We Now Return to Regular Life

by Martin Wilson

  At first I didn’t notice the truck. I was too worried that more puke was coming. But then I snapped out of it and heard the purr of an engine nearby. I stood up and turned around and there it was, pulled halfway onto the shoulder, just a few feet away from me.

  “You okay?”

  I had to squint to see into the truck. It was a dusty white. Even though it wasn’t dented or anything, it was old. You could tell. In the driver’s seat was a heavy man, wearing sunglasses. He had a beard and messy brown hair. “You okay?” he asked again.

  Don’t talk to strangers. We’d all been told that since we were little kids. But that was dumb. You couldn’t avoid it in real life. “Yeah,” I said.

  “I saw what those creeps did to you back there,” he said, cocking his head.

  I looked back down the road. Sam was nowhere in sight.

  “You okay?” he said, for the third time. This time he took his shades off. Even from several feet away I could see one of his eyes was goofy—like it was focusing in a different direction than the other.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Let me give you a ride home.”

  I stared at him.

  “You can put your bike in the back. You live around here?”

  My legs felt frozen. It was like one of those dreams—where someone approaches from a darkened hallway, coming right toward you, and you can’t move and you can’t speak or scream, and then you wake up. I woke up right then. I picked up my bike. I said, “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “You sure? It’s no trouble.” I heard a metallic click as he opened his door, and then a beeping noise.

  I jumped onto my bike and shot off, speeding up the hill toward the road that would take me to Pine Forest. I glanced back a few times and saw he was still parked there, watching me, the door open. I pedaled faster. I finally turned onto the road, which sloped downhill, so I picked up speed. As I reached the part of the street that leveled out, I glanced back again and saw the white truck just turning onto the road. I looked ahead and figured he’d reach me before I could turn into the neighborhood, before I’d be anywhere close to home, so I steered my bike across the street into a driveway of one of the houses that wasn’t really part of our neighborhood.

  I had no idea who lived there. I tossed my bike down in the garage and banged on their kitchen door, banged and banged so hard I thought the glass panes might shatter. Through the panes of the door I saw that the kitchen was dark. Maybe no one was home. And just then I noticed that there were no cars in the garage. But there was a high wooden gate that led from the garage to the backyard, and I saw a dog sticking its nose through the wooden slats, sniffing and panting. I could see through the slats that it was a harmless sweet yellow Lab. Just as I heard the truck approach I reached and unlatched the wooden gate and went into the backyard where the dog jumped all over me excitedly.

  “Hey, boy, hey,” I whispered. “Shh. Calm down.” I managed to both pet and calm the dog and peer through the slats at the same time. I saw the white truck drive past the house.

  My heart pounded. I closed my eyes but tried to listen carefully for the sound of the truck, to see if it had stopped, or if it was turning around and coming back. The dog was still jumping on me, plastering me with licks and jabs of his wet nose. I turned and looked out at the backyard, and saw that the chain-link fence backed up to some woods that surrounded Pine Forest. I could climb that fence and escape that way if I had to, run through the woods, where I’d eventually reach one of the houses in our neighborhood. I looked to see if there were any sticks or weapons handy. I was making plans, my mind racing, my heart still beating like crazy.

  I sat there for a few minutes. I opened my eyes and looked through the slats again, still listening carefully. The road led to a few other neighborhoods past ours, then dead-ended at a small lake. Maybe the truck would turn back. I had to be careful.

  I continued petting the dog’s head gently. I could have sat there all day doing that. But ten minutes had passed. I felt silly. The whole incident was probably nothing. Just some man who lived in one of the other neighborhoods, on his way home. I almost felt bad, for biking away like I did, but better safe than sorry.

  I petted the Lab good-bye and nudged my way out of the gate. I walked to my bike and then peered out of the garage. The coast was clear. I rode home fast and parked my bike in the garage and walked to the front door. Before going in the house I stood there, remembering Mom was inside, still studying. I couldn’t let her know anything had happened. I opened the door gently. Once inside, I peered out the little side windows. I thought Sam might ride up at any moment, ready to apologize.

