The Kindest Lie

by Nancy Johnson

  Eli, sensing Ruth’s fear, put his hand on her shoulder.

  Still gazing out the window, she said softly, “I’m grateful for what you did that day when you fired your gun. You protected him.”

  “I been doing it his whole life. Corey doesn’t really know me, but I’ve got his back. Always.” Squeezing her shoulder, he gently turned her to face him. His eyes bored into hers. Black pupils. Red around the edges from lack of sleep or too much alcohol the night before. Maybe both. “He’s with good people and they take good care of him. But I’m his uncle and I make sure he’s okay. I never let anything happen to him.”

  Eli had been her protector from day one. Balled fists making her bullies cower. A sure voice vanquishing the monsters under her bed. And now he had become an invisible shield for her child. His very own superhero. Relief swept over her like a monsoon rain.

  She nodded, momentarily unable to speak. When she found her voice again, she asked, “What’s he like?”

  “Your kid? Smart. Guess I have to admit he took that after you. Good-looking, though, like me.” He winked.

  Resting her head on her brother’s shoulder, Ruth laughed and imagined her son growing up to look like his uncle someday.

  “I hear he’s something of a baseball star. Is he really that good?” She glanced up at Eli.

  “He’s got a good arm on him. And if he makes it to the major leagues, you best be sure I’ll let him know we blood.”

  They laughed at that, and only now did she realize it had been a mistake to stay away so long. Corey should know his family, but what if it was too late? She felt helpless and needed to do something.

  Walking back to the kitchen, she said, “All right, let’s make a list of all the spots the boys typically go to hang out, and I can start searching. I know you already hit a bunch of them, Butch. What have we missed?”

  “We can split the list,” Eli said. “I’ll drive in my car and look around, too.”

  Grabbing a notepad from the kitchen, Ruth began scribbling the names Lena rattled off. Save A Lot, the baseball field, Corner Diner, the McDonald’s behind the old Concord Mall.

  According to the thermometer on the windowsill, it was thirty-six degrees, a bit warmer than previous days, but Ruth worried that Midnight’s jacket, the one she had covered him with the other night, was too thin.

  She checked her phone to see if he had texted. Nothing. She decided to send him a message.

  I’m worried about you. Let me know where you are. I will come right away. I promise.

  For more than an hour she drove to the spots on her assigned list, plus every nook and cubbyhole of Ganton she could think of. At each place, she asked, Has Midnight been here? With some people, she had to provide additional details beyond the boy’s nickname, clarifying, Lena’s grandson, Patrick. Butch Boyd’s son. In a small town, people either knew you or at least knew of you. Reluctant to verbalize her deepest fears, she sometimes added, It’s possible he’s with Corey Cunningham.

  At one gas station in the center of town, a hulking, bearded man who appeared to be the owner scowled at the mention of the boys. “That little punk. He and his little thug friends haven’t been in here lately. If you ask me, they’re all trouble, and I don’t like trouble.” Ruth flinched at the characterization of her son as a thug. The man’s gaze swept over her in a way that told her he placed her in the same unflattering category.

  She left the gas station deflated. Her car moved slowly through Grundy, in the neighborhood where she’d found Midnight wandering aimlessly late at night. At least the heavy snowfall had subsided a couple days ago. Still, she worried for his safety even more now than she had that day.

  Her phone buzzed, vibrating beside her on the passenger seat. She pulled over to look and saw it was a text from Midnight. Her heart lurched in relief.

  overlook point at wabash river

  Wabash River. Why hadn’t she thought of the river before? She considered calling him, asking if Corey was with him, but didn’t want to say anything that might spook him. Overlook Point was about a fifteen-minute drive from the bank where she’d stopped to check her phone. She considered texting Lena to let her know she’d heard from her grandson. But she figured Midnight probably ran away over frustration with Lena’s threats to ship him off to Louisiana. If so, hearing from his grandmother could set him off and send him on the run again. Besides, Lena and Butch were even farther away from Overlook Point than she was right now. Shifting the gear out of neutral, she sped toward the river.

