Emmy & Oliver (34 page)

“That's what Mom said,” Oliver murmured.

“Yeah, well, your mom is right. And I knew she was trying to get sole custody because of that. Which she was right to do, by the way. I wasn't a very suitable dad back then.”

“You were a good dad,” Oliver said.

“Well, not at that point. But that weekend . . .” Keith's mouth trembled again and I felt cold just thinking about it, Oliver being spirited away to Chicago, lost and confused, while the rest of us searched for him in vain. “That weekend, you were sleeping at my house and you looked so little in my bed. You were a small fry. Remember how I used to call you that? ‘Small-fry guy'?”

Oliver nodded, his jaw tightening.

“You just looked so small and I just couldn't imagine not being able to see you anymore. I didn't think I would survive it. You had these little teeth and tiny hands and you would wear that Little League uniform from your T-ball team, remember? You would wear it everywhere.”

“Mom still has it,” Oliver whispered. “She saved it. She saved everything.”

Keith's eyes spilled over at that. “Good. I'm glad she does.” He sniffled loudly and wiped his palm across his cheeks, trying to pull it together. “But I just kept thinking that I couldn't bear to not see you grow up. And I panicked. That's all. I made a decision and by the time I realized what I had done, I realized that it was too late. If I took you back, I'd never see you again.”

“But you told me that Mom didn't want us,” Oliver said, and I had never heard such
quiet fury before. His hands were clenched together under the table like he was holding himself back, and I sat very still and didn't say a word. I had this feeling that I stumbled onto the stage of a play and didn't know who I was or what I was supposed to say. I wished I had stayed in the car, that I had just watched from the window or waited outside the restaurant instead. This was a private conversation and I was sitting right in the middle of it.

“I know,” Keith said. “I know I said that about Mom. And I'm so sorry, Oliver. I didn't . . . I made many terrible choices and I tried to give you the best life I could, but I couldn't undo some of those things. I'm sorry. That's all I can say.” He wiped at his eyes again. “I was selfish. I'm sorry. I tried to make it up to you.”

Oliver's eyes were overflowing now, and I carefully reached under the table and took one of his hands in mine, unknotting his fist before running my fingers over his palm. His pulse was pure staccato, tripping over itself. “All those nights, though, when I kept asking for Mom, though? When I would wake up crying for her?” Oliver shook his head and laughed through the tears. “I can't believe you would just let me hurt like that.”

“I can't believe I would, either,” Keither murmured. “I just loved you so much.”

“Love isn't something you say,” Oliver snapped. “It's something you do. God, I hate you so much for doing this. And it's, like, at the same time, I'm so glad to see you. This is so fucked up, I can't . . .” He trailed off, wiping his eyes before looking back out the window.

Keith was quiet for a minute. “Oliver,” he finally said. “I'm sorry I left you in the apartment that day.”

Oliver's head whipped back around, his eyes wide.

“It's okay,” Keith continued. “You knew what you were doing that day on the field trip. I know. And I'm not upset or mad or anything like that. I understand. I couldn't keep this from you forever. And it's all right. I just panicked, that's all.” Keith chuckled to himself, but it sounded more sad than funny. “Your old man's kind of a screwup.”

Oliver looked like he had been caught stealing candy out of a store. “I . . . I just . . . you wouldn't talk to me, and Mom's name was blocked and I—I saw articles at the library and I hadn't seen her in so long and when I saw that
she
was looking for
me
. . . ?” A tear ran down Oliver's cheek and he hastily wiped it away. “You let me hate her for ten years and the whole time, I should have been hating
you
.”

“I know—” Keith started to say.

“But the real problem,” Oliver continued like he hadn't said anything, “is that I can't hate either one of you, not really. I hate that you put me in this position. But I don't hate
you.”

Keith nodded sadly. “I can't say enough how sorry I am.”

“You're right, you can't.” Oliver rested his elbows on the table and covered his eyes with his hands. “Oh, God, I just want this to be over,” he sighed. “I just want to feel normal again.”

Keith started to stand up from the table and Oliver's head shot up. “Where are you going?”

“Just the bathroom,” Keith said. He attempted a smile but Oliver and I just looked at him. “Be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, Oliver let out a long, low breath and looked at me. “You doing okay?” he asked. “Sorry you got caught up in all of this.”

“I don't care how
I'm
doing right now,” I replied, which was the truth. “How are
you
? Are you all right?”

“I kind of lost it when I first saw him,” Oliver admitted. “I don't think I let go of him for, like, five minutes.” He smiled a little in embarrassment. “Manly shit, you know.”

Then he wrapped one hand around my wrist, rubbing my arm with the other. “I'm glad you're here,” he whispered, kissing my temple.

“I am so, so sorry that I was sitting here during all of that,” I admitted. “Seriously, that was a discussion for you and your dad, it wasn't for—”

“Hey,” Oliver interrupted me. “I told you I'm glad you were here. Don't apologize.”

“Okay,” I said, but I still felt terrible.

We pulled apart when Keith came back, and the waitress poured more coffee for him and Oliver. “Emmy, I'm so sorry,” Keith said. “I didn't ask you if you wanted anything. Pie or a pop, maybe?”

“I'm fine,” I said. The idea of food made me want to throw up.

“How are your mom and dad? Is your mom still cooking a lot?” Keith smiled at me and I could tell that he was uncomfortable. It's one thing to apologize to Oliver, but he hadn't realized how many people were owed apologies.

