My Cousin's Keeper (17 page)

Bon let out a long breath, as though he had just run a race.

“How come you and your mom left the trailer park?”

“My mom wound up thinking Julia's mom was a bit weird, too. I didn't tell her what I knew, but Mom thought there was something strange going on, and she didn't want to hang around to find out what, exactly. So we came here. It was quieter than the trailer park. Mom slept a lot. I wrote and drew. I read stories.” He glanced at me. “I met up with Julia sometimes.”

“And you had free breakfasts at the café,” I reminded him.

“It gets hard for my mom to plan things each day,” Bon said in a resigned voice. “It was easier if I just did the things I needed to do, like breakfast and stuff. I was used to it. I was OK. I
can
look after myself, you know. I don't need grown-ups.”

Yes, you do
, I thought, then remarked out loud, “This feels creepy,” because again I was gripped by the thought that someone else could be lurking in the darkness of the small room or the hallway outside. “Bon, can we go now?”

“You haven't asked me the next question,” he replied.

“The next question?”

“Yes,” he said, and there was the hint of a laugh in his voice. “About who might be after Julia's mom.”

By now I knew. “Julia's dad.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Julia wasn't supposed to be with her mom. She was supposed to be with her dad, but her mom had
stolen
her. And she'd been hiding Julia for two years.” Unexpectedly, Bon's hand rested on my shoulder. “And now Julia is back with her dad.” His voice dropped. “Except I don't know where they've gone. That's still the hard part.”

We both fell silent, and the darkness and emptiness of the room started to swallow us again.

“Bon, I think we should go now.” He stayed at the window a while longer, so I said it again, adding, “Please. I don't really like it here.”

“It's OK,” he answered without looking at me. “It's just an empty room.
My
empty room.” But at last, we were outside again, the door locked, and the two of us going downstairs, with me gripping the back of Bon's sweatshirt. And then we were outside with our bikes in the chilly air.

“You
are
scared, aren't you?” Bon said. “It's OK, you know.”

“I just want to go home,” I admitted. “It really feels weird being out by ourselves like this.”

I looked around nervously, expecting to see house lights being turned on, or the local police patrol car turning silently onto the street, its lights blindingly bright. I suddenly longed to be back at home and said urgently, “Bon, we have to go.
Now
.”

We pedaled quickly and in silence. Soon enough, we had left the shops and the main street behind. I was starting to feel tired.

But as we reached the corner and started back onto our street, my heart jumped. “Oh, no,” I whispered.

I knew Dad would be furious. We could see him in the front yard. He was turning his head in frantic half circles, and when he spotted us, I could see the way his shoulders dropped and his arms folded themselves across his chest.

His voice was a controlled, soft growl. “What on
earth
do you two think you're doing?”

Bon stared at Dad. His mouth was open and I could tell he was frightened.

“Just riding,” I said, shocked that we'd been caught.

“
Just riding
,”
Dad repeated. “At three in the morning?” He jabbed a thumb toward the house. “Inside,
now
. By the front door, please, not the window.”

My hands were clenched tight to the handlebars, and I could see Bon's were as well.

Dad pointed. “Just put the bikes down; I'll put them away. Go inside and get back into bed, both of you. We'll talk about this in the morning.”

As I followed Bon to the door, I heard Dad mutter, “
Just riding.
Well, there won't be any of
that
for a while.”

We were in a lot of trouble.

My parents sat Bon and me down the next morning before we'd even begun breakfast. I knew how my parents' faces would be — Dad frowning and plain mad, and Mom with an expression somewhere between cranky and upset.

“Look at me when I'm speaking to you,” Dad instructed.

But I shook my head. I was at the edge of the living room sofa, staring hard at the carpet and feeling as though I wanted to launch myself out of the room and through the back door.

Bon, meanwhile, had squashed himself as far back into the sofa as he could.

“What,” Dad went on, “was going on in your heads? What were you doing out on the streets at three in the morning?”

I thought hard about how to answer. “I was teaching Bon to ride.” I knew it sounded like a lie.

“What?” Dad exclaimed.

I looked up. “I was teaching Bon how to ride the bike. There's no traffic early in the morning, so it was safer.” Which sounded even more pathetic.

Dad and Mom exchanged openmouthed looks, shaking their heads at the same time.

“Kieran,” Mom said, “you'll have to do a lot better than that. Bon? What have you got to say?”

“I needed the practice,” Bon answered.

“You needed the practice,” Dad repeated.

Bon quickly added, “I'd never ridden a bike till I came here. Kieran was helping me.”

“At three in the morning?” Mom and Dad chorused.

“Yes,” Bon replied in the precise voice I hadn't heard in a while. “Like Kieran said, we decided there was less traffic and it was safer.”

Of course it wasn't enough to convince my parents.

“Is Kieran in trouble?” Gina asked as she made her morning entrance, complete with pink pony pajamas and a handful of dolls. Then she looked at Bon. “Is Bon in trouble,
too
?” she asked in a more alarmed voice.

We were grounded, my parents decided. No outings — and no bikes. Bon and I were banned from riding anywhere for two weeks.

“And you will be driven to and from school,” Mom told us, shaking her head. “Honestly, you two . . .”

Lost for words, she had Bon pack up his things and drove him back to Nan's. I stayed on the couch for a long time afterward. I didn't feel hungry enough to eat breakfast, and my head was full of how boring the next two weeks were going to be.

