We Now Return to Regular Life

by Martin Wilson

  “Beth? Beth?”

  I snap to attention. “What do we do?” I ask, barely stifling a desire to scream.

  “Call your stepdad?”

  “No! They can’t know I let this happen. We have to go after him, we have to—” I can’t even complete the thought. My ears are ringing. I close my eyes and lie back on the bed. In the background I hear Chita on the phone, nearly shouting. Finally, quiet. She sits down next to me.

  “Donal’s coming over.”

  “Donal?” I have a quick lift of happiness, hearing his name, before I immediately fall back to reality.

  “Yeah. He has a car. You want to go after Sam, right? You have to calm down. Let’s get you dressed. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  So that’s what we do. I dress. I grab my bag and make sure I have everything I might need. We sit in the den, Chita holding my hands.

  “Listen,” Chita says. “I’ll stay here, in case Sam calls or comes back. Okay?”

  “Good idea,” I say, because I hadn’t thought of that.

  We wait. I try to stay calm. I have to stay calm. Chita tries to help, rubbing my hands, but my mind still races. How far away is Anniston?

  Is Sam already there?

  Why is he doing this?

  When Donal pulls up in his Jeep, I hug Chita and she says, “You’ll find him.” She opens the kitchen door for me and I dash to the car and get in.

  “You okay?” Donal asks.

  “Let’s just get going,” I say.

  “To Anniston,” Donal says. He punches something into his phone and a computerized lady’s voice starts speaking.

  “Thanks,” I say. I can breathe a little better now. It was the sitting and waiting that was making me crazy. Waiting for Sam, just like last time. This time I’m not going to sit around and wait. We’re going after him, and I’m going to find him and drag him back home, and I’m never letting him out of my sight again.

  ===

  Drive faster drive faster drive faster, my brain shouts. The minutes and miles tick by, but it still seems like we have a long way to go. Anniston’s only two hours away, mostly a straight shot on I-20. But I want to be there now. I need to be there now.

  “Why do you think he went to Anniston?” Donal asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I don’t know anything anymore. I thought Sam was okay. Christmas was so nice. He seemed so happy. I’m stupid for thinking that. So stupid.

  “So, where do we go once we get there?” Donal asks.

  “Damn,” I say. In all the rush I hadn’t really thought of that. I try to think—where would he go? All I can think of is the place where he lived with that man. “I can’t remember the name of the complex where he . . . where that man held him. But I think that’s where he might go.”

  “Can you look it up on your phone?” Donal suggests.

  “Yeah, good idea,” I say, my effort to stay calm like a constant battle inside my body. I whip out my phone and feel creepy but type in “Russell Hunnicutt apartment” and then a whole bunch of articles flash up. It’s almost eleven. We have about an hour to go till we get there. I scan through the articles, picking through the details, hoping some will name the neighborhood or apartment complex, but feeling the panic wash back over me. What if we can’t find him?

  I know this is my fault. Living in my cocoon of ignorance. Not wanting to know anything about what my brother went through.

  “Sam,” I say, looking at my screen. “Where are you?”

  Donal steps on the gas.

  CHAPTER 16

  Meadowbrook Manor

  Josh

  Sam seems to drive around with no particular destination in mind, despite what he said. He doesn’t talk. It’s like he’s under a spell. A tingle of fear starts to spread through my body.

  We drive past a strip of restaurants—Applebee’s, Denny’s, then a BBQ place called Smalley’s.

  “That’s where Rusty worked,” he says, sounding normal again, not crazy, not broken, but my belly still feels tight, like I’m on guard. “I got so sick of barbecue. He brought it home all the time. I never want to eat it ever again as long as I live.”

  “I hate barbecue, too,” I say, even though I know it’s not for the same reason.

  Sam doesn’t respond. It’s like I’m not right next to him. All he can see are the places and people from his time here.

  “That’s the mall. Where I met Kaylee.”

