flowers and balloons arrived, another ten. Another slew of stuffed animals. A producer from CNN called, and Laura had kindly asked the woman where the fuck she’d been four years ago when they’d begged in vain for airtime. She made a dentist appointment for Justin and set up his counseling with a social worker in Corpus named Letty Villarreal. He’d have two sessions next week, and then they’d meet once a week indefinitely. On Wednesday afternoon, an animal control officer from Corpus dropped off Justin’s gray rat snake. She was four feet long with slate-colored patches running down her back. When Justin woke that evening, he set up her aquarium and heat lamp on his dresser, adjacent to the mice. He outfitted the tank with pieces from his old rock collection. The snake’s name was Sasha. Laura took a picture of her slithering into Justin’s shirt, his face gorgeously scrunched, as if someone was tickling him.
To Eric’s surprise, the press respected Garcia’s request and largely left the family alone. He and Laura had both seen a photographer circling the block, each on separate occasions, and a handful of reporters left messages and sent emails requesting interviews, but that was all. Laura said she remembered reading about photographers posing as deliverymen, how they would come inside the house with packages and floral arrangements and then take pictures with cameras shaped like pens, but they were spared any such intrusion. If anyone was being hounded, it seemed to be Buford’s parents, the district manager of his newspaper route, and his neighbors at the Bay Breeze Suites in Flour Bluff. They said he was quiet and distant. They said they were horrified. They slammed doors in the reporters’ faces, covered the camera lenses with their palms.
Laura was staying home from work. She’d also canceled her shifts at Marine Lab. Maternity leave, she called it. She worked around the house, dusting and waxing, opening windows to air out the rooms. She packed away the excess flyers, the MISSING buttons and T-shirts, the postcard from California that had been magnetedto the refrigerator door. She returned calls and wrote thank-you notes, cards she left out for Eric and Justin to sign after supper. Griff filled Hefty bags with the stuffed animals people sent. When enough time had passed, Eric would deliver them to the children’s hospital in Corpus. Laura fried chicken and baked casseroles so Justin would have food to nibble on during the night. She called Eric to say Justin was still sleeping—something she’d also done when the boys were infants, when sleep was a scarce commodity—so she and Griff were going to wash her car in the driveway. Another time, they did a jigsaw puzzle together. Another, they tried to tie-dye some shirts, but everything just came out purple. They did anything they could to pass the long hours until he stepped out of his room, rubbing his eyes, smiling.
Once Justin emerged, it was as if all the lights in the house had been thrown on. Eric wasn’t yet accustomed to seeing him again, and everything that his son came into contact with seemed to radiate, to shine in new and pure ways. What he understood now was that a stillness had crept into the house over the years—the tamped-down carpet, the scrim of dust that blurred the television screen—and he noticed it now because the stillness was gone, supplanted by a fresh energy. His vision was keen, his mind precise. If Justin recognized how he restored his father, he didn’t let on. He cupped his hands around his coffee mug, asked what everyone had been doing while he slept. He would also ask about things he’d remembered overnight: What ever happened with Mrs. Harrison, the fourth-grade teacher who ate chalk? What about Tommy Benavides, the bully from grade school? When did the Teepee go under? His reactions were measured and opaque, but not uninvested. Even when they told him that Johnny and Jason Holland, his old best friends, had
To Eric’s surprise, the press respected Garcia’s request and largely left the family alone. He and Laura had both seen a photographer circling the block, each on separate occasions, and a handful of reporters left messages and sent emails requesting interviews, but that was all. Laura said she remembered reading about photographers posing as deliverymen, how they would come inside the house with packages and floral arrangements and then take pictures with cameras shaped like pens, but they were spared any such intrusion. If anyone was being hounded, it seemed to be Buford’s parents, the district manager of his newspaper route, and his neighbors at the Bay Breeze Suites in Flour Bluff. They said he was quiet and distant. They said they were horrified. They slammed doors in the reporters’ faces, covered the camera lenses with their palms.
Laura was staying home from work. She’d also canceled her shifts at Marine Lab. Maternity leave, she called it. She worked around the house, dusting and waxing, opening windows to air out the rooms. She packed away the excess flyers, the MISSING buttons and T-shirts, the postcard from California that had been magnetedto the refrigerator door. She returned calls and wrote thank-you notes, cards she left out for Eric and Justin to sign after supper. Griff filled Hefty bags with the stuffed animals people sent. When enough time had passed, Eric would deliver them to the children’s hospital in Corpus. Laura fried chicken and baked casseroles so Justin would have food to nibble on during the night. She called Eric to say Justin was still sleeping—something she’d also done when the boys were infants, when sleep was a scarce commodity—so she and Griff were going to wash her car in the driveway. Another time, they did a jigsaw puzzle together. Another, they tried to tie-dye some shirts, but everything just came out purple. They did anything they could to pass the long hours until he stepped out of his room, rubbing his eyes, smiling.
Once Justin emerged, it was as if all the lights in the house had been thrown on. Eric wasn’t yet accustomed to seeing him again, and everything that his son came into contact with seemed to radiate, to shine in new and pure ways. What he understood now was that a stillness had crept into the house over the years—the tamped-down carpet, the scrim of dust that blurred the television screen—and he noticed it now because the stillness was gone, supplanted by a fresh energy. His vision was keen, his mind precise. If Justin recognized how he restored his father, he didn’t let on. He cupped his hands around his coffee mug, asked what everyone had been doing while he slept. He would also ask about things he’d remembered overnight: What ever happened with Mrs. Harrison, the fourth-grade teacher who ate chalk? What about Tommy Benavides, the bully from grade school? When did the Teepee go under? His reactions were measured and opaque, but not uninvested. Even when they told him that Johnny and Jason Holland, his old best friends, had
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