“He’s eleven. And yes, Tim is his father, but he left years ago. I don’t even know where he lives now.”
I wait for this to fully hit. I was expecting anything and everything but this. I have so many questions, but the most important thing right now is to figure out where this kid is. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“About two weeks ago,” she says.
“And you reported it to the police?”
She makes a face. “No. Of course not. He’s not missing, he’s just trying to piss me off.”
I have to squeeze my temples to refrain from raising my voice. I still don’t understand how she found me or why she thinks an eleven-year-old kid is trying to teach her a lesson, but I’m laser focused on finding him now. “Did you move back to Boston? Did he go missing here?”
My mother makes a confused face. “Move back?”
It’s like we’re speaking two different languages. “Did you move back here or do you still live in Maine?”
“Oh, God,” she mutters, attempting to remember. “I came back, like, ten years ago? Josh was just a baby.”
She’s lived here for ten years?
“They’re going to arrest me, Atlas.”
Her child has been missing for two weeks, and she’s more worried about being arrested than she is about him. Some people never change. “What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping he reached out to you and that maybe you knew where he was. But if you didn’t even know he existed—”
“Why would he reach out to me? Does he know about me? What does he know?”
“Other than your name? Nothing; you were never around.”
My adrenaline is rushing through me so fast, I’m shocked I’m still sitting across from her. My whole body is tense when I lean forward. “Let me get this straight. I have a little brother I never knew about, and he thinks I didn’t care that he existed?”
“I don’t think he actively thinks about you, Atlas. You’ve been absent his whole life.”
I ignore her dig because she’s wrong. Any kid that age would think about the brother they believed abandoned them. I’m sure he hates the idea of me. Hell, he’s probably the one who has been—Shit. Of course.
This explains so much. I would bet both of my restaurants that he’s the one who has been vandalizing them. And why the misspelling reminded me of my mother. The kid is eleven; I’m sure he’s capable of googling my information.
“Where do you live?” I ask her.
She practically squirms in her seat. “We’re in between houses, so we’ve been staying at the Risemore Inn for the past couple of months.”
“Go back there in case he shows up,” I suggest.
“I can’t afford to stay there anymore. I’m in between jobs, so I’m staying with a friend for a couple of days.”
I stand up and pull the money out of my pocket. I drop it on the table in front of her. “The number you called me on the other day—is that your cell?”
She nods, sliding the money off the table and into her hand.
“I’ll call you if I find out anything. Go back to the hotel and try to get the same room. He needs you to be there if he comes back.”
My mother nods, and for the first time, she looks somewhat ashamed. I leave her to sit in that feeling without saying goodbye. I’m hoping she’s feeling at least a fraction of what she made me feel for years. What she’s likely making my little brother feel right now.
I can’t believe this. She went and made a whole human and didn’t think to tell me?
I walk straight through the kitchen and out the back door. No one is in the alley right now, so I take a moment to pull myself together. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this stunned.
Her child is out there running the streets of Boston all alone and she waits two goddamn weeks before doing anything about it? I don’t know why it surprises me. This is who she is. It’s who she’s always been.
My phone begins to ring. I’m so on edge, I want to throw it at the dumpster, but when I see it’s Lily attempting to FaceTime me, I steady myself.
I slide my finger across the screen, prepared to tell her it isn’t a good time, but when her face pops up, it feels like the perfect time. I’m relieved to hear from her, even though it’s only been an hour since I last saw her. I’d give anything to reach through the phone and hug her.
“Hey.” I try to keep my voice stable, but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts through. She can tell because her expression grows concerned.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Things sort of went south after I went back to work. I’m fine, though.”
She smiles, but it’s kind of sad. “Yeah, my night went south, too.”
I didn’t notice at first, but it looks like she’s been crying. Her eyes are glassy and a little puffy. “Are you okay?”
She forces another smile. “I will be. I just wanted to say thank you for tonight before I went to sleep.”
I hate that she’s not standing in front of me right now. I don’t like seeing her sad; it reminds me too much of all the times I saw her sad when we were younger. At least back then I was close enough to hug her. Maybe I still can.
“Would a hug make you feel better?”
