rust-coloured earth. Behind him, sitting in the weeds, Sam was talking on a cell phone. But Riddle
couldn’t hear him. And he didn’t want to hear him.
He comes and he goes now. But when he’s here, he’s far away. So even when he comes back to me, he’s part gone.
I follow where I can follow, where he will let me follow. Like the ants follow in the line.
Because Sam is the only one who matters.
And if I lose my Sam, there will be nothing for me.
Riddle lowered his head and his left ear pressed hard into the clay earth. It felt wet and cold. But from this angle, he could really watch the ants move.
They were on his level now. And this close, they seemed blind, feeling their way forward with probing antennae, using smell and feel and taste.
Riddle remembered that Sam had said that ants march to find food. He remembered that they steal from other ants and capture ant slaves. He squinted past the now-large ants to his now-small
brother in the distant background.
Has someone captured my Sam?
Is he now a slave?
The Bells wanted to meet his father.
Not possible.
There was nothing in the world that could make that happen. They could ask and ask and ask, but no. Never. Ever.
His father ruined everything. Always.
Forever.
Was her father now going to ruin everything?
Tim and Debbie Bell shifted to wanting to meet his brother. They asked and asked and asked. And finally he said he’d consider it. And then eventually, worn down from their persistence, he
agreed.
Maybe meeting Riddle would explain things. They’d know then that his life wasn’t all about him.
And maybe they’d understand and stop asking the questions. It was hard enough when she asked the questions.
If it weren’t for Emily, he’d throw the cell phone and the gold watch onto their front lawn and never look back.
What was better, eating together at a restaurant or staying at home?
Where would they feel more comfortable?
Emily settled on her house. It would be harder to keep her father under control, harder to keep him from dragging Sam down to the basement to get into music, but this was supposed to be about
meeting Sam’s little brother, and her father would just have to focus on that.
The night after Sam had played her father’s prize guitar, everything switched. Her dad now acted like the kid with the crush, and she was the parent. Emily had to tell him to back off, to
go slow. She had to tell her dad that he was overwhelming the situation.
They’d picked a Sunday. It would be an early dinner. Even though it was just spring, they’d set the picnic table. Sam told her that eating outside would probably be easier for
Riddle.
Sam would not discuss his father, and Emily had come to accept that for now. They were at odds. It happened. Maybe because his mother had died. Maybe Sam felt his father didn’t do a good
job of taking care of his wife in the end. Emily’s mom had told her about seeing all kinds of things like that in her years at the hospital.
But Sam was different about his brother.
He talked about him, in small ways, all the time. And he worried about him. Once Emily understood that this was part of what made Sam anxious, she felt even closer to him.
She could see that he was always holding the thought of someone else inside. He was always balancing people, and she was now one of those people. He was sharing as much as he could. And sharing
his little brother with her was a very big thing for him.
And that’s how Emily knew Sam really cared about her.
They showed up early.
Sam and Riddle had gone to the laundromat that day so that they would have clean clothes.
At noon, Sam left a ten-dollar bill on the cracked tile kitchen counter, knowing that their father, a born thief, would pocket the money and disappear. That allowed them to get dressed and leave
in the afternoon without questions.
They took the bus across town, and Riddle, holding his phone book, stared out the window, for the most part, unblinking.
couldn’t hear him. And he didn’t want to hear him.
He comes and he goes now. But when he’s here, he’s far away. So even when he comes back to me, he’s part gone.
I follow where I can follow, where he will let me follow. Like the ants follow in the line.
Because Sam is the only one who matters.
And if I lose my Sam, there will be nothing for me.
Riddle lowered his head and his left ear pressed hard into the clay earth. It felt wet and cold. But from this angle, he could really watch the ants move.
They were on his level now. And this close, they seemed blind, feeling their way forward with probing antennae, using smell and feel and taste.
Riddle remembered that Sam had said that ants march to find food. He remembered that they steal from other ants and capture ant slaves. He squinted past the now-large ants to his now-small
brother in the distant background.
Has someone captured my Sam?
Is he now a slave?
The Bells wanted to meet his father.
Not possible.
There was nothing in the world that could make that happen. They could ask and ask and ask, but no. Never. Ever.
His father ruined everything. Always.
Forever.
Was her father now going to ruin everything?
Tim and Debbie Bell shifted to wanting to meet his brother. They asked and asked and asked. And finally he said he’d consider it. And then eventually, worn down from their persistence, he
agreed.
Maybe meeting Riddle would explain things. They’d know then that his life wasn’t all about him.
And maybe they’d understand and stop asking the questions. It was hard enough when she asked the questions.
If it weren’t for Emily, he’d throw the cell phone and the gold watch onto their front lawn and never look back.
What was better, eating together at a restaurant or staying at home?
Where would they feel more comfortable?
Emily settled on her house. It would be harder to keep her father under control, harder to keep him from dragging Sam down to the basement to get into music, but this was supposed to be about
meeting Sam’s little brother, and her father would just have to focus on that.
The night after Sam had played her father’s prize guitar, everything switched. Her dad now acted like the kid with the crush, and she was the parent. Emily had to tell him to back off, to
go slow. She had to tell her dad that he was overwhelming the situation.
They’d picked a Sunday. It would be an early dinner. Even though it was just spring, they’d set the picnic table. Sam told her that eating outside would probably be easier for
Riddle.
Sam would not discuss his father, and Emily had come to accept that for now. They were at odds. It happened. Maybe because his mother had died. Maybe Sam felt his father didn’t do a good
job of taking care of his wife in the end. Emily’s mom had told her about seeing all kinds of things like that in her years at the hospital.
But Sam was different about his brother.
He talked about him, in small ways, all the time. And he worried about him. Once Emily understood that this was part of what made Sam anxious, she felt even closer to him.
She could see that he was always holding the thought of someone else inside. He was always balancing people, and she was now one of those people. He was sharing as much as he could. And sharing
his little brother with her was a very big thing for him.
And that’s how Emily knew Sam really cared about her.
They showed up early.
Sam and Riddle had gone to the laundromat that day so that they would have clean clothes.
At noon, Sam left a ten-dollar bill on the cracked tile kitchen counter, knowing that their father, a born thief, would pocket the money and disappear. That allowed them to get dressed and leave
in the afternoon without questions.
They took the bus across town, and Riddle, holding his phone book, stared out the window, for the most part, unblinking.
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