These Dreams of You

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Back in their neighborhood, they duck into a café called the CyberHansa. Zan doles out the euros, buying his son a roll and a coffee drink. “We can get online here?” he asks the woman behind the counter, but Parker already has pulled the laptop from his father’s bag and logged on. “Can you find the page with Mom’s posting?” says the father, trying to nurture a conspiratorial bond with the boy.

Parker is having none of it. “Of course,” he snaps.

The father watches his son, giving him the full rein of his twelve-year-old attitude at its most merciless. After a moment Parker pulls back from the laptop as if studying it, his brows arched. “What?” says Zan.

“It’s gone.”

Zan says, “Gone?”

“Mom’s photo,” says Parker.

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean it’s gone.”

It’s taking a moment for Zan to fully absorb what his son is saying. “No, wait. Gone?”

“Zan,” Parker says evenly, “it’s gone.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what gone means. It means it’s not there.”