Page 45 of Not a Word

“How do you know where he is?” I asked.

Gage held up his phone. “I asked him.”

While Gage had been listening to us he’d simply sent his uncle a quick message saying everyone was freaking out because they didn’t know where he was. Holden had written back and said he was hanging out at one of the town’s Tim Hortons near the garden center Diana and I shopped at every spring. This Tims, one of more than a dozen of the franchised coffee and doughnut places scattered across the town, was open later than most given its proximity to a nearby highway.

I could have called Mom and told her Holden had been located, but then she’d have had twenty questions about his condition. I thought it best to learn that for myself first. Gage insisted on coming with me, since clearly he was the only one Holden trusted. A couple of minutes later the two of us were in the car.

“So your uncle will take a message from you but not me or his mother,” I observed.

“I don’t judge him like she does,” Gage said. “I’m not gonna make him go back to Sharnwood.”

“And why didn’t he respond to my calls?”

Gage shrugged. “Maybe brother relationships are complicated. I wouldn’t know. I’m an only child.” He offered me a grin.

“Having you was enough,” I said, flashing him a grin in return. “You’re pretty close to your uncle.”

“And you don’t like that.”

“I didn’t say that. You get why we worry.”

“There’s more to him than having a drug problem. You guys don’t see the whole picture. And he’s been through an awful lot of bad stuff and people should give him a break. Grandpa would have understood that.”

“You just need to be careful, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like say he’s got a stash of illegal drugs in his place, stuff you don’t even know about, and while you’re there the police decide to drop by. Whatever trouble he lands in, you’re going to be there right with him.”

Gage went quiet, like maybe he hadn’t thought about that.

The Tims was up ahead. I saw Holden’s car in the lot out front, and as we pulled into a parking spot, I saw him at a table for four on the other side of the glass. There was a woman seated across from him. About forty, thin, big frizzy hair. Otherwise, not counting two people behind the counter, the place was empty. Holden and the woman each had a paper cup of what I guessed was coffee in front of them. I knew Tims outlets did not serve alcohol.

We got out of the car and went inside. Holden, facing our way, spotted us, grinned and waved us in. The woman with Holden turned to check us out.

“Hey,” Holden said, getting to his feet and going right by me to give my son a hug. “How’s it going, man?”

Gage slipped his arms around his uncle in return. Holden whispered some words of what I supposed were condolences into his ear, then let him go and said to the woman at the table, “Babe, this is my brother, Reece, and this here is my favorite nephew, Gage.”

“I’m your only nephew,” Gage said.

“Heard a lot about you,” said the woman to Gage.

Holden clarified things. “And guys, this is my friend, Alicia. Alicia Zane.”

She smiled, extended a hand. I shook first, then Gage.

“Park your butts,” Holden said, retaking his seat. Gage sat next to Alicia and I settled in next to my brother. They were, in fact, drinking coffee, and on the table was a box of round, minidoughnuts in assorted flavors.

“Help yourself,” Holden said to Gage.

He needed no further encouragement, digging in and grabbing two, one chocolate, the other coconut.

Holden looked at me. “Want something to drink?”

“I’m good,” I said.

“Can I get something?” Gage asked me.