Disappearance at Devil's Rock by Paul Tremblay Page B

in a toneless dirge like a talking head reading a teleprompter with news of an impending calamity that cannot be avoided or prepared for.
    â€œI’m sorry we snuck out and took those beers with us. I don’t know what we were thinking exactly. We’re not drinkers, really we’re not. We were trying them out, and we didn’t drink that much. And I know that’s not the important part, but I’m sorry we were so stupid. About everything. And then he left and we should’ve followed him right away, and I don’t know why we didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry we don’t know where Tommy went and I’m sorry I don’t know what happened. I wish I could take it all back. That’s all I wish. Just take that night back.”
    Mom pulls Luis into a hug and she is crying, but it’s an under-control crying. She says, “Thank you, Luis. Thank you. It’s okay.”
    It’s not okay, but that’s not what she means, can’t be what she means. Luis looks so small and Mom has him totally enveloped in her arms, squeezing his head against her chest, her long hair falling over him. Luis hesitantly puts his arms around her waist.
    Kate turns on her music, the languid opening guitar notes lurch before the hesitant bass and drums keep the odd time loudly, and it looks like Mom and Luis are slow dancing. They break the hug as the chorus is shouted over the fuzzed-out guitar, and Luis goes back to his side of the room with the other parents. Mom quickly hugs Josh, too, rubs the top of his head as he shuffles away from her, and then Mom is alone on her side of the living room again. Kate should probably go over and stand with her, but she doesn’t.
    Mom starts speaking and gesticulating with her hands. The hand gestures are indecipherable without the words. The other parents stare down at their sons, and Josh and Luis shake their heads no in sync, and they occasionally shrug and say something brief. Kate doesn’t shut off the music, and she turns it up louder to ensure she doesn’t hear anything they say. She focuses on the secret choreography of their collective nonmovement.
    The two families eventually float toward the open door like lost balloons. They wave sheepishly at Kate and they squeeze Mom’s hands and arms as though testing out how strong or durable she is. Mom watches them trek across the lawn from the open door. After their two cars drive away, she turns to Kate and pantomimes taking out the earbuds. Kate takes one out.
    Mom says, “I’ll be back later with lunch.”
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œOut. Text if you want anything.” Mom waves bye with her car keys cupped in her hand and she shuts the door behind her.
    They’re all gone before the last song of the album, “All Apologies,” finishes.

    Luis’s parents decide they’re not going into work for another day, and Team Griffin-Fernandez reconvenes at Luis’s house. The adults sit at the kitchen table like weary delegates while his dad makes coffee and puts out a box of little powdered donuts. Josh takes a handful. Mrs. Griffin’s look of you-don’t-need-to-eat-all-those is as loud as a scream. Luis takes one donut to make his mom happy. He is not hungry anymore and the stomach pains from earlier have short-circuited out.
    Mr. Griffin says, “I’m glad we went. I mean, we had to go, and we wanted to go. But that was hard. Nothing compared to what poor Elizabeth is going though, I know, but I’m just saying, that wasn’t easy.”
    Luis wants to say something smart, something that stings and horrifies, something to make him stop talking.
    Mr. Griffin ends with “Proud of you boys for stepping up.”
    Josh, the kid who always has something to say, doesn’t say anything. Just like he didn’t really say anything at the Sandersons. Josh stuffs two donuts in his mouth, and the white powder clumps on his lips.