Chapter 16
George

Jack trudges through the front door two days late. I throw my arms around him, not sure whether to cry or yell. “Where have you been?” I demand. “Two days and just one quick voicemail?”

“Is my mom here?” Jack asks.

“I’ve been worried sick!” I ignore his question, because enough about his mom already. I have picked a card, any card, so many times, and I still cannot magic her back. Can’t he even pretend to see how hard I’ve been trying for like one—

“George.” He shakes himself free from my grasp. “Is. She. Here?”

I sigh. “What do you think, Jack?”

His sneakers squeak as he spins toward the door without another word. He’s leaving? Already? “No, wait!” I beg. “Please don’t go yet, Jack.”

He stops but doesn’t turn back to face me. My whole body deflates as I realize Jack isn’t really here for me. There is only one reason he wanted me to come back at all—to help him find his parents. And in this moment, I understand that as soon as he does, I won’t matter anymore. Again.

“A week,” he says so softly I have to lean in to hear. “She said a week was all she needed. Today’s a week, and she’s still not here.”

“A week,” I echo, not sure how the time slipped by so fast. “Oh crabapples!” I curse. Jack turns to face me, apparently glad we’re on the same page. “Uncle Chester must be worried sick about me! I told him I’d be back soon, and then I just disappeared . . .”

“George, can you be serious for like two seconds?”

“I am serious,” I snap. “You don’t just leave your family.” I slap my hand over my mouth, realizing that I’ve said the worst possible thing. “I mean, of course you can do that. Lots of families do. It’s perfectly normal.” I throw a half-walrus-sized hug around him.

Jack snorts and pushes me off. “Jeez, George. Let’s tone it down like five notches. It’s okay to say my family is messed up, and that doesn’t mean I want yours to be.” He presents a generous but strained smile. “Let’s call your uncle Chester and tell him how you’re doing.”

My selfish grin nearly wraps around my entire head as Jack heads for the living room phone.

Using Jack’s mom’s laptop, we find the number for the zoo, but as it turns out, walruses do not have phones in their habitats and the person who answers is not especially happy to relay our message. “Stop wasting my time, kid,” is the exact quote, I believe.

Once Jack has left for the day, I stay on his mom’s laptop searching walrus communication to find another way to reach Chester. It seems we male walruses have air sacs in our throats to make bell sounds underwater, which we use to communicate with one another.

Aha! I know just what to do!

Within moments, the bathroom tub is full of hot, frothy water. My knees press against the side, and I lean forward, dipping down so my entire head is submerged. I forcefully exhale from my nose, bubbles exploding into the water around me. It sounds more like a whirlpool than bells, but as long as the message gets to Uncle Chester, that’s all that matters. I blow again. The especially tiny bubbles tickle my ears.

Once the water has stilled, I listen carefully, and finally I hear it. Ring-a-ling-a-ling. I’m so startled my arms slip and I sink farther into the tub. Dang it, I think as the loud splash completely blocks the sound, but then it’s back: Ring-a-ling-a-ling.

This is amazing! Now if only I understood Walrusese. That doesn’t stop me from giving it my best shot. “Wring-uh-lingle-ling, Unk-El-Ches-Tor,” I try to say in response, but my mouth fills with water. I push myself up, coughing and sputtering. When I can breathe again, the ringing continues, but louder, and coming from the living room.

Oh. It’s not Uncle Chester.

It’s the phone.

I shake myself dry and snatch up a towel, patting myself off as I race into the living room.

By the time I reach for the receiver, I’m too late. The robotic voice of the answering machine drones, “Hell O. We Can Not Come To The Phone Right Now. Please Leave Your Name, Phone Num Ber And A Short Mess Age Af Ter The Beep,” followed by a brief pause and an earsplitting BEEEEEEEP.

“Ronnie, you there?” the voice on the other end asks. I can’t believe it. It’s him. I shake my head to force any water out of my ears, but even when I’m done, it’s still him, as clear as day. “Ronnie, please,” Jack’s dad begs.

I reach out to lift up the receiver but can’t bring myself to interrupt as he continues: “You’re not answering your cell. Your mailbox is full. Where the freak are you?” He uses a much ruder word.

There’s a long pause. I begin to wonder if he’s still there anymore, but sure enough, he goes on: “I never should’ve given you custody of Jack. You told me it would kill you if you lost him and I believed you, but now you haven’t just lost him, you’ve abandoned him and you—” A muffled voice sounds on the other end, and when he returns, he’s calmer, though maybe also crying: “I want my son back, Ronnie, and if you don’t call me back, so help me . . .”

Sweat drips down my face. This is an intense message, and somehow all I can think about is what it means for me. I hate that Jack’s mom and dad hurt him, that they just left him, but let’s be real. If they hadn’t left, he never would have found me again. Them not caring about him is what made him care about me. What will Jack do when he hears his father wants him back?

“Let’s talk,” Jack’s dad says, hoping that someone other than me is listening. “Friday at one. Our usual barbecue place. Call me back or don’t, but I’ll be waiting.”

Click.

And with that, everything has changed. I look at the blinking red light and the worn-out blue buttons of the answering machine.

I begin to flicker in and out myself, disappearing for the first time since Jack and I have been reunited. My worst fear is already coming true. Once Jack has his parents back, he won’t need me anymore. And then what? I disappear forever?

I can’t let that happen.

Next to Play, I see the button that will solve this dilemma immediately. Delete. My finger reaches forward. Delete. Delete. Delete the message before Jack finds his dad and deletes me for good.

Inches away from the button, I freeze. This isn’t right. What would Jack want? What would Jack do? My head is throbbing; my mind is ringing. I’m pretty sure it’s not Uncle Chester calling, but I toss the sopping wet towel onto the answering machine, then race back to the bathtub and stick my fading, flickering head into the now-lukewarm water just in case.