The Disappearing Boy

by Sonia Tilson

  As soon as the bus got onto the highway, Neil took the photo from his jeans pocket. This was his real mother, he thought: Jessica, gentle and sweet and pretty, not Sasha. He drank in the curve of Jessica’s cheek, the soft shine of her eyes, the way her blond curls shone in the light, his mind coming up with a few uncertain memories: fine, soft, sky-blue material with small raised white dots; that flowery scent; a high sweet voice singing a song with the word “sleep” in it; a man’s voice shouting; the sound of crying; a dark, narrow staircase.

  Aware that the guy next to him was looking at him nervously, Neil turned his face to the window to conceal his tears. His breath came in little gasps and his shoulders shook as his reflection stared back, hollow-eyed, from the dark glass.

  Once he got a grip on himself, he blew his nose and sat up straight. The first thing he’d do after he reached his grandfather, he decided, would be to look for Jessica. Maybe he could get some clue from Ken about where to start looking. Then he would make a plan.

  He wondered what had happened to Jessica. Had that Sasha/Adam person, who Jessica probably thought was going to marry her, totally abandoned her and the unborn baby that was going to be him? Had she/he lied to Jessica, too? How was he supposed to think of his mom now? As his lying mother? Or as his lying father?

  He couldn’t get his head around it. He decided to block his so-called mother from his mind, refuse to think about her. If he ever did think of her, it would be as Sasha, not Mom. Never again Mom. He would just forget all about her and join the rest of the disappearing men in his family. He would be the disappearing boy, and start a whole new life, like Ken had.

  ***

  Some time later, Neil was awakened from a fitful nap. The blond, muscular-looking guy next to him put down his textbook and held out a zip-lock bag. “Hey man, want a brownie? My girlfriend’s a great cook.”

  “Hey, thanks a lot.” Neil helped himself to a large fresh square. It tasted almost as good as his…Sasha’s.

  Even though he’d made up his mind to forget her, images of Sasha kept forcing their way into Neil's head: how she’d looked getting into the car that last morning, wearing her royal-blue slicker and waving goodbye, all excited about her new job at the hospital; how she’d appeared later, sitting on his bed, staring white-faced at the painting; and how helpless, even lifeless, she’d seemed, lying in the hospital.

  He shook his head and took another bite of his brownie. “This is great, “he said. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The guy grinned. “Happy to share. Have another.” He held out the bag. “You going far?”

  “I’m going to visit my grandfather,” Neil said, eagerly helping himself. “He has a stable near Saint John.”

  “Wow! Long trip, eh? I’m getting off at Quebec City myself. Can you ride a horse?”

  “No, but he’s going to teach me.”

  “Cool! How long are you going for?”

  He should never have gotten into this. “I don’t know,” he said. “Depends how things work out.”

  The guy nodded, then opened his book. “Gotta study,” he said. “Big test next week.”

  Fortified by the brownies and the company, Neil watched the fields and woods fly by and imagined himself riding a fine horse like the one in the photo.

  At the Quebec station, he had just enough time to buy a comic and a Coke before boarding the bus to Edmundston.

  Judging by the times on the ticket, he was in for another long haul. He was already sick to death of travelling. He wished he had something to do or to read, and once again regretted leaving Margaret’s book behind.

  He’d never see Margaret again either, he thought sadly as the bus took him further east. But he’d have a grandfather, and a fun one at that. They’d have a love of horses in common, and he knew that his grandfather would be happy to teach him to ride.

  He looked out the window. Lots of nothing. No snow-capped mountains, no glittering sea, just endless fields and hills and woods, becoming more visible in the dawning light.

  “Mind if I sit here?” A girl, probably about seventeen, plonked herself down on the empty seat beside him. She hadn’t given him much choice, but she was pretty, with long shiny brown hair and big, blue-gray eyes.

  “Fine by me,” he said.

  “There’s a guy back there who keeps hitting on me,” she whispered, “I can’t get him to leave me alone. I told him you’re my brother. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Sure.” He half stood and turned to look to the back of the half-empty bus. “Where’s he sitting?”