“Fine,” I said again. “They're fine. She owns a catering business now.”

“She always made the best rigatoni, I remember,” Keith said. “I used to try and make it for Oliver, but it never came out right.”

“No, it didn't,” Oliver said with a laugh. “But your spaghetti's good. And I like that chicken casserole thing, too.”

“And I made that cake for your tenth birthday, too.” Keith grinned. “Double-decker.”

Oliver was fiddling with his napkin, even as his smile grew wider. “That was a good
day,” he said. “And you got me that bike.”

“Taught you how to ride it, too,” Keith said. “Even got the helmet and the knee pads. Made sure you were safe.” He looked at Oliver dead-on this time, his eyes suddenly serious. “I know I didn't do a lot of it right, but I tried. And I'm trying now, too.”

Keith reached across the table and took Oliver's hand. “Oliver, I'm taking responsibility for what I did because I don't want you to have to do that for me anymore.”

Oliver just stared at him. “But I—”

“I know you feel bad that you turned me in,” Keith said, and he sounded so calm, so mollifying. “And I've done enough to hurt you. We had seventeen really good years together. I got to see you grow up, but your mom didn't, and I have to pay the price for that. You've paid enough. It's my turn.”

That's when I heard the first siren. It was far away still, but the restaurant was quiet enough to hear it. Keith glanced out the window and I realized that he was putting his jacket back on.

Oliver heard it then, too. “Wait, what's—” He looked out the window, then back at me. “Did you call the police, Emmy?”

I just shook my head, as confused as him. The sirens (there were more than one now) were getting closer, screaming toward us, and Keith started to get out of the booth.

“Wait,” Oliver said. “Did you—
Why?
Dad, why would you do that?” He seemed as panicked as Keith was calm. “Why would you call them? You have to go, you have to . . .”

But Keith just stood next to the table as two police officers started to get out of their cars. I climbed out of the booth, Oliver scrambling after me, and he grabbed his dad's arm, tears streaming down his face. “Why?” he asked again, but his voice was broken.

“Come on,” Keith said, holding his arms open. “One last hug.”

Oliver hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then threw his arms around his dad. They were both crying together, and Keith rested his hand on the back of Oliver's head and held him tight. “I'm so sorry,” I heard Keith whisper. “I love you.”

Oliver couldn't talk, but I saw him nod.

Keith broke the hug when the first officer stepped into the restaurant, one hand on his gun. “Keith Sawyer?” he said. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

Keith did just that, lacing his fingers behind his head as Oliver reluctantly let go of his dad. “It's okay,” Keith said to him, but then the officers descended and got him on the
ground. I don't know why, but I was standing on the booth's plastic-lined seat by that point, and I put my arms around Oliver's shoulders and hung on to him. He cupped his hands around my wrists in response, as we watched his father be arrested for kidnapping.

“Son?” one of the officers said, and both Oliver and I looked at him. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Oliver said, wiping at his eyes. “I'm fine. Is he—you're not going to hurt him, right?”

“No, son,” the officer said. “Why don't you both come outside with me?”

They took Keith out first, handcuffed with his head down, his thin jacket flapping in the wind. Oliver and I and the officer followed, and that's when I saw Maureen jumping out of another police car.

I waited to see if she would throw herself at Keith, tear him apart for putting her through ten years of torturous days and nights, but she never even glanced in his direction. She was only looking for one person.

“Oliver!” she cried, and when he heard his mom's voice, Oliver looked up at her.

“Mom!” he said, and then she was grabbing him in her arms, holding on tight and not letting go. He was taller than her by at least a few inches, but it didn't matter. Right then, she was the strong one, and he sagged against her and buried his face against her shoulder.

“Emmy!” someone else called, and when I turned around, I saw my own mom coming toward me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, but she didn't answer. Instead, she just pulled me into a hug and held on, and that's when I finally started to cry.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

A
fter.

After Keith was booked at the local police station and taken into custody. After Oliver threw up in the bushes outside the restaurant, then rode with his mom to the police station to give a statement on what had happened. After my mom drove me home and we sat in the kitchen with my dad and I told them everything that had happened. After they didn't yell or get upset, after they just listened to me.

After all of that, it was just me in my bed at night, watching for Oliver's light.

“Emmy?” There was a knock at my door, then my mom's head poking through. “You asleep, sweetie?”

“No,” I said. “What's wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, it's all right. Just wanted to talk for a minute.” She slipped into the room, then crawled up on the bed next to me and lay down. We both stared at the ceiling for a minute, then she started to talk.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “I wish I could talk to Oliver, but I know he probably can't.”

“Maureen texted and said that they're still at the station, so, yeah.” My mom reached down and took my hand. “Sweetie, I wanted to talk to you.”

I didn't say anything. The lump in my throat was too big.

“Do you know,” my mom said, “when you were little that every time I used to try and use the bathroom, you would stick your fingers under the door?” She laughed at the memory. “I'd be peeing and look down and see these tiny fingers!”

“What?” Now I started to laugh. “Gross! Sorry about that.”

“No, don't be sorry. That's what kids do. They want to spend all this time with you. You take them to school and they cling to your legs and they don't want to go in the door.” She took a shaky breath. “But the funny thing is, you blink and the next thing you know, they're trying to leave and
you're
the one clinging to
them
.”