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“What’s actually harder,” Theo said because Auggie was still waiting with that eager-beaver expression on his face, “is helping them understand the culture, the characters, why Claudio would break his relationship off with Hero over a lie, and why Hero could conceivably die from the shame, and what the hell is going on with Beatrice and Benedick.”
“They need to see all the asses. You need to show them the movie with all those naked butts so they’ll get it.”
“This conversation is officially over. Please play on your phone.”
Flopping onto his back again, Auggie started scrolling as he murmured, “Yes, Dad.”
He only laughed when Theo whapped him with the pillow.
“The thing that’s really hard to understand in that play,” Auggie said in the distracted tone of someone only half-focused on what they were saying, “is Don John. He doesn’t even have a reason for the shit he pulls except that he wants to ruin everything.”
“The kids actually get pretty interested in that. Shakespeare has several villains whose crimes seem to be without any motivation, and we have a good conversation about psychopathy and what is evil.”
“I’m sure the parents love that.”
“I don’t send home handouts.”
“You should tell them about narcissistic personalities because: a, that’s definitely Don John, and b, that’s all the rage on the Tok these days.” He didn’t actually gasp or choke or swallow his tongue, but he sat up so fast that for a moment, Theo thought something was wrong. Before he could ask anything, though, Auggie turned a wide-eyed gaze on him and said, “Theo, I think I know what happened.”
29
The next afternoon, in a parking lot outside a Panera in Columbia, Auggie tried to keep his nerves from showing. The restaurant was a standalone building in a strip mall parking lot. Cars filled the lot, and people streamed into the Panera. It wasn’t just crowded; it was bustling. The lunch rush. Lots of people meant, Auggie and Theo hoped, the situation wouldn’t get out of hand. But a part of Auggie also recognized that lots of people also meant the potential for lots of collateral damage.
“We should wait,” Theo said. The gun—Ian’s gun—was hidden under a baggy Cardinals t-shirt. John-Henry had returned it after one of his officers had recovered it from their house after the attack. Auggie felt like he could see it in spite of Theo’s best efforts to hide it, like the gun was somehow magnetized and drawing his eyes, or like the tiny adjustments to Theo’s posture gave him a map to the gun’s location. “We don’t have to rush into this.”
“We don’t have time to wait.”
“They have phones and email and ways to reach police in other states.”
Auggie shook his head, but what he said was, “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to keep it calm and cool, and we’re going to stick to the plan.”
“I can call North and Shaw—”
“Theo.” Auggie forced himself to soften his voice. “They’re watching Lana and Evie, and that’s a good thing because there’s still a maniac out there who wants to hurt us. Jem and Tean are back in Auburn following up on the tiger necropsy. Emery’s been hired on by John-Henry to help the police department as they work with Dalton to ID the man who took Leon. Everybody’s busy, Theo. There isn’t anybody else.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s the Highway Patrol, the Columbia police department—you can’t tell me John-Henry wouldn’t reach out to them.”
“We don’t have time. Ambyr already left Wahredua. She’s not going back. And she’s not going to stick around in Columbia, either. We don’t know where she’ll go or what she’ll do, and maybe you’re right, maybe the police could track her down and pick her up, no problem, and in a couple of weeks she’d be back here to stand trial for murder. But what if that doesn’t happen? What if she has a new ID, or she stays off the radar, and we never see her again? Or what if she gets rid of her phone, or deletes the videos, or—I mean, do you want her to get away with murdering Shaniyah?”
Theo let out a frustrated breath. “We could follow her—”
“Theo, please. We’re almost there; let’s finish this. We just need her phone.”
The silence swelled with Theo’s struggle. Finally, he clutched Auggie’s hand, still wrapped around his knee, and squeezed hard.
“We’re going to do this,” Auggie said.
“Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
Theo was probably feeling too many feelings to roll his eyes right then, but he did stare at Auggie with a shell-shocked look that was kind of insulting.
Auggie slid out of the car, leaving it running for Theo; the swampy heat bore down on him, and sweat broke out across Auggie’s face, under his arms, down his back. He crossed the parking lot. The sun was directly overhead and so bright that it gave the world an unreal quality, like everything was in high definition. Auggie felt like he might be floating.
Inside, a wall of cool air met him with the smell of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. It seemed impossibly loud: the clink of flatware on ceramic, voices calling in the kitchen, people ordering, kids screaming as they zoomed past. The line to order stretched to the door, and the woman next to Auggie gave him a side-eye as she bellowed into her phone, “I can’t hear you!”
Auggie moved into the restaurant, heading toward the armchairs gathered around an electric fireplace. Digital flames danced back and forth behind the glass. Maybe that was comforting, Auggie thought, when you didn’t feel like you were being simmered inside your own skin. Maybe he should come here and sit by the fire and be creative.
