Lost and Found

by Katrina Grillo

“It’ll be fun. You in, or what?” I glance down at the watch I’m not wearing. “I have a schedule to keep.”

  “Sure,” she says. “I’ll come.”

  She shoves her mail back into the mailbox and locks it. I’m shocked she agreed to this, but I’m not about to ask questions. We head out to my car and I open the passenger door for her, giving her an exaggerated bow. “Madam,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

  I jog around to the driver’s side and get in. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Our first stop is Target. She follows me into the store and I beeline it for the video game section. “This will be quick, in and out,” I tell her.

  “No one goes ‘in and out’ of Target,” she protests, her eyes darting around every section as she struggles to keep up with me.

  “No woman goes in and out of Target,” I correct her. “But I’m only here for one thing, so eyes on me, Kincaid. Shouldn’t be too hard, since I’m inarguably the most enticing thing here.”

  She scoffs, but picks up her pace. When we get to the video game section, it only takes me a few seconds to find what I came in for.

  “Of course you’re into video games,” she says, arching one eyebrow at the game in my hand.

  “Actually, I’m not,” I tell her, and turn to head back to the check out area. I don’t even realize she’s fallen behind me until I hear her yell.

  “Spence! Could you please slow down?”

  I turn around and she’s practically jogging down the aisle. I pause to let her catch up. She’s slightly out of breath and looks irritated. “Whoops, sorry about that. I forgot what a midget you are.”

  She whacks me in the arm. “Jesus Christ, I’m out of breath. I told you I hate running.”

  I sling an arm around her shoulder and fall into pace beside her. “Sorry, I will try to remember to take tiny baby steps when I’m around you from now on.”

  She doesn’t push my arm away, which I am considering a victory in my campaign to Win Over Gemma Kincaid.

  We get in line and when it’s our turn to check out, I smile at the teenage cashier, and she tells me she thinks this particular video game is actually on sale.

  “Oh wow, really, that would be so great,” I tell her, grinning even more.

  “Yup, it definitely is!” she hits a few things on her keyboard and the total on the screen says five dollars. It also says I’m buying a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, but who am I to ask questions?

  Gemma narrows her eyes at the display as I pay.

  “Have a nice day!” the cashier says, batting her eyelashes at me.

  “Thanks! You too!” Gemma says, her tone falsely cheery and—dare I say—a little territorial. She grabs my arm and tugs me towards the exit.

  “She did that on purpose,” Gemma fumes. “That game was not on sale for five dollars.”

  “Who are we to question Target’s promotional tactics?” I say.

  She gives me side eye. “Does that kind of thing happen to you often?”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Girls falling over themselves to do something nice for you?”

  I shrug. “Depends on how you define ‘often’ and ‘nice’.”

  “Oh my god, you’re the worst,” she says, and picks up her pace so she’s in front of me as we cross the parking lot. It takes me two steps to catch up to her.

  “Hey, what’s the big deal? She clearly didn’t know what she was doing and we got this video game for a bargain. The universe smiled at us, let’s appreciate it.”

  “No, you smiled at a girl and the girl did you a favor. The universe had nothing to do with this.”

  “Aw, you’re just jealous that cute girl liked me and she didn’t notice you at all,” I taunt, following her around to the passenger side of the car so I can open her door again. “Don’t worry, I think you’re pretty even if the Target cashier didn’t.”

  She smiles a little at that, just a tiny flick at the corner of her mouth, but I saw it. “I am definitely not jealous.” She wrenches the car door out of my hand. “And I can get my own door, thanks.”

  Man, she is really making this difficult. I shake my head at her through the window and go around to get in the driver’s seat.

  The drive from Target to our final destination isn’t a long one, but I can see Gemma becoming more concerned the further we drive away from the main shopping area in town. When I turn onto a residential street, she finally speaks up.

  “Spence, where are we going? I thought you were running errands?”

  “One more stop, we’re almost there.”

  “Where exactly is ‘there’?” she asks.

