If Valencia feels bad about having asphalt instead of slate, she should see the house I grew up in, a two-bedroom rancher with a much smaller yard. My hometown didn’t have neighborhoods like this one. It was mainly ranch subdivisions, townhomes, an extremely modest “downtown” area with row homes and apartments, and a smattering of new construction on the edge of town.
But my parents weren’t a lawyer and a dentist—which I learned about Valencia while I was googling the family last night.
Valencia grabs a few of the shopping bags and I take the rest. Marcus heads for the door in the garage but Valencia scolds him, telling him we should go through the front door. He sighs and gives me a look I can’t read. Maybe it saysI hate my wifeor maybe it saysAlways with this carefully curated way of livingor maybeI’m tired and need to do some work. Either way, we follow her to the front door.
I take the time to look at the houses across the street and next door. The Beaumont house is a stone colonial, but the one across the street looks like a mid-century wet dream. The road is freshly paved and completely empty except for a maroon sedan parked a few houses down.
“Oh, wait!” Valencia stops me at the door, and I take one of the shopping bags from her, freeing her hand so she can reach into her back pocket. She takes out a lone key on a key ring and holds it out to me. “Try out your key.”
I take it, looking at the sharp, newly cut edges of the metal. Then I put it into the front door lock. It turns easily, and I push open the door andwalk into the house. Immediately a warning alarm chimes and Valencia heads over to a keypad on the wall and types in a code to turn it off.
“Easton?” Valencia calls out. “Honey, are you home?” No one answers so she shrugs. “He must be seeing some friends. We weren’t sure how today was going to go so we told him to do his thing. Sweetie, did you talk to him?”
Marcus nods. “I texted him while we were shopping. He’s hanging out with JT.” Marcus shuts the front door and locks it.
My throat goes dry, and I have a few seconds of panic as I realize I’m trapped with these people. I put my hand into my pocket and feel the sharp teeth of the key, slipping it between my index and middle finger. Marcus steps around me and my heartbeat slows.
Valencia says something about JT and his mother, but I don’t listen, instead focusing on the house.
The entryway is a large room with stairs in the middle that lead up to a landing with a big leaded glass window looking out over the backyard and the Chesapeake. Two smaller sets of stairs branch off to the left and right of the landing.
Beneath the left side of the stairs is a doorway that looks like it leads back to the kitchen, and on the opposite side is a closed door. To my immediate right is a large entryway into a living room with a stone fireplace. To the left is a dining room. There’s a white tablecloth over the table and it’s set for eight, with multiple utensils, plates, and glasses at each setting.
“We also repainted,” Valencia says, looking around. The walls of the entryway are an extremely light—almost white—gray. The living room is darker gray, and the dining room is beige. “Do youremember how the dining room used to be that strange, almost robin’s-egg blue?”
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
Valencia’s smile drops. “That’s okay.”
The look on her face feels like a knife stabbing me. I don’t know why I feel like that. I shouldn’t! These are strangers and they’re not my real parents. Or maybe it’s because if they were my real parents, they wouldn’t be trying so hard.
Is it because Valencia cares?
“Sorry, everything is a little... murky,” I say, trying to keep my cover.
“Is there anything youdoremember?” Marcus finally asks. It’s definitely a test this time. I can see it in his eyes.
So I pause, thinking for a long time and trying to run back some of what I read. Something I could use as a breadcrumb for them. If I can give them one little part of Nate’s life, maybe they could fill in more information.
Then it clicks.
“I remember the bay,” I say, pointing toward the back of the house. “Not what it looks like.” I close my eyes and instead picture the time my parents rented a house in the mountains. Not for fun, of course, but because there was a revival with our church and four other local churches. It was late fall, so we didn’t go swimming, but there was a lake in the neighborhood and we walked down to it one night. “But I remember the leaves in the trees and the way the orange at sunset would reflect off the water.”
I open my eyes to see Valencia staring at me. There are tears in her eyes.
When I glance at Marcus, he’s looking down at the floor.
Valencia takes a step forward and puts her hands on my cheeks, trying not to cry as she smiles up at me. She opens her mouth to speak but instead hugs me.
I guess it worked.
I put my arms around her, and she squeezes me tight. The heaviness in my chest loosens, like cured concrete cracking away from me. I don’t like this feeling. Two thoughts at odds but fighting it out in my gut. On one side, there’s a blaring alarm and a megaphone voice telling me it’s wrong to be taking advantage of these people. But on the other is the empty pit of loneliness I’ve been feeling for months—and in all honesty,yearsbefore that—telling me to let them in. To let them treat me like the missing son they’ve been worried about for ten years.
I should be listening to that first voice. The alarms. But then the hug silences all that.
Valencia lets go first and I realize we’ve been hugging for longer than what’s probably considered normal. My face burns with embarrassment and before I even know what I’m saying, I apologize again.
“For what?” Valencia asks with a look of concern.
