“I know you are. We just stick with the plan. Take each piece as it comes. Once they realize he’s actually missing, they’ll access his phone records, which will lead them to that girl from Kent. She’ll tell them where they were supposed to meet that night and they’ll go looking in that direction.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re sure he didn’t say he was with you when she called?”
“He didn’t say anything about me at all.”
I could hear it in his voice: He was still hurt. “That’s good, Tyler. Get some sleep tonight. Talk to the RA again and just go about your day. You have class?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Go to class. Act like your friends—be self-absorbed. You did what you were supposed to, you let the person in charge know. Let it be her problem. When you hear anything more, call me.”
Time warped and slowed, dragging out the hours. I kept a small radio in the kitchen tuned to a local station that broadcast news, listening for anything about the park we’d gone to, the river, abody. Nothing. I watched my phone, waiting for Tyler. I made myself eat, small dry bits of tasteless food I forced down.
When my phone rang, I jumped and grabbed it before my mind registered the name on the screen.
“Mark, sweetie?” I almost hung up. “Are you there?”
“Mom, hi. You caught me by surprise.”
“Is this a bad time? I just wanted to say hello. We haven’t heard from you.” She asked about my book and told some story about the neighbors and their lawn mower, complained about the new self-checkout stations at the grocery store that never worked. I stared at the window, mumbling replies. She said they were planning a weekend in Chicago, for a friend’s birthday, but she was scared of the cold.
And then on the table in front of me, the other phone buzzed. Tyler’s phone.
“Sorry, Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“You’re alright, though?”
“I’m fine. Just busy. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, Marky. Don’t disappear on us.”
I hung up and flipped open the other phone.
“The dean of campus life called me in.” Music hummed in the background. Good, he was listening, doing as I said.
“What happened? Don’t leave anything out.”
When Addison had not appeared by morning, the RA reached out to his parents. They were livid; they didn’t know he had been in the dorms, they thought he’d gone on the trip. They called the administration immediately. When the RA came to tell all this to Tyler, she was shaken—she’d been reamed for letting Addison stay behind. The dean wanted to talk with Tyler. It was just him and the director of residence life, Tyler couldn’t remember hername. “Melissa Something. Michelle.” I said it didn’t matter, keep going. The dean had asked some standard questions. When had Tyler talked to Addison last? Did he know why Addison stayed behind? Had Addison mentioned anything, about being unhappy, feeling depressed? Tyler answered all the questions, stayed with our story.
“It was short. I wasn’t there long. He told me to be in touch if I heard anything from Addison, or from anyone. And that was it.”
“Okay. This sounds fine.”
“It’s getting easier.”
“What is?”
“Pretending I don’t know where Addison is. Like he’s just missing. It’s like I’m starting to believe that he really could be anywhere.”
The next few days passed without incident. Tyler heard nothing more from admin. The story had made the local news, but in just a few days it had been relegated to a short column of text, buried. The feeling of dread was fading. Like Tyler, I was beginning to believe the world of our lies.
I headed to campus to teach. I went a bit early, which I never did, but I needed to make copies of a poem for a class activity. I tried to think of what else we could do with the time but my brain went blank. It should be fine—campus was still; it was before the morning rush.
As I walked toward Walton Hall, I saw the first poster. On a board alongside outdated announcements for spring break trips and a flyer for graduation gowns. Addison’s sharp, handsome face, grinning. The rest of the photo had been cropped, but you could see a stretch of blue cloudless sky behind him. Addisonhad one arm raised, across someone’s shoulder cut from the frame. His father, perhaps. This Addison knew nothing of what lay ahead. This Addison’s life opened to endless possibility, clear and infinite like the surrounding sky. Across the top of the poster:Missing. A number to call with information. A note about a reward.
The posters plastered every surface I passed—windows, walls, columns. Addison’s face was everywhere. When Walton Hall finally came into view, I quickened my pace, willing myself not to break into a run. I slid into a side door, up two sets of stairs. I just had to make the copies, get to the classroom, get through class, and get out. I stepped into the copy room. I saw the bag, sitting on a table piled with boxes of copy paper, before I noticed someone with their back to me standing over the machine. That bag. Without thinking, I said her name.
