room. From the kitchen, a sliding glass door led outside onto a concrete slab hanging three stories above the ground. Grandfather wouldn't hear him out there. If he hurried, he could make a call and return the phone before Grandfather finished his shower. Grandfather would never know.
Zach had to talk to Mom. Even if it was too late, even if she didn't love him anymore, he had to try. He stepped outside, slid the door shut behind him, and dialed home.
*****
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 91