I snorted a little, but my stomach was flipping around just like it did whenever I saw a wave that seemed a little too big to ride and a little too strong to avoid. “Get in line, Oliver,” I said to my parents, trying to keep my voice light.
“You know what I mean,” my mom said. “Maureen says that he spends all of his time in his room watching movies.”
I already knew this, of course. “So don’t give him any more space, is what you’re saying? Basically, just do the opposite of everything that you said two weeks ago.”
My mom rolled her eyes as my dad patted my arm. “Maureen’s worried, kiddo. Maybe you could just hang out with him for a few hours, show him around town or something.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as I thought about it. On one hand, I would finally get to really talk with Oliver. On the other hand, I would finally have to really talk with Oliver. It was different on campus last week, back when I had Drew right behind me. What was I supposed to say if it was just the two of us? “Sorry your dad kidnapped you ten years ago and ruined your life”? Yeah, that probably wouldn’t do much to stir up conversation.
“You’re not worried about his dad being out there somewhere?” I asked.
“We’ve discussed that with Maureen,” my dad said carefully. “And we’ve all agreed that Keith is probably not going to try anything.” My mom looked slightly less sure of that, but she nodded, anyway. “It’s best if we all just move forward. Including Oliver.”
“What if I say the wrong thing?” I asked my parents, pointedly not looking at them. “What if I ask him something and end up traumatizing him and he goes completely mute?”
My parents glanced at each other before looking back at me. “You,” my dad said, “give yourself entirely too much credit.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Maybe you could go out for ice cream—” my mom suggested.
“You mean coffee?”
“—or the movies?” My dad dug his wallet out of his pocket and fished out a few twenties. “On the house, of course. You could discuss—the movie! See, no trauma there. Make sure it’s a comedy, though. And be back by seven.”
I looked at my dad, who was doing his best “I’m kidding, but no, seriously” face. “You mean right now?” I asked him.
“You had plans?” my mom asked.
I had actually planned to say I was going to hang out with Caro, then secretly sneak down to the beach to surf for a few hours, but I was still a little suspicious of my parents’ motives. “You’re not trying to set me up with Oliver,” I asked them. “Because that would be creepy and invasive, right?”
I waited for them to agree. “Right?”
“Of course not!” my mom said. “We just thought that maybe Oliver would like to make a few friends and since you were friends . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes hopeful.
I sighed as I took my dad’s still-offered money, and he kissed my forehead just before I ducked away and went to find my shoes.
My mom watched as I trudged through the back door a few minutes later, her eyes on me as I slipped through the broken slat in our backyard fence. “Drive safe!” she called. “And check in after the movie, okay?” I pretended I didn’t hear her, even though I always heard her. In the years since Oliver had disappeared, my parents had reacted by making sure I wouldn’t disappear, too: early curfews (in the summer, the last dregs of sunset still streaked the sky when I had to come home), homework first, and a slew of extracurricular activities up until this year, when I put my foot down and insisted that I needed more time to study. It was kind of true, but I had really wanted—no, I needed—more time to surf. And breathe. And get some space from them and all their nervous reminders of the ways things could go so wrong, so fast.
Oliver’s backyard had gotten weedier and more overgrown in the past two weeks, which was understandable. Who has time to mow the lawn when your son comes home after ten years? I knocked on the back door, three fast knocks that echoed my rapidly beating heart. I squinted a little against the sun, and when Oliver opened it, I sort of took a step back. “Oh,” I said. “Um, hi. Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “My mom’s not here, she took the twins to get new shoes.” His hair was rumpled, like he had been lying on his bed for too long, and his shirt was a little wrinkled.
“Oh, cool.” Why would that be cool, Emmy? Shoe shopping with four-year-olds is not cool. “No, actually I’m here to see, um, you? My mom and dad thought that maybe we could hang out?” Once the words were out of my mouth I wanted to cram them back in. I sounded ridiculous, like some made-up character in a health class textbook. No, thanks, I don’t want any drugs. Hey, how about we play a board game instead?
“Hang out?” Oliver repeated, but he didn’t sound entirely disinterested. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
“Okay!” I said, entirely too cheerful. “Cool, yeah! Okay. Cool. I have my car, or you could drive or—”
“I don’t have a license,” he said. “I didn’t really need one in New York.”
“Oh yeah. Right. Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll drive. Don’t want to do anything illegal, right?” I tried to smile as I realized, I just made a joke about illegal activity to someone who had been kidnapped for ten years. Oh God. Let the trauma begin.