  It looks like every other mall—a giant brick and glass fortress surrounded by a vast and half-empty parking lot. It’s getting close to noon. My stomach growls. But if we ate, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.

  Suddenly he slows the car and takes a right, onto a street that goes up a hill. We pass a pawnshop, a shabby-looking beauty parlor, then a little church. After we pass a vacant lot, he turns left.

  “Here we are,” he says.

  The name of the complex is painted in fading black letters on a white sign, hanging by two chains from a wooden post: MEADOWBROOK MANOR.

  Sam drives into the lot, which is only half filled. Parking spots are marked with faded painted numbers. A sign warns that cars will be towed if parked in reserved spots. Sam pulls into one of them.

  “Is it okay to park here?”

  “This is our spot. His spot.”

  Where he would park the truck. The white truck he painted red.

  He shuts off the engine and we sit there a minute, facing a gray-wooden wall that separates the parking lot from the road we just drove up. Finally, Sam opens his car door and gets out, and I follow him. He walks across the lot, toward a little set of cement stairs, which lead down to a courtyard. The complex is two-story, dirty white brick, and U-shaped. In the courtyard is a grill that looks charred and unusable, and two pocked cement picnic tables set on slabs of concrete. A deflated basketball lies on the yellowed grass.

  Sam walks down the steps and veers right to one of the picnic tables and sits on the tabletop. He’s facing an apartment, just staring. I sit next to him. The cement is cold on my jeans.

  “You okay?” I ask, and the fear starts snaking through my bones again, fear because I no longer know what Sam is capable of. He doesn’t respond to my question.

  The apartments all have doors painted dark green. A black and rickety-looking metal railing runs around the second floor. God, this place is depressing. I try not to think of all the things Sam went through here, but all of the awfulness seems to hover in the air like a cloud.

  Sam still stares, like he’s waiting for someone to walk out of that apartment.

  I keep expecting the neighbors to look out their windows at us. Maybe someone will recognize Sam. But it’s like this place is abandoned. And wouldn’t people want to move, I think, after they found out what happened here? Maybe they’ve all left. Maybe this place is deserted.

  Sam bolts up and walks toward the apartment he’d been studying. He tries the knob and jiggles it, but the door’s locked. He keeps jiggling, like going harder will make it open. Then he finally stops. He stands there in front of the door, and rests his head right where the peephole is.

  I want to go home. I want to leave this place badly. My phone is back in the car. I could run to the car and call someone—Sam’s stepdad, or my parents. Or Beth. She’s probably awake by now. She’s probably flipping out.

  Sam starts knocking his head against the door, but not forcefully. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then, the fourth time, he bangs it real hard, slamming it again and again.

  “Sam!” I shout. I leap off the table and run over to him. I’m about to grab him when he stops. I can hear him making these awful sounds. Moaning mixed with crying. “Sam,” I say, but my voice is dry and weak.

  Sam wiggles the knob again. Then he starts kicking the door. Kicking and kicking, still making that moaning sound. I cringe but creep closer and pat him
on the back. “Sam.” He spins around. His face is red and angry and he looks at me like he doesn’t know who I am.

  “Leave me alone!” He pushes me hard and I stumble back, but I don’t fall down. He turns back to the door and starts kicking again.

  “Sam,” I plead, my heart pounding so hard I can almost hear it. “Sam, please, stop!” Tears start spilling from my eyes. Maybe he finally hears me. Maybe he hears my cry-soaked voice, or maybe he’s worn himself out, because he finally stops kicking.

  “Sam,” I say. “Please, can we leave this place?”

  For a few seconds he just stands there. I can hear him crying. We both are.

  “He was right,” Sam says faintly.

  “Who was right?” I ask.

  “Rusty.” He rests his head on the door again. “No one will love me now.”

  I wipe my eyes. “It’s not true,” I say.

  “You saw Kaylee. You heard her.”

  “Sam,” I say, trying to steady my voice. He needs to hear me. “I wouldn’t be here if it was true.”

