“Pourquoi?” he asked.
“For them.” She looked at Robbie and said, “Staten Island. That’s two-one-two. You know the number?”
“Not by heart,” Robbie said. “I’m really sorry.”
“Un instant,” René grumbled. He dug behind the bar and pulled out a massive phone book, by far the largest they’d ever seen. Geneviève barked something at him in French, and then René dug further and found a slimmer version. “Staten Island” adorned the cover in lifeless black Arial font.
“Take a look,” Geneviève said. She stood up and sauntered over to the group at the end of the bar, joining them in a song.
“Michael Carroll,” Robbie said. “Greeley Avenue—that’s all I know.” He grabbed the book and pushed his plate aside.
Robbie got to make the call. For a fleeting second after Robbie started talking, Joe was seized with hope. Maybe their mother, somehow, had made her way to Uncle Mike’s already! All was well, and there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she had ditched them.
That was not the case, though, and Joe heard a one-sided conversation as Robbie explained their situation.
“Yes, we’re safe. No, we don’t know where she went. The car? It’s, like, right near a park but on the side of the road. Seventy-Ninth Street. Yeah, near the river.”
Joe was glad this was Robbie’s job. He didn’t remember his uncle, and in any event, he didn’t want to get on the telephone with a grown-up and start hammering out plans. At some point in the conversation, Robbie asked Geneviève for the number to the restaurant, and she wrote it out.
“What’s going on?” Joe asked when Robbie hung up. “Is he coming here?”
“He said to wait by the phone,” Robbie said. He looked sheepishly to Geneviève. “Is it okay if he calls us back here?” Instead of answering, she just smiled and swished away, back to the singing group at the end of the bar.
“Why?”
“Just wait.”
A few minutes later the phone rang, a metallic bell that startled them both. Robbie looked at René, who shrugged and poured more wine. Robbie answered. This time, Joe heard little other than Robbie acknowledging that he understood whatever he was being told. There was some back and forth, and Robbie insisting that he could do something on his own because he was fifteen. There was more discussion, and then an agreement was reached about who was allowed to do what. Then Robbie handed the phone to Joe. The heavy black receiver was nearly longer than his head. He had not spent much time on a telephone ever.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Joe. How are you?” The voice was calm and kind, exactly like Joe would have wanted it to sound. He felt himself relaxing and calming. He didn’t understand why Robbie would be frustrated with this person.
“I’m okay.”
“That’s good. Listen, Joe. Can you hear me okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I know you probably don’t remember me, but I remember you, from when you were really little. We’ll get to know each other again, but right now, I have a friend in the city, and I want you and Robbie to go to where he is. He would come to you, but, well, Robbie and I spoke, and I know Robbie wants to walk and maybe check around up there for your mom. My friend is waiting for you, though, and he’ll keep you safe until I can get there or he can bring you to me. Is that okay? Robbie knows where to go. It’s not hard to get to, but you need to stay where there are people, and the most light. You need to keep each other safe. Okay?”
“Yeah, I guess. Did my mom call?”
“Not yet,” he said brightly, as if her call was imminent. “But I’m right here, so when she does call, I’ll tell her what’s going on. When you two find my friend Nate, Robbie knows to call me again. Make sense?”
“I guess.”
“Okay, good. Be careful, okay, Joe? Listen to Robbie, and be really careful.”
The phone went back behind the bar, and Joe and Robbie in turn went to the restroom, a tiny closet with a candle burning inside. When they paused to thank their hosts, René grunted something at them and tipped his glass their way. Geneviève seemed to study them in the flickering light.
“You know where you’re going?” she asked, lighting another cigarette. She seemed to smoke nonstop, more than their mother even.
“Yeah, we know where to go,” Robbie said. He hesitated. “Thank you for dinner and the phone and all. You have a . . . really nice restaurant.” In that moment, Joe remembered a swatch of French, something he had heard on a TV show.