I had never practiced so many soccer skills in my entire life. Each afternoon, I worked my way around the entire backyard, from the driveway gate to Dad's shed and along the back fence to the clothesline. I dribbled the ball at a walk and a sprint, I worked on the foot flicks that sent the ball up in the air to be caught and balanced on my forehead. I was determined not to be a reserve-list player for another year. I really wanted Mr. Garcia to see how much I'd improved and how ready I was for the next soccer season. I counted the days grounded so far — one, two, three — and then added up what was left.

But when I daydreamed too much, the ball went astray. A few times, it even went over the back fence and I had to climb through the wire to retrieve it, stealing extra minutes just to be on the wrong side of the fence. I wished that I could go somewhere — a park, shopping, a friend's house. Friends? I guessed that Mason and Lucas had crossed me off their list by now. In my head, I ran through all the other names of kids that I knew, picturing their houses and their parents. I paused at the end of the list, kicking the ball back into our yard before Mom noticed I was outside the boundary.
Bon.
That was the name I came to last. And I realized that, without ever intending to, I had come to know him best of anybody.

Mom and Dad didn't say very much to me for the first couple of days. I wasn't used to punishments with groundings and long silences, and I was glad to get to school each day, even if it meant being driven there, as though I were five years old.

“Why aren't we walking?” Gina asked.

“Because,” Mom answered, “your brother hasn't been responsible enough.”

“Stop looking at me, Gina,” I muttered, because my sister's wide-eyed look was making me feel as though I were someone who should be doing time in jail. After a couple of days, Mom began to ask the sorts of questions that I'd been dreading.

“What were you thinking, Kieran? Didn't it occur to you that we'd find out? That we'd be beside ourselves with worry if you hadn't returned?” And finally, a question I was only a little comfortable replying to: “Where did you go?”

“Just around the main part of town. The shops, the park, the streets nearby. That's all,” I said.

My answer didn't make Mom any happier, and she gave me the kind of look that seemed to say,
There's more that you're not telling me.

Nan dropped Bon at our place the following Friday for his weekend sleepover. “Could be a long weekend for boys who suddenly seem to like being out on their bikes together,” Nan remarked at the door.

“A
very
long weekend,” Mom agreed, then added, “What's that?” as Nan held something up in one hand.

“A door key.” Nan glanced sideways at Bon, who I could see had been hoping to slip through the front door and avoid any unwelcome conversations.

He heaved a loud sigh. “A key to the hotel room Mom and I had. I wanted to go back and visit it sometimes. And I showed Kieran as well.”

Mom exchanged a look with Nan that I couldn't read. And then glared at me.

“The hotel is not your home anymore, Bon,” Nan told him. “Or the trailer park. You and I have had that talk.” She said to Mom, “I'm returning it to the Imperial this morning, just to avoid any more trouble.”

“We've got one more week of being grounded, and then everything is back to normal,” Bon reminded her.

“Normal!” Nan laughed and kissed him on the forehead. I wondered why the word amused her so much. “
Normal
is something we're still working on, my dear.”

Being stuck at home felt anything but normal, but having Bon around felt different now. Instead of avoiding him, I found myself sharing the house and the backyard with him. He wasn't really interested in kicking a ball around, and he still spent time playing with Gina. But as Friday became Saturday, and morning drifted into afternoon, we found ourselves together at the computer being game opponents and, later, sprawled on the living room floor watching a movie. We agreed on pizza as our Saturday takeout dinner treat when Mom asked us to choose, and we finished the day quietly in our room. Bon lay on the trundle bed, drawing in his book. I began to read a magazine, but wasn't concentrating very well.

“Have you got that note with you?” I asked him.

He nodded, pointing at his backpack on the floor. “It's in there. Why?”

I rolled over on my bed and looked at him. “Because I'm going to ask Dad if he can help.”

“But your dad's mad at us. We're in trouble.”

“It won't be forever, and the note is proof that you're supposed to have Julia's bike now. So whoever's got it has to hand it over. Dad will make them,” I reassured him.

We stared at each other a moment, before Bon shrugged his shoulders and picked up his drawing pen.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

I realized then. “Bon, Dad's not a scary guy. Are you frightened of him?”

“No,” Bon replied, in a voice that clearly meant
yes.

“Dad knows lots of people around town. The guys on his team — there's a high-school teacher, a couple of truckers, a mechanic, guys who work on farms. He knows the people who run the trailer park. And Jacko, the goalie, he's a police officer. If we show Dad the note, he'll be able to help out. You'll see.” I waited for Bon to look up. “OK?”

Bon gazed at his artwork in silence before reaching for the backpack and pulling out Julia's note. “Here,” he said, and held it out for me to take. “But don't let your dad keep it. I want it back.”

“Sure,” I agreed, and stood up to put it in the top drawer of my desk.

The right time to ask had to be the following morning, and I waited for the familiar quiet sounds of Dad preparing for his morning run. Quickly, I threw on clothes and sneakers, tucking the note into the button-down back pocket of my shorts.

Dad was raiding the fridge for fruit juice.

“Can I come for a run, or am I grounded from that as well?” I asked.

He took a swig straight from the juice bottle, something I had always been told
not
to do, and looked me up and down. “No,” he answered with a long sigh. “Come on.”

It was wet outside. The rain misted onto my face and head, cool and delicate. At first, I stayed behind Dad, following the slight stamp marks his running shoes left on the wet grass that ran along the roadside. It occurred to me that I'd been doing the morning run like this for a long time, always following behind him, always struggling to keep up, and knowing not to talk at the wrong moments, not to disturb Dad's focus and concentration. I'd ask him once we'd stopped at the park.