Two weeks later . . .
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rye
Thebirdssangoutside—sharpchirps, mixed with longer whistles that seemed to swirl and flutter, and then in-between ones that lifted higher as they went. Rye loved listening to them. He’d spent every morning for the last two weeks doing just that—curled up on the couch in his mom’s living room with a mug of tea, staring out the window and just . . . listening. He didn’t know what kind of birds they were, and he could really only get glimpses from inside the house, occasional bursts of brown, black, and yellow diving in or out of the bushes and trees outside. But he thought maybe he’d try to ask his mom to get him a book so he could learn.
When he found his words, that was.
He’d wanted to mention them to Jake, too—the birds. Two weeks ago at the police station, Jake had asked him if there were too many trees around his house for him to see the ocean, and Rye had wanted to mention them then. He’d wanted to say,“Yes, but that’s okay, because the birds love the trees, and listening to all the birds singing this morning was calming.”
But he hadn’t been able to find his words then, either. Or since.
The birds continued their song and play, their chirps jumping back and forth, up and down, and Rye rested his head on the couch cushion and closed his eyes.
Maybe today. Maybe he’d find his words today. Then he could tell Jake all about the birds and ask his mom to get him a book.
And maybe he could also answer the nice police officer lady’s questions.
She’d tried again and again and again almost every day for the last two weeks. Almost every day since that first day at the police station, Pamela had shown up at his house, along with the scary FBI agent, Roscoe, or with Rachel or Wayne or that other man named Craig. And every time they’d shown up, they’d said they were just there to check on him and his mom. Yet they hadn’t been able to leave without trying to get him to talk.
Always the same questions.
“What happened on that day you disappeared?”
“Did someone take you?”
“Can you tell us about it?”
“Where have you been all these years?”
But he could never form any words. And the more he tried, the worse he felt. Pain and tightness in his chest, nausea, fear. Like there wasn’t enough air in the room. The only time he could say more than a word or two seemed to be when he and his mom made breakfast together in the mornings or when Jake came to visit.
Like he was going to today.
Rye straightened up and glanced over at the kitchen. The clock on the stove said 7:36 a.m. His mom would be leaving for work soon, and Jake would be stopping by to visit with Rye while she was gone. He’d visited three times in the last couple of weeks, but today was the first day he’d be staying for longer than just a few minutes; it was also the first day Rye’s mom would be going back to work after she’d taken as much time as she could off to be home with Rye.
He closed his eyes as some deep warmth spread through his chest. His mom had done so much for him in the last two weeks, and everything she’d done had shown him over and over and over just how much she loved him. It was still hard to believe sometimes, though. The voice in his head still echoed all those awful, rotten words the man had told him off and on for years. How Rye was a burden and how his mom was happier without him and how she’d never actually loved him. But he’d been working really, really hard to fight against them andseeandfeelall the love she was giving him every day.
He owed hersomuch. And he loved her back so,somuch, too.
Quiet footsteps approached from down the hallway, and he opened his eyes as her soft voice carried across the room. “Good morning, sweetie.”
“Hi... Mom,” he answered.It’s a pretty morning outside, and the birds are singing.He forced a small, tight smile, knowing how much she loved to see him happy. And it had the effect he’d wanted. Her grin grew wide, and her eyes lit up, and the heaviness that always seemed to be in her posture lifted.
“You like that spot on the couch there,” she said softly as she paused near the kitchen counter and straightened her faded blue work shirt.
He nodded but then made himself say the words too, because... because hecouldright now. “I... do. It’s...”Comfortable. Sunny. And the birds!
“What, sweetie?” she asked, and she walked slowly across the room and then took the seat next to him on the couch. Her smile warmed him, and for another second, he just looked at her, letting the feeling settle.
God, it was good to be here with her.
He blinked and then smiled again, maybe a little less forced this time. And he tried harder. “It’s nice to... listen to the birds.”
“Oh, is that why you like it here?”
With another nod, he glanced back out the window toward a line of bushes along the edge of the lawn between their yard and the neighbor’s yard. “There,” he said, pointing. Several small brown-flecked birds hopped around on the ground under the bush, and one sat on a branch poking out of the top of the bush, singing a series of distinct chirps.
