All Good Children - Catherine Austen [88]
“I need to take the batteries out of my RIG so no one can find it for a while.”
“You shouldn’t do that. People may need to find you.”
“Sure, but I’m playing hide-and-seek with somebody who cheats and I want to make sure I’m not sending any signals out so they don’t find me. How do I do that?”
He frowns but holds out his hand. I pass him my RIG as well as Mom’s and Ally’s. He doesn’t question them. He just says, “I need some tools.” He opens a kitchen drawer, takes out a toolkit, removes the backplate from each RIG. He stares at the interior workings with his tongue between his teeth. He removes six silver squares with a pair of tweezers and replaces the plates. He drops the tiny pieces in my hand. “No one can cheat on you now.”
“Thanks.” I stare at him despondently, knowing this is the last time I’ll ever see him. He smells of lemons, but I don’t find it reassuring. “I always liked knowing you, Xavier. I hope you make a new friend when you go back to school.”
“All our schoolmates are our friends.”
“Not really, man. Most of them would like to see you fail. But I always liked you. You were always my friend.”
He nods. “We ran cross-country together.”
“That’s right, man. We ran together.” I would shake his hand but mine are full, so I press my left shoulder into his in a clumsy armless hug. I turn my head toward his neck, look over his shoulder through the space where his hair ought to hang, and watch Celeste stream an ancient movie onto the big screen. “I miss running with you, Xavier,” I whisper.
“I haven’t been feeling well,” he says.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
Dallas shoulders my backpack and nudges me down the hallway. “We can’t be late, son.”
Mom locks our door for the last time. I never have to smell this dirty carpet again, never have to wonder what made the smears on the wall. “Get going, boys,” she says.
“Daddy isn’t a boy,” Ally says. “He’s a man.”
“That’s right, honey.” Mom waves us on ahead.
Lucas enters the building just as our taxi pulls up. “Hello, Maxwell. How are you?” He stares at Dallas with his head cocked, like a confused but excited dog.
“I’m fine, Lucas,” I say. “How are you?”
“Fine. Are you going away?”
“Yes. We’re spending Christmas in Atlanta. We’ll be back on Monday.”
Lucas stares at Dallas while I speak. He turns to Ally, like he knows she’s the only one who’ll give a straight answer.
“Who is this?”
“That’s my daddy,” Ally says.
Lucas squints at me. “Your father died before you moved here. You told me that.” He looks from me to my mom, then back to Dallas. Dallas doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t act like anybody’s father.
“They lied,” Ally says. “Daddy’s not dead.”
I push Dallas ahead of me through the lobby door.
Lucas watches us through the glass. I turn around before I get in the cab and wave goodbye.
“Hello, again,” the driver says. “Nice to see you.”
Mom looks at him in confusion, clutching her handbag tightly. “Hello?” she says.
He peers into the backseat. Ally is tucked behind his chair, staring at the seat fabric. Dallas sits tall and tense in the middle. I sit behind Mom, with a clear view of the driver, and for some reason I’m happy to see him again. “Abdal-Salam, right?” I say.
He smiles. “You have a good memory.”
“It’s on your id,” I tell him.
He nods. “To the airport shuttle?”
“No!” Mom almost shouts. “To the southwest carpark, please,” she adds politely.
The driver raises his eyebrows at me, then pulls away from the Spartan. We all stare sadly out the windows at the streets we’re leaving behind. They’re gray and empty. People are holed up in their houses, glued to their RIGs, indifferent to our departure.
The driver holds his tongue for as long as he can stand it, but finally he asks, “Are you moving to the carpark?”
Mom ignores him.
He shifts his rearview mirror to catch my eye in it.
“No,” I say.
“You selling things there?”
“No.”
He nods, watches the road a bit, looks back at the mirror. “Buying things?”
“You should take the underpass here,” I tell him.
He drives underground