  But of course, he never did.

  ===

  That afternoon is all kind of a blur to me now. Beth came over a few times, asking where Sam was, and Beth’s mom did the same, and then everyone panicked because Sam still hadn’t come back by the time it got dark out.

  We all went over to Sam’s house, to wait for the police. When they finally came, a man and a woman in dark official uniforms, their guns in holsters, their faces grim and serious—that’s when I got scared. That’s when I started to worry that something bad was happening. That something bad had happened.

  I sat in their living room as I went over everything for what felt like the millionth time that day. I saw Beth hovering in the background. “And that’s all, Josh?” the policewoman said, like she was trying to squeeze just a little more out of me. Like maybe she knew I was holding something back.

  Now, I remember thinking. Now I should mention the man in the white truck. But to be honest, I thought it was unlikely that the two things—the man and Sam—were connected. I’d just overreacted, like a wuss. That guy was probably just trying to be nice, and I would get him in trouble. It was nothing. Besides, I’d never even looked at the truck’s license plate. I couldn’t even remember what make or model it was. My image of it—and the man himself—were fuzzy already, and getting fuzzier by the minute.

  I said, “No, that’s all. I’ve told you everything I remember.”

  ===

  When Mom pulls up to Pine Forest Elementary, the parking lot is packed. There are vans with satellite dishes taking up multiple parking spaces. I spot the local news logo on one, and also CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox.

  “This is a circus,” Mom says, circling the lot, finally finding a spot.

  Is this a big news story? I guess I already know the answer. Kid missing for three years suddenly reappears, alive. Kid missing for three years, living only a few hours away all this time. It’s crazy even if you don’t know the boy in question. And if you do know him? If you were the last person to see him? It’s unbelievable. Like a movie or something. But more than that. It’s like I had stepped through a thin wall into another world, where fantastical things were possible. If Sam could come back alive, then maybe in this world I could fly. Maybe in this world I could twitch my nose and disappear.

  “Josh? You ready to go in?”

  I follow Mom into the gymnasium, where a huge crowd is gathered. The scene inside is noisy and festive, like everyone is there to welcome home a victorious sports team. Toward the front, underneath one of the basketball hoops, a long table is set up, as well as a podium. A bunch of folding chairs are out in front of this, most of the seats filled with people already, mainly adults. Who are these people? Why are they here? Do they even know Sam, or his parents?

  Off to the side, reporters and people with cameras are all huddled together, roped off near a bunch of gym mats. I recognize a few of them from TV.

  Mom and I stand in the back, behind all the chairs, so we have a clear view of the tables where Sam and his family are supposed to sit.

  “You okay?” Mom says. “We can leave if you don’t think—”

  “I’m fine.”

  I’m not fine. I don’t know what I am. Nervous, scared, excited, all of it mixed together. Sti
ll, I want to stay. I have to. I have to see him.

  Finally, a sheriff or a policeman—some man wearing a uniform—comes out to the podium. The crowd immediately quiets down.

  I watch, but I can’t take in anything this man says. I’m waiting for Sam to appear. And then finally they’re announced, the family, and out comes Mr. Manderson, and then Beth, followed by Mrs. Manderson, holding a boy’s hand. Of course it’s Sam. I know it. He’s taller, lanky but with broad shoulders. His brown hair is shaggy, and from a distance it looks like he has piercings or something. He seems shy as the crowd starts to cheer, like we are all welcoming some reclusive rock star at a concert.

  The family sits at the table in front of microphones that have been set up. Sam sits next to his mom and briefly leans his head on her shoulder, like a little kid would.

  I stare at him, maybe hoping he’ll notice me. He looks dazed, almost like he’s not sure where he is.

