It’s as if she’s speaking a foreign language. I can’t understand her, and it’s making me very agitated.
“What are you talking about?”
She just repeats herself. “Your dad sent an sos at about eight o’clock to say he was having mechanical problems. That’s all they know. They lost contact with him after that. They believe his plane went down somewhere over Lake Muskeg.”
I scream at her in this hoarse whisper. “I know that—but where’s Dad? Is he okay?”
Mom looks out the window. It’s so dark out, all you can see is her reflection looking back at us.
“They don’t know, honey. The rescue team is on its way. They’ll know better by morning.”
She puts her hand over mine. I’m too stunned and scared to pull it away.
“Why don’t you try and get some sleep, Ria? There’s nothing we can do now.”
Sleep? Who does she think I am? This is my father. She might not care about him anymore, but I do. I glare at her until she turns away.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” she says.
I sit in front of a cold cup of tea
and watch the sky go from black to navy to pink to blue.
The phone rings. Mom walks into the hall and stands with her back to me. Her voice is too low to hear. I stare at her, motionless. I feel like a dog waiting for my master to give me a command.
She hangs up and turns toward me. Her lips have gone small, but her eyes are weirdly open.
“Ria. That was Search and Rescue. They have some news.”
She sits down next to me and folds her hands on the table. “They found the plane.”
That’s good. That’s good, I think.
“Or what’s left of it…It was a very bad crash.” She says it slowly so I understand, so I won’t ask her any other questions.
“What do you mean?” I say.
I can see her choosing her words. “The plane was destroyed. Just bits and pieces left.”
“Did they find him?” I say.
“No.”
“He could have got out then! He could be in the woods somewhere! He could have made it to shore…”
“Ria. It was a very bad crash.”
“But they didn’t find him!”
I turn and see Elliot standing in the hall, with his hair all sticking up and his little elephant pajamas on backward. Suddenly, Mom and I are on the same side again. I smile and say, “Morning, sleepyhead!”
Mom hops up from the table and says, “Goodness! Look at the time! I haven’t even started your breakfast.” She turns on the radio and rummages around for spoons and cereal and bowls.
Elliot sits next to me. He’s got a big pout on his face. “Why were you yelling at Mommy?”
Mom bounces over. “Shreddies! Your favorite!”
Elliot takes a mouthful but looks back and forth between the two of us. I realize how sensitive he’s become since Dad left. The thought of how much worse this is going to get for him almost kills me.
He says, “I don’t like it when you’re mean.”
Mom says, “Now, now, Elliot. It’s not nice to speak with your mouth full.” I stick my tongue out at him as if I’m glad he got caught.
Mom says, “And that’s not nice either.”
We’re so busy trying to distract him that neither of us notices the news has come on until we hear, “This hour’s headlines. Millionaire stockbroker missing in air crash.”
We both leap up. Mom snaps off the radio and says, “Eight o’clock, Elliot! Time to go. Ria, can you help him get dressed so he won’t be late for school?”
The kid’s not stupid. He knows something’s up. I yank him away from the kitchen table with his mouth still full and drag him upstairs. I pretend to be mad at him for crying, but the truth is I’m relieved to have something else to occupy my mind. He doesn’t stop whimpering until I buy him a Crispy Crunch on the way to school and let him eat it.
I get this weird thought. Will he hate chocolate bars for the rest of his life because they’ll remind him of the day his dad went missing?
The bell rings. Ms. Jordan comes out and takes Elliot by the hand. She doesn’t need to tell me that she’s heard the news. Her “Hey, Elliot!” is too cheery, and her voice, when she’s talking to me, is too soft. “Call if we can help in any way.”
I walk home in a fog. All I can hear is my breathing and my heart beating and this staticky fuzz in my brain. My cell phone rings, but I don’t answer it. I don’t look at anyone I pass. I just keep walking until I get home.
I push open the door, and for a moment I wonder if I’m in the wrong place. The kitchen is full of people—Aunt Cathy, our next-door neighbors, a couple of guys Dad golfs with, his doctor, his secretary. They all turn and look at me. They all have the same look on their face.
Dread.
They dread having to talk to me.
I’m their worst nightmare.