  He lifts his head from the door and wipes his eyes with his shirt. Maybe he heard me, truly. Maybe he understands what I’m trying to say. He sniffles. He stands there, quiet finally. I feel relief pour over me slowly, like syrup.

  A shout cuts through the drab air that surrounds us. My head is foggy, but it hits me that someone is yelling—someone is yelling Sam’s name.

  CHAPTER 17

  Home

  Beth

  I’m still combing through those damned articles, and I can’t find the name of the complex, and I think I might start crying.

  Then my cell rings.

  The number has a 205 area code, one I don’t have programmed in my phone. I think about letting it go, but I realize—maybe it’s Josh. Yes, it has to be Josh!

  “Hello?” I shout.

  “Beth? Is that you?”

  The voice is familiar, but it’s not Josh. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Tony. Tony Johnson. Do you remember me?”

  “Tony?” Of course I remember. “Tony! I’m so—”

  “He’s here, Beth!” Tony says. “Sam’s here! He’s outside his old apartment, yelling and kicking the door and stuff, he’s with some kid, he—”

  “I’m on my way there now, Tony. But you have to tell me the address. Please, tell me the address!”

  “Okay,” he says. “It’s 189 Meadowbrook Lane. And our complex is called Meadowbrook Manor.”

  “Meadowbrook Manor at 189 Meadowbrook Lane,” I say back to him. I grab Donal’s phone and type in the address as the destination, my shaky hands somehow hitting the right letters, and the GPS starts recalculating. “Tony, don’t let Sam leave, okay? Call me if he does. I’m hanging up now.”

  Up ahead I see a sign for the exit to Anniston. Donal’s free hand reaches over and takes mine and I hold on tight. Please stay there, Sam. I chant it in my head: Please stay there, please stay there, I’m coming for you, I’m almost there. Donal turns off the interstate onto the exit. He runs every yellow light, and I clutch his hand more tightly. Once he turns onto Meadowbrook Lane, he guns it up a hill.

  I keep looking out the window for Sam, just in case, but mostly it’s crappy old shops

  “Here it is!” Donal announces, making a left into a parking lot.

  I scan the lot, which isn’t that big, but I don’t see my car. My hand grips the door handle but then I see it, almost hidden next to a minivan. “Stop the car,” I shout.

  Donal hits the brakes. I unbuckle and run out across the lot and to a set of steps that lead down to a courtyard. That’s when I see him, straight ahead down a concrete walkway, leaning against a door. Sam.

  Josh stands facing him a few feet away, frozen in place. “Sam! Sam!” I yell. I rush down the walkway. “Sam!”

  Sam finally turns and sees me, his mouth open in surprise. “Sam,” I say.

  His face is all red. He leans back against the door and slinks to the ground. I walk to him slowly, like I’m approaching a skittish cat. “Sam, I’m here.” What I want to do is start bawling. I want to clutch him and hold him tight. But I keep it together. It’s like my body knows I have to be strong.

  I walk closer and kneel in front of him. The cement of the walkway is hard and cold, but it doesn’t matter. “Sam,” I say.

  He looks at me like he recognizes me now. He closes his eyes and I see tears. “It’s okay. Let it out.” I touch his leg, and he doesn’t flinch. I sidle up next to him, and he latches on to me like I’m a lifeboat, his head in my lap, and in my arms he cries and shakes and I hold him. “It’s okay,” I say, again and again, softly. “I’m here.” Josh is crying, too, his arms clutched tightly in front of his chest.

  Sam wipes his tears with his jacket sleeve, and, sitting up, puts his head on my shoulder. “I had to come here,” he says softly. “I had to see it again.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I understand.” Though I don’t understand. I can only try to understand. All I can do is try—that’s all any of us can do.

  “I saw her,” he says. “Kaylee. She, she . . .” and he starts crying again, and I move my arm around his shoulders and squeeze him more tightly. I don’t even know who Kaylee is. “She looked at me like she didn’t know me,” he says through tears. “Like, like . . . like she hated me.”

