Some things should be a surprise.
Inside, I’m shocked to find my mother, home early, sitting alone at the kitchen table.
“How was your last day?” she asks, forcing small talk.
“Fine,” I say. “I made it to all of my classes, eventually. I handed in that project. It went as well as possible, I guess. What’s up, Mom?”
“They want us to come down to the station,” she says nervously.
“They know something?” I can feel my brain pulling together pieces from memory and notes to form a complete picture.
“Yes.” Mom stands, ready to leave.
We drive in silence the twelve minutes it takes from the garage to the parking lot in front of the police station. We wait two minutes to see Captain Moeller. When we’re all settled in his office, he tells us that they have conclusive results.
I move to the edge of my seat. My mom covers her mouth with her hand, presumably to thwart an impending scream.
We wait.
Captain Moeller clears his throat.
I want to jump across the messy desk and rip the words from his voice box.
Finally, he speaks.
“The boy you buried isn’t Jonas.”
Captain Moeller’s words hang in the air; I can almost see them floating there. No one speaks. No one moves. When I can’t take the tension anymore, I ask the totally irrelevant question: “Who was it?”
“A Baby Doe, probably from another state. He wasn’t in our missing children database.”
Finally, sound comes from my mother’s mouth in the form of a gasp.
“I know, it’s terrible,” Captain Moeller says to my mom.
“So what’s next?” she asks through the fingers over her mouth.
“We reopen the search for Jonas,” Captain Moeller says.
My mom looks a little like she’s in shock. She doesn’t reply, so the captain keeps going.
“I took the liberty of having the team use the aging software on the old photo we had of Jonas. We can put that image out over the wire and get people in the area on lookout.”
“What if he’s not in the area?” I ask.
“We’ll distribute it nationally, too,” he says to me.
“Can I see it?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says. The captain rifles around on his desk for a bit and unearths a thick, worn file. I wonder how many times it’s been opened over the past decade.
Captain Moeller pages through the file and pulls out an eight-by-ten photo.
“Here you go,” he says, sliding it across the desk. My mom leans in to see but doesn’t touch. Tears silently flow down her cheeks; she’s so quiet I barely know she’s there.
Captain Moeller hands her a tissue and leaves us alone. When he’s gone, I pick up the photo for a closer look.
For some reason, a strange calm washes over me at the sight of him: my brother. My shoulders loosen and I exhale slowly.
It feels right.
He seems familiar.
“Do you remember him? From the future?” my mom asks in a voice so weak it’s like she’s a mouse.
Excited for a moment, I rack my brain for a memory of my brother—any memory other than the horrific one of him being taken.
“No, Mom, I don’t,” I say. It causes her tears to flow faster. Instead of comforting her, I continue to stare.
There’s nothing there, and yet…
There’s something.
Like that punch line of a joke you forget by the end, there’s something.
And to me, right now, something is just fine.
47
Luke parks directly in front of a NO TRESPASSING sign on the barbed-wire fence that keeps us from driving off the incline. He kills the engine and the headlights along with it.
The town twinkles below, and I inhale the warm evening through the open windows.
“Did you bring me here to kill me?” I tease.
“Not tonight,” he says warmly. “This is a do-over.”
“Of what?”
“Of our first date,” he says, staring into my eyes. “We fell asleep; you forgot to write it down. I’ve told you about it. You’ve probably read about the morning after…”
My cheeks flush.
“… but you didn’t experience it. So I’m doing it again.”
“You’re awesome,” I say, without thinking too much about it. Luke grins sheepishly and heads to the back of the van to get some pizza.
After dinner and a movie, Luke suggests stargazing and I wholeheartedly agree. He rolls up the windows, since the night air is growing chilly, and we lie together under the blanket Luke thought to bring, staring up through the moonroof to the universe above.
“We should talk about it,” Luke says, face to the stars.
“About what?” I ask, but I think I know what he’s referring to.
“About you suggesting we break up.”
I scoot closer to him, if that’s possible.
“It’s not that I want to break up, I just said that it might be better. For you. It might change the future so that you don’t get killed.” I say the words without conviction.
“Being without you would never be better for me,” Luke says, facing me. His tone is serious. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I say, because I do. Maybe I’m selfish, but I give in a little too easily. I don’t really want to let him go. Maybe deep down I have more faith in my ability to change things than I’m willing to admit.
“Then let’s forget all about it,” Luke says as he grabs my hand.
“Agreed,” I whisper, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“So did you remember this night already?” he asks.
“Probably, but I guess I didn’t want to spoil it,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t include it in my notes.”
“And you remember the summer?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“That’s not fair,” he teases.
“Poor baby!” I say. “But you have things that I don’t. You remember when we met; I’ll never know what that felt like.”
Luke turns and kisses me gently and then a little more forcefully before we settle back to look at the stars. I snuggle close to the boy I don’t ever want to lose, hoping that somehow I’ll save him.
The memory of his death is still there, but so is hope. Right now, in Luke’s arms, I feel confident and capable. I will save this boy. I will know the man.
Luke and I stay nestled together until he nudges me.
“We’d better get going,” he says gently. I guess I dozed off. “I’m not letting you fall asleep without a note again.”
“Why not?” I ask, stretching. I kiss him on the cheek and add, with a sly smile, “You don’t have to worry, Luke. I’ll remember you in the morning.”
48
6/15 (Wed.)
Outfit:
—Navy shorts and spotty tank
—Red two-piece
—White flip-flops (lost one at the lake)
IMPORTANT:
Police found Jonas’s kidnappers (they are “cooperating,” whatever that means). Mom already told Dad. She’s emotional but that’s understandable. So am I. I stared at an age-progressed picture of Jonas for an hour, trying to remember him. Didn’t work, but there’s something there… not sure what it is.