As Easy as Falling Off the Face of the Earth by Lynne Rae Perkins Page B

than a few hours to cook a slab of solid coffee like that. It wasn’t from today. Maybe not even yesterday.
    “Let’s just take a look through the house,” Del said, “and make sure everything’s okay.”
    So Ry led Del up the stairs and into the hall. When they reached a doorway, he stepped back and held out his hand as if in courtesy, “After you.” If everything was not okay, he didn’t want to find out first.
    His parents’ room was disheveled, but they had disheveled it themselves, packing for their trip before they finished unpacking from the move. The covers had been pulled up on the bed, and a lone photograph had made it up onto the wall. The rest of it was a free-form jumble. Ry saw the layers of clothing draped over the back of his mother’s chair and knew that she had changed her clothes at least three times, just to go to the airport.
    Ry’s room was just as he had left it, too. He didn’t know anyone in this town yet, so there had been plenty of time to set his room up the way he wanted it. The decorating style he preferred was somewhere between Extreme Lived-in and Total Pit. Lair was how he thought of it. So at first glance it was as chaotic as his parents’ room. Maybe more so. He had a lot more stuff on the walls than they did, and more things plugged in. He would have liked to just stay in there for a while and soak up the ambience, but Del moved on, and Ry made himself follow.
    They went into the small spare bedroom where hisgrandfather had set up camp. This room was orderly. The bed was made. An open book waited facedown on top of the clock radio on the nightstand. Several shirts hung in the open closet, along with a pair of blue jeans and a pair of khaki trousers, neatly folded in half on the hangers. A pair of moccasins had been dropped onto the floor.
    The bathroom was tidy and clean. Almost too tidy and clean. It was as sparkly and shiny as a bathroom in a hotel.
    “I wonder where his toothbrush is,” said Del, “and his razor.”
    They went back into the bedroom and looked around, opened the drawers in the dresser. They saw socks and underwear, but no toothbrush, no razor or anything like that.
    “That’s kind of weird,” said Ry. “His car is here.”
    They went back downstairs and Ry led the way to the basement. Then up again and out onto the back porch. They went out into the yard and walked around. They looked inside the garage. Nothing seemed odd or amiss, except that no one was there. No dead bodies, but also no grandpas. No dogs. Not sure what else to do, they headed back inside.
    A small hill of mail had fallen to the floor from theslot in the front door. A couple of days’ worth, maybe. Ry gathered it up and riffled through coupon flyers addressed to Occupant, a magazine, and some envelopes with the yellow forwarding stickers, something from the electric company. He set it all on the coffee table and sank into his dad’s favorite chair. He closed his eyes. He considered keeping them closed until everything had turned out okay. Then he opened them and looked around at the familiar furniture of his life that had moved into this house and taken up residence. He was glad to see it all—the lamps, the knickknacks, the throw pillows. The steadfast couch welcomed him like a childhood friend.
    It seemed for a time as if he might sit in the chair all day, or forever. But then, in a surprise move, his limbs assembled themselves and propelled him to the answering machine, on the desk in the alcove off the front hallway. It was blinking. The number of messages it wanted to deliver was ten. Ry found a piece of paper and a pen, and pushed the button.

ANYWAY, LISTEN
    T he first three messages were his own. Maybe the fourth, too; it was a hang-up call.
     
    The next one was from Ry’s parents. His mother said that they had climbed a volcano, a mostly but not completely dead one. Dormant , that was the word. It had jungles growing all over it. And monkeys. Greenish monkeys. She