  “You’ll see.” I grin over at her and she gives me a suspicious look. When we pull up in front of the two story brick house with white trim, I start to feel a little nervous. Maybe this idea, which I have not thought through in the least, is a little too crazy. Even for me. But it’s too late to back out now.

  I climb out of the car but she stays put. Even when I walk over to the passenger and stand outside her window, she just sits in the car, looking at me with a confused expression on her face.

  Finally, I open the car door for her.

  “I thought you could do this yourself,” I say. “Did you forget how?”

  “Spence, whose house is this?”

  “Mine,” I tell her, then backtrack. “Well, technically it’s my parent’s house, since I haven’t actually lived here in awhile.”

  “You brought me to your parent’s house?” She sounds horrified and looks panicky. “Why?”

  I jerk my head toward the front door. “Just come inside, we won’t stay long, I promise.”

  She doesn’t move, just stares at me like I’m some alien being from another planet.

  “It will be weirder if you stay in the car,” I tell her.

  Finally, she lets out a strangled kind of sigh and climbs out.

  “Excellent, good job.” I pet her affectionately on the head a few times, until she swats my arm away. We head up the front walk and when I open the door my eardrums are immediately assaulted by a cacophony of twenty screaming eight-year-olds.

  “Spence!” My younger brother, Samuel, comes careening down the hall and slams head first into my stomach.

  “Oof! Hey bud, happy birthday!” I squeeze him into my side and ruffle his white blonde hair. From the first day he came home from the hospital, Samuel has looked like he belongs on a beach in California somewhere, talking about how gnarly the surf is.

  “Is that for me?” he asks, eyeing the Target bag in my hand.

  “You bet it is,” I tell him, handing over the bag. “Sorry I didn’t wrap it.”

  Behind him, I see my mother poke her head out of the kitchen to see what this new commotion is about.

  “Lego Batman! Cool!” Samuel says, and goes rushing back into the fray in the living room, screaming, “Look what my big brother got me!”

  My mother is coming down the hall now, a confused smile on her face, and I can feel Gemma trying to hide behind me. But it’s too late, my mother has already spotted her. The confused look on her face turns to barely contained excitement.

  “Spencer!” she says. “You made it!”

  She pulls me into a hug and I stoop down to reciprocate.

  “And who is this?” she asks, looking at Gemma.

  “This is my friend Gemma,” I say. I step to the side so my mother can see her properly.

  “Gemma!” my mother says, all sunshine and rainbows. “What a pretty name!”

  “What’s all this noise out here?” My father appears in the hall, which might be the quietest part of the house right now, but both my parents have a way of sniffing out any kind of unexpected activity in their home. It made sneaking out almost impossible growing up, not that I didn’t find my ways.

  “Spencer is here, and he’s brought a friend,” my mother says, emphasizing the word friend and giving my father a meaningful look.

  “This
is Gemma,” I say, pointing at Gemma.

  “Gemma!” my dad says, stepping forward to shake her hand. “How nice!”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hurley,” Gemma says, a strained smile on her face. She gives me a sideways glance. A sideways glance that says I am going to murder you in such a way that there will not be enough of your body left to bury.

  I grin sheepishly at her.

  “Oh no, Kath and Phil is fine,” my mother says. “Come in, come in! You guys want food? We got a sandwich platter. We’ll be doing the cake and presents in a little bit.”

  My mother ushers us into the kitchen and sits us down at the table.

  “Something to drink? Iced tea? Soda? Beer? Wine? Whatever you want, anything,” my mom says.

  “Oh no, I’m fine thank you,” Gemma says politely.

  “I’ll have an iced tea,” I tell her and she nods and goes to get one from the fridge, talking the whole time.

  “Do you want a sandwich? Have some sandwiches. There’s a bunch left, these kids don’t eat, I don’t know where they get their energy from.” She puts my iced tea on the table. “Spencer make Gemma a plate, come on, don’t be rude.”

