Learning to Hula

In his father’s den. He still spends all his time there, playing on the computer. He’s not going to be pleased when I take over the room for my office, but Robbie has a laptop he can use anywhere. I need the space for files.

“I don’t think he’s there,” I say, knowing I will check anyway.

“Whatever…”

That is another chorus she sings, like the “it’s not fair” one.

“What’s with the stuff in your backpack?” I ask her, wanting to know if she thinks she’s leaving, too. Is this something they planned together, like the packed bags and boxes and the For Sale sign on the front lawn?

“I got it back from Heather.”

She and her friends share clothes and CDs so this is not unusual. But I detect that surly note in her voice, not directed at me for once. “Are you and Heather fighting?”

It would not surprise or disappoint me if Claire said yes. This is the girl who purposely makes her mother mad.

She nods. “Yeah, she’s a lying bitch!”

“Claire!” Despite our house rule against swearing, she’s called her brother names many times, but never a friend, even a friend like Heather.

“I don’t need her.” Her dark eyes tell me more, that she doesn’t think she needs anyone.

I’ve wondered why the phone, which used to ring incessantly, has been so quiet. I want to talk to her about this, about her isolation from her friends, because I understand. My friends have stopped calling, too. They expressed their sympathy at the funeral, but now they don’t know what to say to me. And if adults can’t figure it out, I doubt young girls can.

I want to explain this to her, but don’t believe she’ll listen to me now. I need to find Robbie and treat them both to their favorite dinner first. I hand her the note.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“You tell me.” They are too close now for her not to know.

She reads it through narrowed eyes. “He ran away?”

“You tell me,” I say again. “Earlier, when I asked you about his not riding the bus, you acted like you knew something. Did you know about this?”

“No!” she cries, tossing the note back at me. Her hands are shaking. She’s madder now, at him, than at Heather or me. I don’t think it’s because he ran away but because he ran away without her. “All he told me was that he wasn’t waiting for you to pick him up. He didn’t say anything else. He’s a liar!”

She may think she doesn’t need anyone, but she’s come to depend on her brother. Regardless of their past relationship as pest-pestee, they are the only ones who truly understand what each other is going through, more so than I do. With Rob’s passing, I lost my husband; they lost their father.

“I doubt he’s really run away,” I assure her, as she’s blinking back tears. “We’ll find him.”

I reach to put my arm around her, but she pulls away from me.

“Whatever…”

I am mad now, not worried. I still believe he is too smart to have run away. I’m mad because he’s so smart that he has hidden well. He’s not with his friends. I have called their houses, had their mothers search their rooms, as I have searched every room of my house.

And the garage.

And the shed in the back.

And now, as I stand at the kitchen window of Emma’s farmhouse, I watch flashlight beams bounce around in the woods like huge fireflies. Others are searching for him now.

But he isn’t out there.

Autumn, even this early, and his asthma are a bad combination. If he’s out among the rotting leaves, he’ll be breathing so hard that they’ll hear him, the flashlights unnecessary. But it’s important to them that they search. Keith is looking, with Emma’s husband, Troy, and her oldest son, Dylan. It’s how men react; they have to fix things. That was how Rob got into computer repair in the first place. He was a fixer, too.

But his expression would not be as grim as theirs had been when they learned Robbie was missing. He’d be smiling, cracking jokes or sleeping. I remember how he used to play hide-n-go-seek with the kids when they were little. He’d created his own version: hide-n-go-sleep.

While Robbie and Claire hid away, being absolutely quiet so he wouldn’t hear them, Rob would lie down on the couch where he’d been counting, and fall asleep. His snoring would eventually draw them from their hiding places, and he’d catch them when he awoke, without ever leaving the couch.

Maybe I should have tried that. But I’m too mad to sleep. And not just at Robbie for pulling this stunt, but at Rob for not being here to handle it.

My trembling fingers close over one of the ceramic roosters sitting on the windowsill. Like Mom with the teapots, this is what Emma collects, claiming they are required in a country kitchen. While not as bad as the hula lamp, they are tacky. She has too many. Would she mind if I picked up this one and hurled it against the wall? Or through the window? I need to break something so that I don’t.

Because if Rob were here, Robbie would be, too. He wouldn’t run away from his father. Just me. I’d thought what he and Claire had said before slamming their bedroom doors last night had been in the heat of the moment, but what if he meant it? What if he hates me? Then he really would have run away….

“Where do you think he could be?” I ask Emma, who stands anxiously behind me. I see her reflection in the glass, the tight expression on her face, the worry in her eyes. It’s my face that’s staring back at me, the mirror image. There’s a catch in my voice as I tell her, “I checked with everyone.”

I called my mom on the off chance Robbie walked to town, but she hadn’t seen him. I convinced her not to come out, that the guys had the search under control. Pam still hadn’t been home, not that I could see Robbie crashing with his least-favorite aunt. It’s probably just out of loyalty to Rob that he doesn’t like Pam, and why he played the pranks on her. He’d heard them argue too many times.

Emma puts her arm around my shoulders. Unlike Claire, who’d pulled away from me, I lean into her, appreciating her warmth and support. If only it were Rob’s strong arm around me, his big body to lean against for support….

I blink back the tears burning my eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says.

I was so sure he’d be here, in the old farmhouse where I’d grown up, probably doubting Emma would notice one more teenager with five of them already. Or believing that if she did, she would let him stay anyway.

He and Claire think Emma is more lenient than I am, but that’s just because her house has two sets of rules. Emma has one set for her kids; Troy has another for his. And neither of them disciplines the other’s. They agreed on this arrangement to protect their marriage. Sometimes I think it does more harm, but Emma will do whatever necessary to make this relationship work, since she really loves Troy.

I understand Emma. I always do. It’s Pam who rarely makes sense to me. Then Emma says, “You need to try Deputy Westmoreland again.”

Now I wonder about her. “I didn’t call him.” But I did call the police department. “They’re already sending an officer to check the bus and train terminals for a boy matching the description I gave them.”

Emma squeezes my shoulder. “Deputy Westmoreland is the one who works with teenagers at the high school.”

At-risk teens. Robbie is not at risk. He’s just pissed off that I sold his father’s business. I’m deliberately obtuse. “Robbie’s not at the high school.”

I already called Principal Van Otten…at the mayor’s house. Robbie had attended school today, but I learned there were some other days that he’d missed.

When I find him, I intend to make it clear to him that skipping school is unacceptable and he has detention to serve. At least I assume that is what Mr. Van Otten wants to discuss during the meeting he scheduled with me for tomorrow, provided I find Robbie by then. I have to find Robbie by then. My fingers tighten so hard around the rooster that I imagine I hear a quiet crack. I force my grip to loosen.

Mr. Van Otten also checked with the bus driver and called me back to confirm that Robbie had taken the bus home this afternoon. I doubt he could have gotten as far as the bus or train terminals. He has to be around here somewhere. I continue to watch the lights bouncing around in the woods.

“Holly,” Emma says in that long-suffering, patient tone that has me squirming like one of her children. “Deputy Westmoreland knows where all the teenagers hang out.”

“I’m sure he’s not the only one in the police department who knows. I know.”

The cemetery. The park. The football field. Nothing much changes in Stanville, or Standstill, which is what we called it as kids, which is what the kids call it now. “I’ll go look for him.”