Moondogs - Alexander Yates [89]
Reynato puffed and coughed. He scrutinized a framed photograph of Shawn hanging lopsided on the wall. He scrutinized Monique.
“He must take after his father.”
“Not after Joseph. Shawn and Leila are adopted.”
“Oh. But … you’ve had at least one of your own.” She looked at him and he put both palms in the air, contrite. “Hey, I’m no stalker. Bea, my daughter, was a breech birth. I know what the scar looks like.”
“We had a son, named Walter. He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. He was gone before we knew him.”
They were quiet for a while, but Reynato kept rubbing her back, hitting the pipe occasionally. The smell reminded her of dates with Joe that ended with a joint in his overpriced Georgetown studio. He used to wear a full beard, and the scent would linger about his face until the next morning. Reynato finished the bowl. He put it back in the baggie, which melted around the hot glass pipe, and placed the plasticky mess on the end table. The lovebird hopped past the open door, retreating through the den, doing its best to fly with clipped wings. The gecko chased after, chirping. Music began to play. A synthetic beat, cymbals, and a voice singing Tagalog a few octaves deeper than it should. “Villie Manilie,” Reynato said. “My daughter loves them.”
The music was coming from Shawn’s closet. Monique opened it and jumped a little—one of his hanging shirts trembled as though dancing. She reached into the pocket and pulled out a vibrating, singing mobile phone that she’d never seen before. It was thinner than a candy bar and had a silver trim that made it look swanky and mean. She waited for it to quiet down before flipping it open. A picture of a girl in a too-tight sweater greeted her; the same girl who’d invited Shawn to the prom and financed his ear piercing. There were seven missed calls, all from her, and the inbox was full of bubbly texts addressed to Shugs.
Monique tossed the phone to Reynato, who held it up to the light and whistled like he was impressed. “That girl must have given it to him,” she said, chewing her bottom lip. She looked around her son’s room, so much emptier and cleaner than his room in Washington had been. The desk, the walls, the closet; all orderly and spotless. Even the shirt she still held with one hand was ironed, fashionable and new—so new she didn’t recognize it. She slid the shirt down the bar and went through Shawn’s other hanging clothes, the way she used to before they had a maid, before it was an unforgivable intrusion. She couldn’t remember buying most of these clothes, and she felt a little sick as she realized that maybe she hadn’t. Everything she didn’t recognize she pulled off the bar, tore from its plastic hanger, and piled on the floor. Wrinkled pants four sizes too big, scuzzy metallic button-downs, and jackets that he’d never need in a country like this. She added white sneakers that looked like they’d never been worn, as well as a basketball and pump that she found, overtaken suddenly by a nervous dawning, in the back of the closet. She went back to the desk and pulled the drawer out, emptying its contents on the bed. There were cuff links in there, an empty leather wallet, two pairs of oversized sunglasses and a blinged-out necklace with links cut to look like dollar signs—Joseph would have had a field day with this. Monique put both hands under Shawn’s mattress and told Reynato to move his butt. He got up and helped her flip the mattress, sending it crashing against the far wall. She had to sit then to control her breathing. Three ziplock baggies lay on the box spring, each filled with a fistful of twisted leaves and seeds. So much for hardly ever smoking it.
Monique watched Reynato open her son’s phone. He hit redial and switched it to loudspeaker, holding the phone out in the space between them. Ringing filled the room, followed by a tinny, lilting voice. “Hey Shugs, I’ve been trying to call you all week! Where you been?”
“Shawn isn’t here,” Monique said. “Who is this?”
There was a long pause. “Who’s this?”
“This is Monique Thomas. Shawn’s mother.