  “No, really, I’m fine, I don’t need a plate,” Gemma protests, but my mother is already making up plates for both of us.

  “So, Gemma,” my father starts in. “How do you know Spence?”

  “Um…” Gemma says helplessly as my mother puts a plate full of food in front of her.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a drink, sweetie?” she asks.

  “Just say yes,” I tell Gemma. “It’s easier if you say yes. Pick something, anything, or she’ll never give it up.”

  My mother whacks me in the back of the head. Not hard, just enough to make her point, and also enough to make Gemma smile a little—a real smile, not the fake one she’s had plastered on since we got here—and for that I’m grateful, even if it is at my expense.

  “Okay, sure, an iced tea is fine,” Gemma relents. My mother smiles, satisfied, and goes to get Gemma her drink.

  “Gemma’s my neighbor,” I say, turning to my dad. “She moved in upstairs not that long ago. And she owns the bar my band plays at sometimes.”

  “You own a bar?” my dad says to Gemma, eyebrows raised.

  “It’s my family’s bar, technically. It mostly belongs to my brother. He runs things. I just work there,” Gemma explains.

  “Well how about that,” my dad says. “What’s the bar?”

  Gemma tells him, and they get to talking. Meanwhile, my mother is standing behind Gemma, looking pointedly at me.

  Girlfriend? she mouths, hopeful.

  I shake my head, and my mother rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look.

  I do not bring girls home. There’s never been a girl I was serious enough about to introduce to my parents. So truly, I have no idea what possessed me to bring Gemma today. I guess I’m hoping now that Gemma has met my parents—the two loveliest humans on this planet, in my humble opinion—she’ll have a better opinion of me.

  “After my dad died, Liam and I became co-owners, but he handles most of the business,” Gemma is saying to my father.

  My head whips around to look at her, my forehead scrunched in confusion. Her dad died? That’s how her and Liam inherited the bar? Why didn’t I know this? I’d assumed he’d retired and passed the business on to his son. Like maybe he lived in Florida now or something.

  Gemma looks at me, clearly uncomfortable, and I feel really guilty. My parents mean well, and like I said, they’re lovely, but they can also be nosy.

  My dad, to his credit, realizes he totally stepped in it by asking about the bar. Not that he could have known.

  “I’m very sorry to hear you lost your father,” he says.

  “Thank you,” Gemma says, her voice robotic.

  My mother is looking at her sympathetically and she’s about to open her mouth to say something when Samuel comes sprinting into the room.

  “Spence!” he cries. “Come watch me play!”

  He tugs at my arm and I get up. “Okay, buddy, okay, hold your horses. Can my friend Gemma come too?”

  Samuel doesn’t even glance at her. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, hurry up!”

  “Watch him play what?” my mother says, rounding on me. “Spencer, did you buy him a video game? You know we’re trying to limit that with him.”

  “He really wanted it, though. I promised him I’d deliver. It’s his birthday ma, let him live a little,” I give her my best mama’s boy smile and a peck on the cheek. She gives me a what am I going to do with you? look I’m very familiar with, but she’s smiling.

  “Spencer!” Samuel shrieks from the living room.

  “We’re being summoned,” I say.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Spence

  The living room can only be described as chaos. There’s kids everywhere, hanging on every surface, jumping on the couches, screaming for no apparent reason. Gemma looks shell shocked. Can’t say I blame her.

  Samuel is sitting on the middle of the floor in front of the TV. A group of his friends is clustered around him, their eyes all glued to the screen.

  “Spence, watch this!” he says, as he maneuvers his Lego character on the screen.

  “Wow, you’re good at this already,” I tell him.

  “Yeah I know,” he says. “Obviously.”

  Gemma smirks and arches an eyebrow at me. “Confidence runs in the family,” she says.

  I shrug. “We can’t help it if we’re talented.”

  “Spence you’re not watching!” Samuel scolds me.