  She pulled him down. “Don’t look! I said you were my big brother just to scare him off. You look pretty tall from the back.”

  “Okay, but if I’m supposed to be your brother, why weren’t you already sitting with me?”

  “We didn’t get into that, but we can make it up if you like.” She smiled and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you think?”

  He sat back and closed his eyes, considering. “Hmm. I think you wanted to sit next to the handsome dude back there in the black leather jacket,” he said, “and told your brother to get lost.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you cheeky! What’s your name? I’m Maddie.”

  “I’m Neil.” He looked sideways at her. “Where are we now?”

  “Edmundston’s the next stop. That’s where I live. You?”

  “I’m going on to Saint John.” He frowned. Where’s the dude getting off, do you know?”

  “He said Edmundston.”

  “Is someone meeting you there?” he asked.

  “Yes. My actual big brother is supposed to meet me there. I hope he’s not late.” She shivered. “To be honest, that guy scares me.”

  “Don’t worry, Maddie,” he said, feeling very big and strong. “I’ll hang around the station with you if you like. I’ll have half an hour before I catch the bus to Woodstock.”

  “You’re a pal, Neil!” She smiled at him, showing dimples, and settled back in her seat.

  A dark-haired guy in a black bomber jacket swished past them. Turning around, he came up to them again, nodded sternly at Maddie, and gave Neil a scornful once-over.

  “So that is him!” Neil said. “You’re way better off with me.”

  “I know, right?” she said. “How old are you anyway? Fifteen?”

  Was she kidding? He smiled mysteriously and said nothing.

  They chatted happily until they reached Edmundston where her brother was, in fact, waiting.

  The drive to Woodstock passed quickly enough, but by the time Neil got off the bus from his last leg to Saint John, he was stiff and sore and totally exhausted. He was never getting on a bus again.

  Chapter 10

  The Saint John bus station had a faint smell of the sea, but was as cold and scruffy as the rest. Neil had no idea where to go from there. Exhausted and hungry, he bought himself a hot chocolate and slumped on a bench to think.

  A girl at a phone booth near him slammed the phone down and stomped off. A directory swayed on its chain beneath the shelf. Neil jumped up. That was how he could find his grandfather.

  It was just the business directory, but he located the stable eventually, under the heading Riding Academies. It was called MacLeod’s Equestrian Centre, and was located somewhere with the strange name of Quispamsis. An area map on the wall showed that it wasn’t too far from Saint John.

  Maybe he should phone his grandfather from here? His cellphone was dead, so he picked up the heavy, black receiver and began slowly dialling the numbers. Then he stopped. It would be better, he decided, replacing the receiver, more of a surprise, if he just turned up.

  He put on his rain slicker for some protection from the cold wind and the threat of rain, and was soon standing at the side of the busy road out of Saint John, sticking out his thumb and shivering as he prepared to wait.

  Car after car whizzed
by, many of them expensive-looking. A Lexus hovered for a moment but sped up again, the driver presumably not liking the look of him. Finally a big old truck, labelled Melanson Movers, slowed and pulled up.

  “Where you going, buddy?” the driver asked in a strong French accent, lowering the window as Neil came panting up.

  “Um, somewhere near Quispamsis, I think.”

  “You think?” The man raised his eyebrows. “Any other clue?”

  Neil put his backpack down. “Well, it’s a riding stable, and the phone book said Quispamsis.”

  The truck driver grinned. “You’re in luck, man! I’m going to Hamilton, but I’m in no hurry. I can take the scenic route and swing by Quispamsis. We’ll find this stable for sure. Hop in.”

  Neil gratefully threw his backpack in and climbed up into the high cab and onto the cracked seat, taking in the smell of tobacco, chewing gum, and pine air-freshener.

  “I’m Jean-Paul,” the man said with a grin.

  “Hi. I’m Neil.”

  “Well, do up your seat belt, Neil, and let’s go find this stable. Have a gum.” He held out a packet of Chiclets, then put the truck in gear and merged noisily back into the traffic. “Won’t take us more than half an hour to get to Quispamsis,” he said.

