All Good Children - Catherine Austen [94]
“He didn’t want to come,” Dallas adds. “It was our son who wanted to bring him.”
“He said Coach Emery told him to try out for the Dallas football team,” I say. “He’s been confused since his vaccination.”
“He’s a very troubled young man,” Dallas says. “I hope you find him because I honestly don’t know what he’ll do out there on his own.”
The guard steps in front of Ally, leans over to look her in the eye. He smiles and bats his lashes. “Do you know where Dallas Richmond is, sweetie?”
We hold our breath and try not to stare too hard.
She shakes her head. “He left when Daddy got home.”
“What time was that?” the guard asks.
“Six o’clock.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“He disappeared.”
“Did he say he would meet you somewhere soon?”
“No. He just disappeared.”
He nods, glances at his colleagues who are checking our tires, turns back to us and nods again. He heads into the office building while the others place our belongings back in the trunk. The vinyl cover won’t stretch over top this time. My tent sticks up too high. They try to ram it down.
“Just leave it,” Mom says. “It’s fine.”
The mascara man returns with his orders. “The boy’s father suspects he’ll follow you on foot. It’s imperative that you understand this boy is a minor and he is not allowed to leave the country without his legal guardians. He will not get across this bridge or any other border crossing. You understand that if you’re waiting for him he will not be leaving and you will not see him again.”
“Yes, we understand,” Mom says.
“He’s not coming this way,” Dallas says. “He’s going south, to Dallas.”
The guard sighs. “You’re free to go.” He passes Mom the car registration and passports. She checks to make sure they’re all there. “Keep them handy,” he says. “You’re going to need them in a minute. You’ll also need your birth certificates and immunization records. Do you have those?”
Mom nods. “We have everything.”
The guard shrugs. “Once they pass you on, I can’t let you back in.”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” I say.
The metal gates swing closed behind us. We drive slowly across a thousand feet of two-lane suspension bridge that hasn’t been repaired for decades. The headlights barely penetrate the fog.
Although I know how overbuilt old bridges are—it’ll be centuries before the bolts rust out—it smells like decay, and I can’t help fearing that the steel deck might collapse beneath us.
Mom rolls down her window as if it’ll help her see. The bridge is lined with streetlights that burned out ages ago and no one from either side of the border is willing to replace. The air is cold and wet with the scents of the poisoned river and the damp concrete suicide barriers. I wish it were daytime so I could step out and look at the world we’re heading into.
My fear doesn’t lessen when we reach the border crossing near the end of the bridge. There’s a tiny building not much bigger than a toll booth with a swinging metal arm barring the road. No spotlights glare at us, no armed guards survey us. It’s unsettling because it implies a serious lack of financing in this country. There’s no room to turn around and we’re still a hundred feet in the air, so if they don’t let us in I can’t see what they’ll do with us except throw us over and steal the car.
Three guards are crammed into the one little booth, visible through a window that takes up half of one wall. They’re smoking cigarettes and drinking from thermoses and talking like they’re friends. It’s jarring because since the vaccinations I haven’t seen anyone talk like this, just shooting the breeze, laughing, passing time. It’s not the sort of behavior I expected from border guards. They’re all in their thirties, all white men with short hair under blue caps. They wear blue uniforms with silver badges like police officers. But they don’t act like police. They act like we’re not even here. They smile at each other and speak loudly, happily, like they’re in the stands of a ball game. One cuffs another on the shoulder and the third rolls his eyes.
“Should I honk?” Mom