  Thirty-Three

  Midnight

  Daylight came up slowly, like thin veils being lifted. The ice that glazed over the Wabash River had ruptured, and jagged sheets of it floated like puzzle pieces. The blurry fog cleared, and everything was making sense, finally fitting into place. L-Boogie’s jacket swallowed Midnight and he pulled it over his face, breathing in the smell of the leather. Midnight had decided not to run away. If it hadn’t been for L-Boogie, he might have repacked that little red suitcase and thumbed a ride somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t Ganton or Louisiana.

  Corey lay opposite him on his back, the wet ground beneath him. They were only about a foot away from the river. Corey tossed a baseball above his head from one gloved hand to the other. The way he was lying there, fully open and exposed, made Midnight think that Corey was unafraid. He didn’t fear Midnight’s having any power to ever hurt him the way his very existence had hurt Midnight.

  Corey wound the ball between his legs without dropping it. His arms perfect, not like Midnight’s. Looking at his friend’s profile, he noticed that the curve of Corey’s nose resembled Miss Ruth’s. Corey had no idea Miss Ruth was his mother. He was sure of that. What if Midnight told him? That would shut him up and wipe that smug look off his face. But he’d never believe him.

  “You got any snacks in there? I’m hungry.” Corey pointed to Midnight’s backpack.

  “No,” Midnight snapped, and shoved the bag behind him.

  “Stingy.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I bet you don’t know how the man on the moon cuts his hair,” Corey said.

  “How?”

  “Eclipse it.”

  Midnight wanted to laugh because it was funny, but he coughed instead. “Okay, I got one. What’s a tornado’s favorite game to play?”

  “What?”

  “Twister,” he said with a laugh.

  Eager to get away from Granny and Daddy after what he’d overheard, he had texted Corey Sunday morning and found out his family was skipping church, which they hardly ever did. For hours, they goofed off all over town and ended up staying out all night, sitting in a Denny’s booth and then the twenty-four-hour Walmart in town. At one point he heard Daddy in one of the Walmart aisles shouting his name. They ducked out before he spotted them and headed to Taco Bell. When Corey’s allowance money ran out and they couldn’t afford to order more food, they decided to go to the river.

  As usual, Corey had whined about making the Cunninghams worry, but Midnight told him he’d had an important meeting with L-Boogie and could only discuss it face-to-face.

  In reality, he needed more time to think about what he wanted to do. They came here, where they often swam during the summers. It was fun to see the water crusting with ice, the smoke rolling off it.

  Corey turned onto his stomach. “C’mon already and tell me the big secret.”

  L-Boogie had said you needed to test people to see if they were real friends, to know if you could trust them. He’d said, You set the limits and see what they do. You are in control. Always. When Corey agreed to stay out all night without calling or texting the Cunninghams, Midnight figured he could count on him. Your own blood ain’t always loyal. But when you find one who can be loyal, that’s a real one right there, L-Boogie said.

  “Okay. I guess I can tell you now about the proposition.” Midnight loved the way his lips and tongue moved around that word ever since he’d heard Bo say it in the alley that night.

  Corey p
ropped himself up on his elbows. “What is it? This better be good.”

  “I told you it would be good, didn’t I?”

  “Just come on with it. You’ve been holding out long enough.” Corey tried to act cool, but Midnight knew he’d been jittery with anticipation. They’d been on the run almost twenty-four hours.

  Midnight licked his cracked lips and let the white vapor from the cold seep from his mouth like cigarette smoke. “We’re gonna go into business with L-Boogie and Bo. All we have to do is sell candy for school. They’ll take care of everything else. We could make hundreds of dollars. Isn’t that crazy?”

  Corey was sitting fully upright now, his brow scrunched in a frown, eyes wide with fear. “Yeah, you’re crazy. I don’t want to sell anything. I don’t want anything to do with those guys.”

