Chapter 13
Jack

“I’m going to the park,” I call over my shoulder after a quick Uncle Dave-mandated lunch. I’m already at the front door, pulling on my shoes.

Uncle Dave stands in the doorway of his office. News radio drones on behind him. I can tell he doesn’t want me to go, but the park is right down the street, and Jason and Morgan go alone all the time. After an agonizing pause, he takes a deep breath and says, “Bring your cell phone.”

I pat my pocket twice. “Way ahead of you, Uncle Dave.”

“Text me updates. Plural. Call me if you need anything. And I want you home before Rachel. Five o’clock.”

I look ahead at George, already waiting for me on the front stoop. He shrugs. “That should be fine,” I say.

“That will be fine,” Dave says more sternly. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, and look both ways before . . .”

The rules go on and on. You’re not my father, I snap, but only in my mind because I’m pretty sure he can still punish me, and it’s actually kind of nice to have someone who at least pretends to care. “Yes, sir.”

The door closes behind me, cutting George and me free. I shake my head. George and me. I can barely believe it.

“Come on, Jack,” he says, hopping up and down and beckoning me to follow him in the complete opposite direction from the park. We’re silent for most of the walk, which gives me a chance to catch up to my thoughts: George is back. He’s taking me to see Dad. And maybe Mom will be next.

Within fifteen minutes, my heart droops because I know exactly where we’re going, and it’s not Dad’s new place, wherever that is. The houses and trees become increasingly familiar until George freezes and grandly gestures to my house, complete with the yellow door and the missing shingles. “Behold,” he says proudly, “the last known location of your father.”

“George, I told you he left. He doesn’t live here anymore.”

“But are you reeeeeeeally sure about that?” he asks.

“Yes,” I groan.

His smile fades, but only for a moment. “Well, what about your mom?”

I pause. What about her? The last time she acted all defeated like she did in the car, she went directly to . . . My eyes scan to her bedroom window. The lights are off, just like they were back then. “Is she here, George?” I ask, my nerves racing.

“Maaaaaaybe,” he says with an uncertainty dipped in optimism.

Not very convincing, but anything’s better than Aunt Rachel’s house. Only one way to find out. I scoop up a rock from the lawn and roll it around in my hands. I’m going to get in so much trouble for this. With a shrug, I raise my arm to hurl the rock through the living room window.

“No wait, wait wait wait wait!” George calls out, plucking the stone from my fist and tossing it behind me. “There’s a key under the tongue of the lawn gnome with the blue suit holding the sleeping rabbit.”

I scrunch up my nose and blink.

“I know,” he laughs. “It’s kinda obvious, but I needed to hide it somewhere just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

His eyes scan the grass. “In case you ever wanted me to come back.”

It’s my turn to check out the lawn in desperate need of mowing, unable to look at him as guilt wraps its arms around me in a suffocating hug. I feel like a monster as I tromp over to the small garden gnome my mom put out years ago.

I crouch down and extract the key beneath his tongue, exactly as George described. Sunlight reflects off the shiny brass as I hold it up, studying it with a squint. I don’t remember putting this here, so how did George do it?

I push myself back up to my feet and approach the front door, wondering if this key is even real. My shaky hand glides the key toward the lock.

It fits. With a twist of my wrist, the door swings open. I turn toward George, wanting him to explain but sure he won’t understand why I’m confused. We never talked about the fact that the things he created only existed for me, the fact that if he drank a glass of water it stayed full, the fact that when he picked something up only a George-version moved while the real version stayed put. He never noticed then, and he doesn’t seem to register that anything is different now.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing for me to lead the way.

I step inside. I haven’t been home since yesterday before lunch, but it feels like so much longer than that. The old curtains keep out a surprising amount of the afternoon sunlight. There’s a staleness in the air. “Mom,” I call into the entry. Nothing, but that doesn’t mean anything. I stuff the key into my pocket and pound down the hallway, forcing her bedroom door open as I cry out again, “Mom!”

“Whoa,” George says as he steps in behind me. A tornado has run through my mother’s room. Her drawers are all emptied, and unwanted clothes are thrown everywhere. The only thing that is one-hundred percent definitely not here is my mom.

I take a step forward, stumble over a strappy black heeled shoe that I’ve never seen my mother wear, and belly-flop onto the bed with a soft thud. Either we’ve been robbed, or Mom packed in a hurry. And I’m pretty sure nobody would want to steal our junk.

My head sinks farther into her pillow. It still smells like her dollar-store shampoo and the cigarettes she claimed she quit months ago. My nostrils flare, fully absorbing the scent with each deep inhalation, which I realize is creepy as heck, but this is all I’ve got left. I feel a hand settle onto my foot. Well, this, and George.

I roll over to face my friend, who completely understands. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he says. “I know a little bit about disappearing, and she’s definitely gone.”

“It’s only for a week,” I assure both George and myself, though truthfully, I’m not so certain.

“Well then, we’ve got a lot of work to do if we want this place looking spic-and-span before she gets here,” he pipes up. “Just look at this mess!”

I shake my head. “It’s not my mess. They can clean it up.”

“Then what now?”

I think back to all the dumb games George and I used to play, back when nothing else mattered, when nobody was replaced, when everyone was here. All I want is to go back to that life.

As if reading my mind, George whacks the side of my arm and shouts, “You’re it!” before dashing out the door and down the hall. It’s stupid, and I’m too old for it, but a smile creeps across my face. Finally, someone running away that I know I can catch. I bolt after George, only half-tripping on my mother’s shoe as I race out of her bedroom.

Not much is said during dinner but it’s not as peaceful as you’d think. Morgan is scowling, and Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave send each other secret messages with their eyes.

“How was the park?” Aunt Rachel asks me, finally breaking the silence.

“Fine,” I say, maybe too quickly. I stuff a forkful of chicken into my mouth before she can ask me for more information. I’m already planning on going back to my house tomorrow as soon as I can escape. George stayed behind, in case Mom or Dad show up in the middle of the night, and I left him my “for emergencies only” number so he can call me if they do.

For dessert, Aunt Rachel scoops out four bowls of vanilla ice cream. Morgan doesn’t get one. Instead, she heads up to her room. “No TV or computer, either!” Aunt Rachel warns her from behind as she slowly thunks up the stairs. “And we will be discussing this more later.”

The rest of the evening is about as quiet as our dinner. I watch TV with Jason and Uncle Dave. After a while, Aunt Rachel comes in. “Jack, can we talk?”

I’m still not ready to hear more excuses for my mom, so I tell her something I’ve never said before. “I think I’d like to go to bed now, actually.” It’s only eight, but today has been a day.

“Tomorrow then,” she says.

I nod. Avoiding eye contact with everyone, I call out a generic “Goodnight” meant for the three of them and walk up the stairs.

Before crawling onto my blow-up mattress, I shimmy the pillowcase I swiped from Mom’s room onto my pillow. I close my eyes, embraced by Mom’s familiar scent and wearing a genuine grin for the first time in days.