Found

CHAPTER 41

Time didn’t stand still. It just passed by really, really slowly.

For the first ten minutes, I sat on the curb in front of the house. I got antsy. I stood and started walking just a little up the street, then a little down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of something-anything-in the windows.

But there was nothing.

Another ten minutes passed. Then another. People walked by me. They eyed me with suspicion. It was clear to them I didn’t belong here. This was a very small road on a very small island. Visitors didn’t often loiter.

Ten more minutes passed.

What the heck was going on in there?

I stopped looking at the time and started looking at the sky. The sun shone down on my face. I closed my eyes and soaked it in. I stopped thinking about Ema and Buck. I stopped thinking about Troy’s drug test. I even stopped thinking about my own Butcher of Lodz, the sandy-haired man named Luther.

I thought about my mom and dad.

You often hear that you only get one life and that life isn’t a dress rehearsal. That was true, but it felt more direct to me. Simply put, this was it. What you’re doing right now is life. This moment, every moment impacts and builds on the next. I could think about the days when my father was alive and my mother was sober. I could dream about going back in time to that moment and altering it, but that would never happen.

Time only goes forward.

My cell phone rang. I looked down and saw that it was Uncle Myron. I was about to hit ignore but I decided to answer it.

“Hey, Myron. I need to ask you something.”

“Where are you?”

“It’s not important,” I said. “Why did Randy Schultz want your help?”

“I already told you. I can’t talk about it.”

“Did it have something to do with steroids?”

Silence.

“Because I know Buck took steroids. And I know Randy dealt them. Did he get caught? Is that why he needed your help? Is that why you turned him down?”

“Mickey?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I told you. I can’t talk about it. Attorney-client privilege. Where are you, Mickey?”

The door to Buck’s house finally swung open.

“I’ll talk to you tonight,” I said, and hit end before Myron could say anything more.

Have you ever seen one of those horror movies where someone goes into a house one way and then they come out another, like maybe they’re a zombie now or their hair is gray or they’re possessed? Like they walked through some portal and completely transformed into something else?

That was what I thought about as I looked at Ema.

She was still dressed the same. The black was still black. The tattoos were still the same. The silver jewelry gleamed just as it had gleamed before. But somehow everything about her seemed different. I know how crazy that sounds. Uncle Myron had told me that when my dad was about my age, he went inside Bat Lady’s house and came out a different person. It almost felt like that, as if Ema had gone through the closet to Narnia and come back again. There was a knowing in her eyes, a maturity in her face.

She looked somehow more grown-up.

Or maybe, after all I had seen on this crazy island, I was big-time projecting.

She didn’t so much walk toward me as float. She kept her head up high. Her eyes didn’t meet mine like they always did. Instead she looked past me and just kept walking.

“Ema?”

“Let’s go,” she said, and even her voice sounded more mature. “We can still catch the next ferry.”

“Wait, what happened in there?”

She didn’t reply. She just kept walking.

“Ema?”

“It’s over,” she said.

“What’s over?”

“Come on. I want to be on that ferry.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s over’?”

She kept moving faster and faster as though she needed to put distance between herself and that house.

“Did you talk to Buck?”

She didn’t stop. I put a hand on her arm. She shrugged it off. I jumped in front of her, blocking her path. I tried to make my voice as gentle as I could.

“What happened in there?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said.

“What do you mean, you can’t tell me?”

“I promised.”

She pushed past me and headed down the road. I caught up to her.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“This has to be a joke,” I said, which was dumb because I knew that she wasn’t kidding and that this was the furthest thing from a joke.

“Remember when you couldn’t tell me about who shot Rachel and her mother?”

“You’re still mad about that? I told you. It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

She held up a hand. “You have it wrong.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not mad about it at all. I understand now. I’m using your example so you’ll understand. I can’t tell you. I made a promise.”

I frowned. “To Buck?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mickey. I can’t tell you.”

I jumped in front of her again. “This isn’t the same thing. Buck isn’t Rachel. I came all this way with you. I’m a part of it. I want to know.”

Ema shook her head. “Sometimes you’re better off not knowing.”

“Really? You’re going to pull that line on me?”

She walked away from me.

My hands formed fists and I shouted, “I didn’t come here just for you.”

“I know.”

“I came to find Buck for myself.”

She nodded without slowing her pace. “To help Troy.”

“To find the truth.”

“You’ll find it soon enough,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

But Ema didn’t speak again. Not on the road. Not on the ferry or the bus. Not even a good-bye when we went our separate ways back in Kasselton.