She told him she was disappointed in him, I think. I let you down, he said.
I’m standing off to the side, by the front picture window. I want to be right here in case he drives up.
“I understand. We can make the rounds of some places. Make some inquiries. Is there anyone who might know where he went? Someone familiar with his patterns?”
“He kept a low profile,” my mother says. “We tried to keep him busy. We didn’t want him associating with those people anymore. We did put a tracker on his phone.”
The two cops look at each other. “That’s good. We can work with that,” says Ted.
“Maybe someone from his past? A close friend he might turn to?” That’s the shorter policeman.
No one knew Joey like Luther Leonard. I get up and walk into the den and text Jeremy.
Jeremy
Oh my god are you ok? It’s been a crazy day.
I know. Listen, Joey’s missing. Can you call Luther? Is that a thing? And ask him where Joey might have gone? He might have an idea. The cops want to know.
…
Emory, I’m sorry. I can’t.
Why???
…
Because Luther got out last week. He turned eighteen. He got his release packet and we haven’t heard from him. At all.
Oh, god. Oh, no. Not Luther Leonard. Joey wouldn’t.
Would he?
* * *
—
“Mom,” I say, coming back into the room.
“Emory”—she holds up her hand—“I’m speaking with the officers.”
“Mom.”
“What, Emory?”
“Luther Leonard got out of juvie last week. He turned eighteen. And he’s the only one who might know where Joey is, only no one knows where Luther is.”
Ted, the tall cop, rubs his neck. “The Leonard kid? I should think he’d be long gone. Boy made some pretty big enemies last June.”
The bag of drugs he never delivered. I wanted him to turn right, he wanted to turn left, and instead, we flew into the air.
“I have to tell you, ma’am, these things can sometimes drag out, especially at this age. And kids, they tend to protect their friends, at least for a while. We’ll head down to Hank’s and see if we can suss anything out and ask around town and we’ll let you know.”
My mother gets up and walks them to the front door.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait,” she says when she comes back in.
“We can drive around,” I say. “Go to Frost Bridge, the river, ask around. Anything. We don’t have to just sit here.”
“Emory, this has been an exhausting day and I think we should stay put. He’s seventeen. He’s probably…”
I know what she wants to say. That he’s getting high.
And that’s what we should be worried about, but I don’t think she wants to say it out loud.
“Blowing off steam,” she finishes. “After our fight. I’m sorry I said what I said. Sometimes we don’t say exactly the right things. And I don’t want you traipsing around town after what happened. It might not be safe for you, either.”
Nana takes my arm. “She’s right, Emmy. We’ll want to be here when he comes back. He’ll come back.”
* * *
—
I text Max deVos.
Have you seen Joey?
He texts right back.
Nah, what’s up I heard Roly sucker punched him
We can’t find him
Oh no, that’s bad, I’m sorry
…
I’ll let you know Emory if I see him or anything
…
I just wanted to be his friend again
* * *
—
I’m helping Nana get ready for bed when my dad calls. My stomach is in knots and I’ve been shaking all day, wondering if Joey is okay, where he is, if he’s high or hurt.
“Emmy,” Dad says. “I need you and your mother to come down to the hoagie shop. The police found…something.”
“Dad, what? Did they find Joey? Is it bad?” I hold my breath. Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
There’s a silence.
“Just come down, please. Right away.”
* * *
—
My dad is waiting for us in the brightly lit entryway of Hank’s Hoagies.
“Abigail, it’s not good. I just want to warn you.”
“Neil.” My mother’s face turns gray. She looks like she might vomit. I take her arm.
“He’s not dead,” my dad says, “it’s just not…good.”
He turns the closed sign around on the door and leads us behind the counter to an office in the back. Hank and his wife are in there with the police.
“I remembered,” Hank says sadly, wringing his fingers. “The surveillance cameras. I have them trained on the back alley and the front register.”
He presses a button and we watch the tiny television.
The camera is wavery at first and then shifts into focus.
“I had him in the back at first, making sandwiches, because of his face. Did he get in a fight? Horrible bruise,” Hank says. “But I moved him to the front, just for a little while, so I could take a break.”
There’s Joey at the front counter, taking orders, his orange cap askew, his shirt untucked. Handing out sacks of hoagies, wiping the counter down. Staring off into space. He looks…resigned.
Like all the energy has been drained out of him.
And then he stands up straighter. Holds his head a little back, like he’s afraid of what he sees. Looks back toward the kitchen. Turns back to the counter.
A figure approaches the counter, dressed all in black. Black knit cap, black hoodie, black jeans. A familiar, loping walk.
Something dark on his face.
An eye patch.
“That’s Luther,” I say softly. “Luther Leonard.”
Joey backs away from the counter, but Luther leans across it, on his elbows, like he has all day. Like he came in to shoot the breeze.
I can barely breathe, watching this.
“I’m very sorry,” Hank tells us. “There’s no sound.”
We watch as Luther leans on the counter, talking. Joey keeps looking around, shaking his head.
But Luther stays. And gradually, Joey steps closer to the counter. His face is down. I can’t read his expression.
Luther glances around casually and reaches into his pocket.
Slides something across the counter to Joey.
The cops sigh. “Yeah,” Ted says matter-of-factly. “There you go.”
The little baggie sits on the orange counter between Joey and Luther.
Luther holds his hands up, backs away, disappears from the camera’s view.
Then it’s just Joey, alone with the baggie of drugs.
I feel like all of us have stopped breathing. I feel like my heart is in my throat.
Don’t do it, I think. Don’t do it. Make us wrong.
My mother starts to cry. “I can’t,” she says. “I just can’t.”
She leaves the office.
Slowly, Joey reaches out and places his hand over the baggie. Puts it into his pocket. Turns around and disappears into the back of the hoagie shop.
No. No. No.
“He went on a restroom break,” Hank says. “So I came back and covered the register.”
In the video, Hank is at the counter now, wiping it down, tidying up the napkin dispenser.