  Mrs. Manderson finally speaks into the microphone. “I always knew this day would come. I never gave up hope. I never stopped trying to find him. I never stopped praying.”

  I glance at Beth, sitting next to Sam. She’s got her eyes focused down at the table, so I can’t see her expression. She has to be happy, right?

  “God has answered our prayers,” Mrs. Manderson says, and the crowd murmurs in agreement. She looks at Sam fondly, and hugs him close before releasing him. Then she starts answering questions.

  Right then Sam seems to come out of his daze and notice the crowd. He scans the room, like he’s searching for someone.

  Suddenly the gymnasium feels hot, too crowded. I look over at Mom, and she’s riveted, her eyes glassy. I slowly back away through the crowd and once I clear the thickness of people I head for the doors. I push through them and see that it’s dark out now, which is a relief for some reason. Time hasn’t stopped after all. The world’s still turning. I stand there for a minute, picturing this new, older Sam. He didn’t see me, I’m sure of that. But would he have recognized me? I’ve changed, too. Nick and I, we do push-ups and weights at the gym his dad belongs to. And I’m taller. I’m not the kid he used to know. Not the kid he could push around and laugh at.

  “Josh?”

  I turn and see Mom leaving the gym, walking toward me. “Honey, are you okay?”

  I walk toward the car. “I want to go home,” I say, not stopping.

  ===

  When we get to the house, I just go to my room, and Mom lets me without sitting me down for a talk, thank God. I have homework to do. I turn my cell off. I know Nick has been texting. Max and Raj and Ty, too, all of my friends. I open my book bag and get to it, laying my folders and books and notes out on my bed, next to my desk, attacking everything in an orderly fashion. Spanish and biology quizzes tomorrow, so those are first. A set of algebra problems. A chapter in my Alabama history textbook. In English, we’re reading The Red Badge of Courage, which is kind of boring, but I manage to get through about twenty pages before Mom knocks on the door. “Josh, dinner’s ready,” she says.

  “I’m not really hungry,” I reply, maybe a little too loudly.

  She opens the door then, looks at me while I sit at my desk with my books. “Do you want to talk about it?” she says. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

  “I’ve still got a lot of homework.” I turn back to my book, but I know she’s staring at me, like she’s trying to see if I’m okay or if I’m going to break down and cry or something.

  “If you get hungry, come down and I’ll fix you something. Or I could order you some pizza. Whatever you want.”

  “Okay,” I say, really trying to focus on the words in the book. The trees about the portal of the chapel moved soughingly in a soft wind. Soughingly? I look to the door, and Mom’s still there, and I smile at her and look back at the novel.

  Finally, she closes the door. I listen, and I can hear faint voices downstairs. Mom and Dad, probably talking about me. Probably worried.

  I shut the book. I sit there a minute. My phone is still off.

  Three years.

  I wake up my laptop. Just a few minutes, then back to work. I go online and type in Sam’s name and a ton of articles appear. I click on the first one and start reading, but there’s not much information. He was found yesterday. The police knocked on an apartment door, looking for this man named Russell Lee Hunnicutt, and they found him. But they also found Sam. Sam was living there. When they asked, he told them he was Sam Walsh. “Can you take me home now?” he said.

  My heart races as I scroll down the article. I need to see the man they arrested. The man he was living with. The man who took him.

  And then there he is, near the end of the first article. I guess it’s the mug shot after he was arrested. He’s a big man, with messy brown hair, a not very well-trimmed beard. He’s facing the camera, scowling. And those eyes. One of them looks off to the side. A lazy eye, that’s what you call it. I remember now.

  I just sit there and stare at him, hoping my own eyes are playing tricks on me. I blink and blink, but the picture stays the same.

  It’s the man in the white truck. I’m sure of it.

  I slap my laptop closed and sit there. At first I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t breathe. But then I count down from ten, like I do just before every match I play. Ten nine eight seven six five four three two one.