  “Yes I am!” I say, turning my attention back to the TV.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Gemma wanders the room, stepping gingerly over small hands and feet. She heads for the mantle with its row of family photos. There’s me in kindergarten, with glasses and a goofy grin, which makes her smile. My soccer picture from freshman year of high school. Me at a piano recital in elementary school. I walk over to join her.

  “I didn’t know you played soccer,” she says, looking at me in my blue uniform, a soccer ball under one arm. I thought I looked so cool in that picture. Like I was the shit. Star soccer player, girls falling at my feet. Now it just looks super corny, and back then “girls falling at my feet” meant Shelby Conrad had let me touch her boobs once.

  “Yep, all four years of high school,” I say.

  “And let me guess, you were really good.”

  “Yeah, obviously,” I say, mimicking Samuel’s tone and she smiles.

  “And you can play the piano, too?”

  I shake my head. “Not any more, no. I mean, I could maybe pound out “Chopsticks” if you asked me to, but I only took piano lessons for a year. I actually wasn’t very good. So you can add that to your list.”

  She smiles for real, and I would think it was rude, this sick sense of joy she gets whenever she finds something I’m bad at, if I didn’t like her smile so much.

  “My piano instructor taught guitar, too. And once I picked up the guitar there was no way I was going back to the lame old piano. Plus, I was way better at guitar.”

  “So you’ve been playing since you were a little kid?” she asks.

  “Yeah. You should have seen my first guitar, it was so small.” I pause. “Actually, come on, I’ll show you.”

  We leave the living room and head back to the front hall and up the stairs. Samuel doesn’t even notice, he’s so engrossed in his game. At the top of the landing I head left and open the first door we come to. My childhood bedroom. There’s not much left in here, it’s more of a guest room now. My mom repainted it and took down all the posters and crap I had hanging on the walls when I was growing up, and it no longer has that vaguely moldy, BO scent of a teenage boy’s room, but some of my stuff still lives up here.

  Gemma stands in the doorway while I open the closet and rummage around until I find the guitar. It’s about half the size of the ones I have now. I pull it out of the
case and sit down on the edge of the bed, beckoning her to come inside.

  “It’s so small,” she says, sitting down next to me. “I didn’t even know they made guitars this small.”

  “I know, it’s like, super cute, right?” I say, handing it to her to look at. She plucks at the strings a little before handing it back. It’s out of tune, not that it matters, but I fix it anyway. Maybe Samuel will want to play it someday.

  “Your parents seem really nice,” Gemma says, watching me, her hands tucked under her thighs.

  “Thanks. They’re pretty solid, as far as parents go.” I pause for a minute, and then ask, “Why didn’t you tell me about your dad? Back when I first asked you about owning the bar?”

  She looks down at her feet and gets very still. “I don’t really like to talk about it. It happened last year, but if I talk about it, it feels like it was yesterday.”

  I nod. “I get that. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” she says, in that same automatic tone she used with my dad, like she’s gone through this exchange a thousand times. I wish I could think of something better to say than “I’m sorry,” but I can’t. I’m not that great with condolences. I should have her add that to the list. I’m about to open my mouth to suggest it when she speaks.

  “It was a heart attack. Completely unexpected.”

  “I'm sorry Gemma, that sucks. That must have been hard on you and Liam. And your mom, too,” I say.

  She shifts a little. “My mom left when I was really little,” she confesses. “My dad raised me. And Liam, too, I guess. That’s why he’s so overprotective.”

  Man. Both her parents are gone? Now I really wish I had something good to say, but my mind is completely blank. I can’t say “I’m sorry” again.

  “My parents didn’t want me,” I blurt, and Gemma looks at me, shocked. “My biological parents, I mean. I’m adopted.”

  “You are?” Gemma asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, notice I don’t look like my mom and dad?” My parents both have dark eyes, light hair, and neither one of them are particularly tall.

  “I guess you’re right,” she says.

  “They adopted me when I was born,” I tell her. “Kath and Phil have always been mom and dad. They thought they couldn’t have kids, and then surprise! Along came Samuel when I was in high school. And they totally like him better.”