  “It’s like a big business with grown-ups. Don’t be such a baby.”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “You are, too.”

  “Am not.”

  Midnight sat up straight. This put him in a better position to make his point. “If you could make a lot of money, what would you buy?”

  “How much money?”

  “Like a million dollars.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “C’mon. What would you spend it on?”

  “Maybe a different baseball glove for every day.”

  That seemed like a stupid way to spend a million dollars, but Midnight didn’t know what he’d do with that kind of money, either.

  One time Granny said the state paid people to take care of kids nobody else wanted. Maybe the Cunninghams raised Corey as their own son because the money was good. Maybe that’s why they were rich, and Corey didn’t really care about money.

  “Well, if we sell a ton of candy then we can buy anything we want. Baseball gloves and whatever.”

  When Midnight first heard the proposition from L-Boogie, he wondered if it might be too good to be true. But the more he looked at L-Boogie’s gold watch, his leather jacket, and the Jordans, he became a believer. Corey shivered and kept the lower half of his face buried in his coat collar. His voice was muffled. “I don’t know. We could get in trouble. My mom and dad made me promise I’d stay away from those guys.”

  Midnight sat cross-legged, his knees bumping up against Corey’s. He looked him straight in the face. “Well, you may not want money, but I do . . .” The wind picked up and sounded like a train barreling through town.

  “Money for what?”

  “Money to move somewhere other than where Granny wants to send me. Or money to help Daddy get a new place for just the two of us.” Saying those words and hearing them carried by the early-morning wind made them seem truer than when he just thought about the idea of moving.

  Corey rocked back and forth on the ground with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. “That’s nuts. Just talk to your granny. I bet you won’t have to go.”

  Easy for Corey to say. He lived on Hill Top, where people didn’t worry about money like they did in Pratt. Whenever he spent his allowance and wanted more money for salt and vinegar chips, the Cunninghams just gave it to him.

  Corey pulled out his cell phone and got that panicky look he always did when he thought he was breaking somebody’s rules. “I got to go. My mom and dad are gonna be really mad this time. They’ll probably ground me for a week.” He looped the straps of his backpack around his arms and struggled to pull it up around his bulky down jacket. “Look, if you need money, I can just ask them to give you some.”

  “I don’t want your mom and dad’s money.” If only Corey knew they weren’t his real mom and dad. Midnight considered telling him so but decided to keep his mouth shut. For now.

  “Then why are you complaining all the time? Go on and move if that’s what you want.”

  In that smug way of his, Corey always let you know he had more than you did and probably always would. Midnight unzipped his backpack and pulled out his airsoft pellet gun, the one he’d taken from Daddy’s truck. Corey was good at a lot of things, but he wasn’t the best at everything. Definitely not the best at this.

  Corey’s eyes got big. For a second, the shock of seeing the gun must have stolen his voice. His mouth hung open, but he didn’t say anything. At least he’d stopped whining about his mom and dad and getting in trouble.

  “What the hell, Patrick? Where did you get that?” Corey leaned back, falling to his elbows and looking from the gun to Midnight.

  He’d called him Patrick, the name nobody used except Daddy, Granny, and his teachers.

  The weight of the gun in Midnight’s good hand bent his wrist.

  “It’s mine.”

  “Did you steal your dad’s gun?”

  “No. It’s my new pellet gun. Not a real one. Duh. My dad did show me how to shoot a real gun before, though.”

  Corey inched backward as Midnight waved the gun in zigzag lines, aiming it nowhere and everywhere.

  “Guns are supposed to be locked up. That’s what my dad said.”

  “I told you it’s not real, dodo. We’re hiding our real ones from the government ’cause Daddy said Obama’s gonna take away everybody’s guns.”

  “Obama didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Neither do you.”

  The wind had settled to a dull whisper. Midnight let the airsoft rest on his knee.

  Corey fumbled with his phone and said, “I’m calling my mom.”