  “Thanks.” What a stroke of luck! Neil could hardly believe he was nearly there. He pictured the smiling man in the photo with the lovely horse. His grandfather would be surprised all right, but he’d surely be pleased to see him.

  ***

  LINDA I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. The big black letters, painted on a wall of rock, swung into view as the truck took a curve on the road from Saint John. Neil turned to watch the words recede before huddling back into his hoodie.

  What would it be like to make such a promise for the whole world to see, he thought, let alone Linda, whoever she was? Was it even possible to be so sure? He dropped his gaze to the truck floor, littered with gum wrappers and cigarette packets.

  “You know somebody at that stable?” the truck driver said, making another stab at conversation.

  “Yup. My grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather, eh?” He looked at Neil. “I got grandkids,” he said proudly. “Two of ’em. A boy, three, and a little girl, one and a half.” He took his wallet out of his shirt pocket and flipped it open at a photo of two fat little grinning faces.

  “Nice,” said Neil.

  “Joy of my life.” Jean-Paul put the wallet away. “Little monkeys, both of them. Your grandpa, he’ll be looking forward to seeing you, for sure.” He glanced across at Neil. “How come he didn’t meet you?”

  “Um, he doesn’t know I’m coming,” said Neil. “It’s a surprise.”

  Jean-Paul gave him another sideways look.

  Ignoring an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, Neil turned to look out the side window.

  Jean-Paul leaned forward to turn up the radio, comb marks showing in his dark hair. A song filled the truck with whirling, pounding energy, making the plastic hula dancer on the dash jiggle madly beneath the Virgin Mary swaying from the mirror.

  “Good stuff, eh?” Jean-Paul shouted. “You like rock?”

  “Uh-huh.” He suddenly felt very tired.

  Jean-Paul lowered the volume and shifted to look at him. “Look, buddy, I give you a ride, you can at least talk to me. That’s the deal. You need a lift, and I need company.” He looked back at the road with a sigh. “It’s a boring life you know, driving around in a truck all day, every day.”

  “Sorry, man,” said Neil. “I’m just no good at conversation.” He was dead beat and starving after his marathon journey.

  Jean-Paul leaned forward to peer into his face as he turned the radio back up. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” he shouted over the sudden blast of music. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  Leaning his head against the rattling window, Neil watched the tidy bungalows slip by, the wide river over on the driver’s side glinting under what was left of the pale sunset. He looked at his watch: five-thirty. They must be getting near. “What’s the name of this river?” he shouted, trying to be sociable.

  Jean-Paul turned down the music. “Oh, that’s the Kennebecasis River,” he said proudly. “It meets up with the Saint John River, and with the sea back in town.” He looked at Neil. “You ever hear of the Reversing Falls?”

  Neil shook his head.

  “No? It’s real famous. One of the wonders of the world. You stay ’round here, man, you gotta see that!”

  The road now ran past big fancy white houses set back behind smooth wide lawns and surrounded by huge trees. Occasional glimpses of the river kept appearing in the distance. The ad in the phone book had said that the stable was just outside Quispamsis, which, as he’d seen on the map, was quite close to another place called Rothesay. They’d surely be there soon.

  “That was Rothesay we just went through,” Jean-Paul said, as if reading Neil's thoughts. “Where all the millionaires live.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. He offered Neil another gum and popped one in his own mouth.

  “Won’t be long now,” he said. “Quispamsis is coming up soon, and then we’ve got to find that stable you’re aiming for. You got the street number?”

  “Um…” Neil thought hard. He had seen the number in the phone book and had assumed he would remember it, but it had gone out of his head. I can’t remember,” he said. “I know it had an eight in it and a nine…sorry.”

  Jean-Paul grinned. “No problem. We’ll find it. There won’t be too many stables around there, I don’t think.” He laughed, then looked at Neil. “Piece of luck for you that I could take the slow road, eh?”

