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Sweat was beading on Auggie’s hairline now, damp at his temples. He’d somehow picked a spot in the sun, and the light was scorching the back of his neck.
“What if you just came inside for a glass of water? Have you had anything to drink today?”
Theo gave him a strange smile, and it took a beat for Auggie to recognize it as indulgent. “I’m almost finished.”
“Ok.”
Theo rested the heel of his hand on the mattock. He had strong hands, strong fingers, with golden hair on the back of them. More dirt flecked the hair there, and a red line showed where Theo had grazed himself with the mattock or one of the shovels. He probably hadn’t even noticed it. He’s like that, Auggie thought. He’d come in once from clearing brush, a slice up the back of his leg running from ankle to knee, shoe and sock bloody, and he hadn’t known until Auggie made him stop so he could clean it up.
“It’s just,” Auggie said, and he wondered if he was the one who needed a drink of water, “it’s really hot. I don’t want you getting sunstroke.”
The sun danced on Theo’s face. It turned his hair and beard into a blaze, the red and gold and copper too bright to look at, so that Auggie wanted to close his eyes.
“I need to get this done,” Theo said. “I’ll be inside in a bit.”
Auggie nodded. He turned and headed back inside. Something hung in front of him, something like a sunspot, moving wherever he turned his head. It was like being blind, a little. He fumbled with the slider to get back into the house, and then the air conditioning hit him, freezing the sweat on his nose and cheeks. Lana was still talking; unicorns had switched to princesses, and in the background, an episode ofShe-Rawas playing. He was aware of Tean and Jem watching him, although he couldn’t see their faces, not with his eyes all screwed up. He’d stared at the sun once because Chuy had dared him to—stared until Fer had come out and slapped him upside the head for being so stupid—and it had been a little like this. Fer had been so mad. And then Auggie thought: Fer would be so mad.
“Is it ok if she watches TV?” Tean asked. “I didn’t know if you had a time limit.”
Auggie nodded, staring through the shifting sunspot in the direction of Tean’s voice. And then he heard himself say, “I’m going to catch up on some stuff in the office. If that’s ok.”
The silence was a little too dense before Jem said, “Sure.”
In the office, Auggie shut the door behind him. The blinds were up, and he checked the windows by touch, making sure each one was latched. He had to make sure now. That had gone on his mental list of all the things not to do. Don’t change lanes too quickly. Don’t brake too hard. Don’t leave a candle burning. Don’t let Lana out of your sight.
He sat at his desk. In those natural disaster movies—the dumb ones he still kind of liked, even though he knew they were trash—they could show you all sorts of stuff, do all kinds of cool things with special effects. He could see it in his mind now: a flood rushing through a narrow canyon, gathering speed and momentum, knocking down everything in its way. It was on a path to obliterate a city, of course. All that water, all that energy, all that destruction. And it only had one way to go.
He didn’t cry because that was on the list too, but he groped around until he found the tissues, and he pressed them to his eyes. His face was hot and puffy, and after a couple of minutes of that, he couldn’t breathe through his nose, so he had to suck air through his mouth. And then the worst of it was over. The water reached the end of the canyon. All that pressure released. And the city? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the movie, either. Probably notSharknado, he thought.
He tossed the soggy tissues into the wastebasket, grabbed fresh ones, dried his face. He was good at planning, good at organization, good at understanding patterns. He’d used those skills to build his own social media platform, and he used them now for businesses and influencers, to help other people. Hell, he used them to help Theo, who couldn’t balance the checkbook to save his life. Not that Auggie had ever balanced a checkbook, actually, but he did keep track of their money.
And right then, his mind was already busy assessing new data, translating it, adjusting plans—scrapping some, making new ones. Things were going to get better. They’d arrested Dalton for Shaniyah’s murder, and in the light of day, with a few solid hours of sleep behind him, Auggie didn’t know why it had felt so wrong the night before. And now that Shaniyah’s murder had been cleared up, things would start going back to normal. Nobody would break into their house. Nobody would attack them in a parking lot. Nobody would send Theo into that place Auggie couldn’t follow, because he didn’t know the way, and even if he had, didn’t know how to bring Theo back. Leon Purdue had gone to California, and Shaniyah Johnson was dead, and the mystery of the missing kids was over.
The more Auggie said it to himself, the easier he breathed.
In a few weeks, after everything had calmed down, Auggie would talk to Theo about therapy again. It had helped—a lot—when they’d started dating. And couples’ therapy, too. They probably needed that as well. The anger, that was part of it. Theo had never been an angry person, but over the last year, he had been angry so often. And part of it, Auggie knew, was from trauma—they’d been through so much together, and Theo had been through even more on his own. But part of it, Auggie thought, was something else. And whatever the causes were, they needed to address them. And they would. Together.
But at the same time that the conscious level of Auggie’s brain was building a new future, another layer of his mind, barely brushing the edge of consciousness, was saying, He’s never going to get better, and he’s never going to change. Not in the ways you want. Never. He’s never going to want another child. He’s never going to want to get married. He’s never going to want more than what you have now. Images swam at that level of near-consciousness: the float trips and campouts that would never happen; the trip to Disneyland Auggie had, at some level wanted to recreate from his childhood; the look on Fer’s face when Auggie told him he was going to be a grandpa, and the other look, when Auggie finally said,Because you raised meorBecause you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a dad.
He was moving before he realized what he was doing, opening the top drawer, taking out the surrogacy paperwork. He rolled toward the shredder. It was ok, he thought. Life went on. And he had a good life. A very good life. He was, after all, happy.
A knock came at the door, and Tean called, “I know Jem just made you eggs, but I think Lana might be ready for an afternoon snack, and I thought maybe an early dinner would be better for everyone.”
Auggie dropped the papers next to the shredder, in the pile of everything else he needed to shred. He left the office and went to take care of his family.
17
The dream wasn’t one that Theo could put into words. It was a sense of twisting darkness, of something powerful grappling with him. Even asleep, he was aware of his body aching.
The day had been brutal: the work in the sun, the pounding headache, the cored-out sensation of fatigue like nothing he could remember. After showering, while he was sitting at the table, eating some sort of taco Jem had cooked, he’d caught his head nodding, like he was about to fall asleep. I’m getting old, he thought. And he wanted to say it to Auggie, because it was the kind of thing he’d love, but then he remembered that awful gulf between them, the one that had opened over the last few days, and he found himself staring at Auggie, unable to speak, until Auggie had finally said, “Theo?” Said it in that way he had, kind and loving and concerned, like nothing was wrong, even though Theo knew everything was wrong. Knew because he’d messed it up himself. And finally Theo had shaken his head and finished his taco, and the moment had passed.
Now, though, wrestling with smoke and shadows, he was aware of consciousness seeping in as sleep receded.
And then he heard the shout.
He sat up, heart racing, and a part of his brain told him he’d imagined it. Dreamed it. But Auggie was upright too, barely more than a shape in the darkness, his breathing rapid.
Then it came again: “Theo!”