  “My mom. My mom,” Midnight repeated in a singsong voice, and waved the gun to match the melody. He should tell him about Miss Ruth, let him know the truth. Tell him his parents weren’t really his parents. Make him wonder for once what it felt like to not be sure who really loved you.

  “Shut up,” Corey muttered.

  “I bet you can’t shoot this.” Midnight knew Corey had never fired a gun before, real or fake. The Cunninghams wouldn’t even buy him a water gun when they were little.

  “Maybe I don’t want to. Guns are stupid anyway.”

  “I dare you.” He held the airsoft out to his friend, who kept his head down but eyes on the gun. “Only if you’re not scared.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Give it to me.” Corey snatched it by the barrel and right away crossed his thumbs on the pistol grip and pointed his index finger toward an imaginary target.

  “You’re not holding it right.” Kneeling next to him, Midnight heard Daddy’s instructions in his ear. He wrapped his good hand around one of Corey’s, positioning his friend’s fingers on the pellet gun. Don’t pull the trigger, squeeze. You should squeeze it like you’re making a fist.

  Corey got the hang of it fast, like he did everything else, and now clutched the gun with the same confidence he did a baseball bat, as if he’d done it a million times before.

  Then Corey hopped to his feet and aimed it at the icy ground, the trees, the sky, everywhere. Pow. Pow. A wildly alive look came over his face and he moved like he had firecrackers in his pants.

  A grin spread across Midnight’s face and he momentarily forgot his anger, forgot that he knew the truth about Miss Ruth. Whenever you watched somebody do something for the first time, it felt good. Especially if it was something you’d done before. Like you were doing it again for the first time, too.

  But he reminded himself of what Corey had taken from him, how he had ruined everything in his life, from his bum arm to Miss Ruth. He didn’t know for sure, but Miss Ruth didn’t seem to be the kind of lady who liked guns very much. He bet that when she saw her son shooting a gun, she would be pretty upset. He took out his phone and texted her. He knew she would come.

  But as he watched Corey run along the river’s edge firing the airsoft, he got the urge to do something even bigger.

  The summer after fourth grade, Mr. Cunningham had spent a lot of money on a new pitching glove that Corey bragged about constantly. To break it in, Mr. Cunningham baked it in the oven like a steak and ran over it with his car. C
orey carried that stupid glove everywhere and wouldn’t stop talking about how soft the leather was. When Midnight couldn’t take it anymore, he’d slipped the glove out of Corey’s bag one day and nuked it in the microwave for five minutes, until the rawhide melted. After that, Corey had to play baseball with a regular glove like everybody else.

  Now, Midnight had another big idea. Blood rushed through him just thinking about it. He took out his phone and began dialing when Corey called out to him.

  “Boom and you’re dead,” Corey shouted from up the river, the barrel of the gun aimed right at Midnight.

  “Quit pointing it at me. If you hit me, you’ll be dead.”

  “Sorry! Look at me! Did you see that?” A black-capped chickadee skidded across the river when Corey fired a pellet close to it.

  “911. What’s your emergency?” Midnight had been so caught up watching his friend that he didn’t realize the call had connected already. The lady operator sounded calm and official, just like the ones on TV.

  He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t planned this part. Lowering his voice a few octaves, he tried to sound like Daddy. “Um, I’m calling to report a guy with a gun at the river.”

  “Wabash River?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your exact location?”

  “Um, the Overlook area.”

  “Okay, are you in danger right now, or are you in a safe location?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m safe.”

  “A unit is on its way.”

  Midnight’s heart raced, fear and thrills rushing through him at the same time. Corey had never gotten detention at school and the Cunninghams hardly ever grounded him, but this time he’d get in trouble, for sure.

  The popping sound rang in his ears.

  Corey ran toward him laughing with the pellet gun. “Do you want to take a turn now?”

  Shaking his head, Midnight said, “No, that’s okay. I get to play with it all the time.”