  A short way past the little town of Quispamsis, they slowed down as Jean-Paul squinted up the road. “There’s a notice up ahead,” he said. “Says MacLeod’s Equestrian Centre. That it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it!” Neil grabbed his backpack as the truck stopped opposite a wide metal gate.

  He jumped down. “Thanks a lot, Jean-Paul,” he said, looking back up. “It was nice talking to you.”

  Jean-Paul laughed. “My pleasure, man,” he said. “You take care of yourself now.”

  Chapter 11

  Neil shut the gate behind him, then turned and looked around in the fading light at the place that could become his new home. Fenced fields spread out on each side of a driveway that led up to a white-frame bungalow with an old black truck parked in front. Beyond the bungalow, a large barn was joined to a low metal structure. Behind that, another field sloped up to a darkly wooded hillside. A faint smell of manure hung in the cold air, but Neil couldn’t see any horses. Just a donkey, standing by itself at the far end of the field.

  His eyes fixed on the bungalow, he pulled his rain slicker tighter against the biting wind, and walked up the long, hard-packed gravel driveway. Ken had looked really nice in the photo, he thought. Neil was sure his grandfather would greet him with a big smile and probably make him a hot meal: pork chops, maybe, or a steak, and apple crumble.

  He jumped in fright as a small but fierce-looking brown and white dog raced down the driveway yapping like crazy, stopping a couple of yards in front of him and sure as heck not about to let him get any closer. Sasha had taught him how to greet a strange dog, so he offered it the back of his closed hand, but it stood its ground, barking even more furiously and showing scarily large fangs.

  Then the door of the bungalow opened and a short, bowlegged figure appeared, silhouetted against the yellow light. Surely that wasn’t a gun in his hands?

  “What’re you doing on my land?” the man bellowed, hitching up his jeans as he came down the steps. “Don’t you know you’re trespassing?” He called the dog off and squinted down the driveway. “Who the hell are you?”

  It really was a gun, Neil saw as the man came closer. This couldn’t be his grandfather’s stable. He must have come to the wrong pla
ce. Possibly to the house of a killer. He felt his knees go weak, but then he saw the big, sticking-out ears.

  “I…I’m Neil,” he stammered. “Your grandson, Neil!”

  The man lowered the gun. “What the devil?” He stared at him. “Adam’s kid? What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve…left home,” Neil said weakly, “and…and I thought I’d come here.”

  “Well you bloody well thought wrong! You can’t come here! It’s out of the question!” He glared at Neil.

  Neil looked down at the dog, shivering in the cold wind. What was he going to do? Where could he go in the dark and the cold, in the middle of nowhere? He felt his chin begin to wobble.

  His grandfather gave an angry sigh. “You’d better come in for now, I suppose,” he said, “until we figure out how to send you back. I don’t know where the hell we’re going to put you, though.”

  Neil looked at the denim-jacketed back in front of him as Ken pushed open the door. It was hard to believe that this was the smiling man from Margaret’s photos.

  “You might as well meet Cheryl,” Ken said as he turned off the boxy little TV set. He pointed to a tanned woman with long streaky dark-blond hair. “Cheryl, this is my grandson, apparently. Neil.”

  The woman stubbed out her cigarette, smiled, and held out her hand. “How ya doin,’ kid?”

  He began to feel a little bit better as they shook hands, the dog jumping up and wagging its short tail. This was terrible, but at least he hadn’t been shot, and was out of the wind, and had somewhere to sleep.

  “You carried this all the way?” Cheryl seemed to be amused as she hefted his backpack.

  “I suppose you’re hungry.” Ken said, getting himself a beer from the fridge. “I’ve got a frozen dinner in there somewhere. That suit you?”

  Neil nodded quickly. He’d never had a frozen dinner in his life, but whatever it was, he would have eaten it straight from the packet.

  “Here, I’m popping it in the nuker for you,” Cheryl said. “A Hungry Man Dinner. There’s Coke in the fridge, and Cheesies in the cupboard to tide you over. C’mon, Keeper. See you guys tomorrow.” She slung an old jean jacket over her plaid flannel shirt and went out the back door followed by the dog.