  “Shhh,” I say. Kaylee must have been someone important to him, like Tony. “I’m sure that’s not true. And if it is true, then you’re better off without her. She just doesn’t know how great you are. How strong you are.”

  He pulls back away from me, so that we’re looking at each other face-to-face, eye to eye. “You really think that?”

  “Of course I do,” I say, fighting back the tears. Only someone strong could have lived through all this. We both lived through these awful years. And here we are. That’s something, I think.

  More than something. It’s everything.

  “I’m trying, Beth . . .” He takes a shaking breath. “I’m trying to move on, like Mom wants. But when I sit in bed at night . . . when I look in the mirror, all I can think about is . . .” His voice breaks, his lips quiver. He looks right at me then. “Who’s . . . who’s going to love me?”

  If I breathe my heart will crack into pieces.

  “Who’s going to love this?” He glances down at his body. “This fucked-up, damaged—”

  “I am,” I say, grabbing his hands. “I’m going to love you. I do love you. Mom loves you, and Earl, and Aunt Shelley, and Dad.” I turn to Josh, his face streaked with tears. “And Josh loves you.” Hadn’t I known that all along? I feel so grateful for him now, for being Sam’s friend. His only friend.

  I take one of my hands and rub Sam’s cheek, wiping away the wetness.

  His whole life will be difficult. This place—that man—will never go away, not entirely. Not for any of us, really. People always say, Get over it. Like you can make some leap and then move on. But it’s not like that. Some things you can’t get over, not completely.

  “Everyone here, in Anniston—everyone who knew me thought I was this kid named Sam Hunnicutt. I just don’t . . . I don’t know who I am.”

  “You’re not Sam Hunnicutt,” I say, “you’re Sam Walsh. And you’re almost fifteen years old.” I smile at him. “And you’re an artist. And you have a whole life ahead of you. And I need you in my life.” I take a deep breath, because I can feel the tears welling. “I need you in it badly.”

  With that, he sidles back over next to me and lets me put my arm around him. His head falls back on my shoulder. He seems tired. So tired.

  I am too.

  Donal is with Josh now, his arm around his shoulder, ushering him over to the concrete picnic table. He sits Josh down and pats him on the back, then nods over to me, like he’s saying, Everything’s going to be okay. And when I look upward at the second floor I
see Tony, leaning on the rail, gazing down at us with those intense eyes. He gives a little wave when we lock eyes. Then he backs up, and quietly goes back into his apartment.

  “Sam?” I say. “Sam, whatever happened here. What happened to you . . . It’s not going to define who you are. You know that, right?”

  I feel him nod on my shoulder. “I know,” he says.

  It’s not going to define any of us, I think. Not me, not Mom, not Josh. Sure, we’ll never forget it—how could we? And maybe it’s made us who we are today. But it’s not the only thing in life. There’s so much more.

  “We can talk about it,” I say. “You can . . . if you need to, if you ever want to, you can tell me things.”

  “Bad things?”

  “Everything,” I say. I know it will be hard to for me to handle. But what I really can’t handle is Sam not being there, for the rest of my life.

  After a while, Sam lifts his head off my shoulder and stands up. He reaches out his hand and pulls me up and hugs me. We stand there like that for what seems like forever. And I truly feel it then: Sam’s back. I have my brother back.

  “Beth,” he says, whispering into my ear. “Please get me out of here. Please take me home.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Any Other Freshman

  Beth and Josh

  Beth

  We’re at the kitchen door, ready to go, and Mom is smiling even though I know she’s nervous. Earl stands behind her, and he grins in a big, encouraging way.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” she asks Sam.

  “I’m sure,” he says, letting out an exasperated laugh.

  Sam got a haircut last weekend. He’s wearing a new shirt that I helped him pick out, and his favorite jeans. It’s April, and this is his first day of school. He’ll have to take summer classes to catch up, but unlike anyone else I know he seems excited about this. Excited about school in general.

  It took a while to convince Mom, though.