  I open my eyes. Everything is going to be okay. That’s what Mom said, wasn’t it? Sam is home now. He’s with his mom and his stepdad and Beth. He’s back, probably sleeping in his old bed tonight, in his old bedroom in Pine Forest Estates. Sam’s home and alive. Everything is going to be okay.

  CHAPTER 3

  Holding It Together

  Beth

  When Earl drives up to our house, news vans are lined up and down the street, like they followed us from the conference. Or maybe these are different trucks. People seem to be everywhere—in their own yards, watching what’s going on at ours, and also surrounding our driveway in the street. Neighbors, well-wishers, but also reporters, TV people—the lights of their cameras blast in at us. Some neon-orange traffic cones are blocking our driveway, acting as a sort of barrier. Two cops see our car and move the cones aside. No one says anything as Earl eases the car into the driveway, but the crowd breaks into applause and cheers and I can hear things being shouted, like “Welcome home!” and “We love you!”

  Earl pulls into the garage and kills the engine. Sam, sitting next to me, tightens his grip on my hand but doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t said a word since we left the news conference. Before we’d gone to face all the people and reporters, I’d excused myself and gone into the girls’ locker room. I wanted to cry, to loosen the tightness that had been building in my chest, and I thought about going into a stall to do just that. Instead, I splashed cold water on my face in the sink. I knew I had to hold it together. And I did, sitting there calmly like a good daughter.

  Earl unbuckles his seat belt and looks back at us and nods. I guess we all take this as a sign to get out of the car and deal with this craziness. The cheers and noise and shouting erupts all over again when we get out.

  Mom grabs Sam’s hand and walks toward the edge of the driveway, where the crowd is held back by a few policemen. Earl hovers close behind, but I stay where I am. I feel kind of light-headed, just seeing everyone crowded around like that.

  Mrs. Sykes from next door is being held back by the cops, but she’s waving and Earl nods to the police and they let her through. She’s known both Sam and me since we were little kids, and used to babysit us a lot. She can’t stop crying and hugging Mom, saying “It’s a miracle, it’s a miracle.” Then she latches onto Sam, hugging him in what looks like a crushing embrace, even though he’s taller and bigger than she is. “Baby,” she says again and again. I look at the other people lingering and watching, with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. “Sam! Sam!” The police
fend off the news reporters who are holding cameras and microphones. A few more neighbors are waving at us, beckoning to get through, and again Earl gives the go-ahead and a few are allowed to approach. That older couple whose kids have moved away, the Albertsons. Weird Mr. Davis, who has three loud Yorkshire terriers that he takes for walks while he smokes cigarettes. Mrs. Tomek and her ten-year-old son Ruben. The young couple, the ones who moved into the Kellers’ old house—I forget their names. They don’t even know Sam. All these people, they swarm around Mom and Sam, while Earl keeps watch. I back away toward the house, and no one notices, thankfully.

  When I get inside the phone is ringing but I ignore it and just stand against the counter, glad to be away from the lights and noise. Just hours ago I was skipping class and doing homework and kissing a boy and now I’m at home and my dead brother is alive and it seems like the whole world is outside, grabbing at us, and it’s just too much for me to process.

  Water, I need water. I grab a glass and fill it at the sink and gulp so fast that I choke a little. I fill it again and guzzle more.

  The phone finally stops ringing, but I can still hear the commotion outside. I don’t look out the window. I just try to breathe normally. And it seems to work. The tightness in my chest eases even more. I’m safe at home.

  After a few more minutes, Mom and Earl and Sam finally come inside. Mom sees me and comes over and hugs me. Sam just kind of stands there, unsure of what to do.

  He’s not used to his own house.

  The phone in the kitchen—the landline Mom insisted we keep because that was the only number she knew Sam had memorized—starts ringing again. “I’ll deal with this,” Earl says, answering.

  “You okay?” Mom asks Sam. Sam just flashes this weird cautious smile, the kind of smile you’d offer a stranger who held a door open for you.