Disappearance at Devil's Rock by Paul Tremblay Page A

in their pockets, like cowed prisoners. Two stupid-ass little boys. The stupidest. That’s all they are, and they lost Tommy. They took him and they lost him.
    Everyone is standing and not quite sure what to do or where to look. Mom insists they sit on the living room couch and be comfortable. Mom sits first but no one follows her lead, so she stands back up.
    Kate stares at the boys, daring them to look her way. Neither of them have yet.
    Nana, taking over the hostess role, politely asks if anyone wants any coffee, water, something to eat.
    Mrs. Fernandez says, “No, no thank you,” and the other adults mumble similar sentiments.
    Nana disappears into the kitchen and tends to the coffeemaker anyway.
    Sighs and awkward smiles are passed back and forth until Mom breaks the Antarctic ice and says, “Thank you, guys. For—for coming over. It’s good to see you.”
    Kate seethes. No, it’s not good to see them standing like their presence in and of itself is some sort of apology or admission of guilt that’s to be absolved by this weak-sauce act of contrition. And even worse, now they’re making Mom do the talking.
    The two dads blurt and bumble over each other’s words and it amounts to nothing at all, the drowsy buzz of a couple of dying bees. Mrs. Griffin nods, folds and unfolds her hands, and smiles the watery smile of the fuck-up, of the coward who knows what should be said but won’t or can’t.
    Mrs. Fernandez says, “It’s so good to see you too, Elizabeth. And Kate. And please, thank you for having us. We won’t keep you long. And—” She pauses, and sighs, and then talks again but the sentences don’t quite work and the accents are in the wrong places and so are some of the words. “You must—you’re so busy. We know. I mean. I can’t imagine, what, you know, and all you have to do. We thought it important. The boys, the boys—” She pauses again after saying “the boys” twice, like it’s a recognition that the boys no longer refers to the three friends. “They wanted to say that . . . they wanted to say something to you. To you both.”
    Kate stuffs earbuds into her ears. There’s no music playing yet. She has “Heart Shaped Box” queued up in case of emergency and she needs to drown them all out.
    The parents part, eager to offer up a sacrifice, and the two boys step forward, toward Mom. Josh’s eyes are puffy and he’s already crying, his lower lip caught in an earthquake, and it’s clear he can’t face her, that he won’t be able to say anything.
    Mom is stone-faced, unreadable, and stares at Josh, daring him to say something, anything. Josh covers his eyes with his hands and his head tilts toward the floor like Mom’s stare has weight, forcing his head down to never look up at anyone again.
    Kate’s anger softens and now she’s scared. What is Mom going to do or say? Is she going to start screaming at them all and blame them for Tommy’s disappearance? Pre–summit meeting, it was what Kate wanted, but now she wants Mom to endure whatever it is they have to say and then let them leave without any fireworks so they can handle this on their own. Is Mom going to tell them that she believes Tommy is dead and that she sees Tommy’s ghost and he leaves her written messages?
    Luis says, “I’m—I’m sorry, Ms. Sanderson.”
    Mom visibly twitches at the sound of her last name. Luis hasn’t called her anything but Elizabeth in all the years he’s been Tommy’s friend. In recent months he has been greeting her with playful variants of How the heck are you, Elizabeth? Luis isn’t a total mess like Josh is, but his voice is so off, or turned off. This is not Luis talking. The real Luis’s voice is a live wire; words crackling with energy, wit, and sometimes anger, always challenging you in some way. This Luis drones on